The next day, Marcus and Penske set out to repair the Hrungnir suit that Marcus had retrieved from the Methuselah. The two rose early, and Marcus went to the galley to acquire his usual coffee and Penske's usual faux-fruit snack. With coffee and fruit snack in hand, he then went to the hold, his bleary eyes blinking at the low-light lamps used in the passageways of the Enoch. In an hour, once common times began, the lights would brighten, signaling the beginning of "day" on the Enoch. A crewmember may not see the outside world for months at a time while on patrol, so Marcus had learned during training that it was important to dim and brighten the lights in a simulated "day-night" cycle to keep everyone healthy. Living in constant day or constant night would do things to people, he knew.
He arrived at the hold, and opened up the blastdoor leading inside. The door opened with a hiss, and a wave of hot, acrid death wafted past him. The stench emanating from the hold was indescribable. It crawled up his nose and stayed there, like a lukewarm grease. He resisted the urge to retch, which was almost overpowering. He covered walked into the hold to see Penske standing in front of the Hrungnir suit, the obvious source of the overpowering malodorous odor. Marcus could almost see the wretched stench wafting off of the gore-covered suit. He walked up to Penske, who turned to him.
"Oh good, you got my snack," she said. She took the aforementioned snack from him, and cracked it open before pausing. "Feeling alright, Rhyne? You look a lil' green, kid." Marcus shook his head, trying to sip from his coffee. He could barely taste it over the smell. Godsdamn me, he cursed internally.
"No, it's the smell," he said, his stomach doing somersaults in his gut. Penske looked back at the suit and laughed.
"Oh yeah, I bet it does smell pretty awful. Sorry, we'll get it cleaned up and smelling like good ol' grease and oil in no time." She laughed again and turned back to the suit. Marcus was apalled.
"You can't smell that?" he asked, gesturing at the gore-covered suit. She shook her head.
"Nope, I haven't been able to smell for years. Long story." She began detaching the ripper saw, which was the most serious offender when it came to being encased in gore and meat. Trying to choke down a few more sips of coffee, Marcus went to help her. The two got the saw disconnected, which was much easier to do with two people, and they placed it to the side for Marcus to clean. Penske went back to the Hrungnir suit to peal bits of stringy meat off of the front with gloved hands.
Meanwhile, Marcus got to work cleaning the saw. It was a circular saw, so he began by removing the blade. It was a huge blade, with carbide-diamond tips for hardness. The saw was designed to cut steel and other metals for various purposes, so even the chuma's armored hide was no match. The young engineer gagged at the smell coming off of the saw as he worked. He tried affixing a cloth to his face to act as a ward against the smell, but to little effect. He took a rag and wiped the chunks off of the blade, trying to clean it best he could by hand. He'd put it in an acidid bath later, to clean up any remaining organic interlopers. He set the blade aside, and set to cleaning the saw. He wore gloves, thankfully, and pulled stringy meet off of the saw a piece at a time. He covered his face with the other hand.
He considered hosing the saw off somehow, but decided against it. Water was at a premium on the Enoch, as it was with all tanks, and every drop was recycled dutifully, even going as far as to recycle water from waste material. So hosing off the saw with water wasn't possible. Likewise, oil was too valuable for such an old tank to use as a one-time spray on the saw. He considered using compressed air to blow the biggest chunks off, but knew it would only send random bits of flesh into the far corners of the hold, never to be seen again, but most certainly to be smelled. Bootsman Yukon, who vaguely oversaw the hold's organization and cleanliness would make Marcus clean the hold with a toothbrush until it smelled right, which could take weeks or longer. So Marcus sullenly continued to clean the saw with a rag and hoped for the best. After almost an hour of work, he almost had it clear of meat, save for the blood stains. Those would take something special, for sure. Dried blood could be difficult to remove without some sort of liquid to lift it off of the surface it was stuck to. Marcus felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Here, try some of this," said Penske, handing him a bottle of solvent. Marcus thanked her, and applied some to the rag. It took some work, but the blood eventually began to lighten, and then came off with the rag. Marcus turned to her.
"Have experience cleaning blood off of things, Penske?" Marcus asked her. The older engineer smiled sadly.
"Yes, actually, I do." she said, before walking back to the Hrungnir suit. "Since Gretel was lost aboard the Methuselah," she said, changing the subject, "we now have this gorgeous toy." She turned back to look at him, thumping the suit with one fist. "So what are you going to name it?" Marcus sat in thought. He hadn't thought about naming it. It was, however, customary to name exosuits, and the Hrungnir had saved his life more than once. The young engineer shrugged.
"I've got nothing," he said. "You name it." Penske stepped back, legs wide and hands on her hips. She looked the suit up and down dramatically.
"Oh, it's obvious," she said with a grin. "We call it the Chuma." Marcus winced.
"Really?" he asked her. She pointed an accusatory finger at him.
"You said I could name it, so I fucking did. It's the Chuma now." She said, before turning back to the suit. She smiled softly. "Oh yeah, it fits perfectly." A hiss at the door indicated someone was entering. Marcus and Penske looked to see Marine Ghi entering the hold. The young marine took one step into the hold, sniffed, and gagged violently. He held his hand over his face.
"What the absolute fuck is that!?" he asked them. Penske laughed. She pointed at the gore-laden Hrungnir suit.
"What, you don't like it either?" she asked, "Marcus didn't like it at all. I dont get it." Ghi looked incredulous. Marcus just smiled, despite his own wounded olfactory senses.
"That's from the chuma?" Ghi asked. The two engineers nodded. "I thought they smelled bad on the outside," Ghi said shaking his head. Before Marcus could ask about why Ghi knew what a chuma smelled like externally, the marine turned to face him. "You're being summoned by Lt. Commander Shaw, Engineer Rhyne," Ghi said. "I've come to escort you." Marcus was confused at this, and his brow furrowed. Penske spoke up.
"Oh yeah, they didn't debrief you, did they?" she asked him, "you were too busy putting in the impeller and shit yesterday, so I told Shaw he could have you today. Go on, Marcus, I'll keep working on the suit." Marcus nodded.
"Thanks, Penske. If you need anything of me, just radio." he responded. Penske nodded, and went back to her work. Marcus got up, and followed Ghi out of the hold. He closed the door behind him, and sucked in lungfulls of pure, clean, tank-smelling air. Having been saturated with the smell of dead chuma, the smell of the Enoch stood out to him now. It smelled like grease, and some other industrial smell he couldn't identify. But he enjoyed the smell, especially after what hell had just stepped out of, and he appreciated the scent of the tank more now. The young engineer followed Ghi through the passageways of the enoch, and they went up a level, climbing a steep staircase. Marcus was rarely up here, except to fix something that had broken. Eventually, the two turned a corner down a narrow passageway Marcus wasn't familiar with, and Ghi opened up a blast door at the end. The two emerged in a room Marcus had never seen before.
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It was small, though that's relative considering the tank's closed quarters. It had two cells on the far wall, both of which had two bunkbeds inside, as well as a lavoratory and a sink. The rest of the room composed of a few chairs pushed against the wall, a couple of lockers, and a desk with a computer monitor on it. Lt. Shaw sat at the desk, and in the cell on the left, Marcus saw McCullagh leaning against the wall. So this is the brig, Marcus thought. As he entered, Shaw stood up, and both Marcus and Ghi saluted him. Shaw saluted back, and excused Ghi, who nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Marcus stood, waiting for Shaw to give him a command. Shaw signaled for Marcus to sit, which the young engineer did. Shaw stared at a screen for some time, reading. After a few minutes that seemed to stretch on longer than they actually did, he spoke.
"Marcus Rhyne, age twenty five years old, born in orbit above Mars, parents immigrated to the Euri Giorno system when you were five. Father, Conrad Rhyne, 57. Mother, Sophia Rhyne, 54. Currently living aboard the EMCS Olympus Mons, as an engineer and nurse, respectively." Shaw looked over the monitor at Marcus, who sat blinking. After a pause, Shaw continued. "Entered service at 22, trained for a year, worked on Mother Base Sigma for a year, and then transferred to the Enoch, to act as Assistant Engineer to Chief Engineer Penske." Shaw leaned back. "And so far, no negative marks or complaints. Hell, even no comments. Nobody aboard the Enoch has really noticed you, Marcus. Not even Penske has made a note here. No praise, no complaints. Just static. Can you tell me why?" Shaw's eyes seemed to pierce Marcus' soul. The young engineer resisted the urge to shiver. He felt his heart begin to race, and he felt the blood slowly drain from his face.
"I'm not sure I follow, sir," he said to Shaw. The older officer shook his head.
"Oh, I know you do, Rhyne, I've seen your school scores. You're as bright as a tack, boy." Shaw leaned in close. "It almost seems like you're trying to avert attention. Trying to keep prying eyes off of you and your work. Any thoughts?" Marcus' mind raced. How could he defend against that without sounding guilty? What did Shaw think he was guilty of, anyway? How could he avoid sounding guilty if he didn't know what he was being accused of?
"Sir, I humbly think you have it all wrong," Marcus said. Shaw pursed his lips, listening. "I spend most of my time either in my quarters repairing components or things for people, or in the engineering passageways checking on parts, repairing things, checking fluid levels, etc. I rarely see anybody, I don't hang out with people often, and I don't go anywhere. I just do my job as requested of me." Shaw nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. The man's steely gaze was intense, but Marcus didn't turn away. I'm not guilty of whatever Shaw is trying to accuse me of, Marcus thought. After a few tense moments, Shaw sat up.
"Ok, let's move past that, for now. Tell me about the expedition. As I understand it, you're friends with Workman Deknost Ginosky, and Marine Manuel Locke, both of whom were on the expedition. Tell me about them." Shaw said. Marcus swallowed.
"Locke is a good guy, but he's a socialite. He's everyone's friend. I've had lunch with him a few times, and nothing more than that, really." Marcus thought for a second, before continuing. "I guess I would consider Ginovsky a friend, yes. But I hardly know him, in truth. He just helps me with things sometimes." Shaw nodded at that.
"What kind of things?" the older officer asked Marcus.
"For example, he returned a barrel of oil back to the hold for me, so I could get some coffee yesterday." Marcus said.
"Did you ask him to?" asked Shaw. Marcus shook his head.
"No sir, he offered, and I accepted." The young engineer felt warm. He wondered if the room was hotter than the rest of the tank, and if it was, if it was on purpose, in order to make people in the brig feel more uncomfortable. Shaw nodded slowly again, thinking.
"Ok, Rhyne, tell me how the expedition went. Go chronologically and list the events as the occurred, and describe any detail that seems important. Shaw said. Marcus nodded. The young engineer went on to explain the events of the expedition in the order that they happened, trying to leave no small detail out. He described the original natter attack, how the crew entered the Methuselah, how Mason died, how Deknost discovered the coilguns, and how Marcus used the Hrungnir suit to kill the chuma. Shaw sat quietly, never interrupting, his face expressionless during Marcus' recounting. It wasn't until Marcus finished speaking that Shaw spoke.
"You said the Ringlefinch suit you took out was crushed under falling steel beams and debris. What caused that explosion?" Shaw asked him. Marcus instantly knew what Shaw was implying.
"By my guess, the explosion occurred after I turned on the generator. Most likely, what auxiliary power was still available kept the steam and fluid levels normal, or perhaps near critical. When I turned on the generator, I may have missed some sort of safety switch placed elsewhere by the engineers aboard the Methuselah, and the sudden unexpected spike in power may have blown a fuse that was keeping everything stable. That ensuing instability could have caused a pipe to burst with enough force to known debris on the Ringlefinch." Marcus sat waiting for Shaw's response. He's going to ask if I caused the explosion, Marcus thought.
"Did you purposefully cause the explosion?" Shaw asked. Godsdammit, Marcus thought. The young engineer shook his head.
"No sir, I did not. I may have made a mistake somewhere, not knowing the Methuselah, and the explosion may have been caused by the generator. Aternatively, it could have been something completely different that caused the explosion, and I simply didn't catch it." Marcus shrugged. "I didn't have a lot of time to poke around. Mason was wounded by this point." Shaw seemed satisfied with this answer, and changed the subject.
"For formality, Rhyne, did you know Marine McCullagh before this expedition? In passing, at one of the Mother Bases, perhaps?" the officer asked Marcus.
"No sir," Marcus said, "I've never met her before." Shaw seemed satisfied by this as well. He checked his monitor again, reading for awhile, before glancing back to Marcus.
"Where'd you get the oxygen?" he asked. Marcus furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Oxygen, sir?" he asked. Shaw nodded.
"Yes, Engineer, oxygen. What you need to breathe on Harmattan. Oxygen that likely would have been crushed by the same debris that crushed the Ringlefinch you piloted during the Methuselah expedition. That oxygen. Ring any bells?" he asked. Marcus' brow only furrowed more, before he remembered.
"Oh, McCullagh found that oxygen," Marcus said. The room was silent. The young engineer instantly knew what Shaw had done. Clever, Marcus thought. Shaw had made him uncomfortable with thinly veiled accusations, forcing Marcus to go on the defensive, where any tidbit of information could exhonerate him. In doing so, Marcus had revealed something that a pre-formed bias would have hidden: McCullagh retrieved the oxygen. Marcus had completely forgotten about that small detail. Shaw nodded slowly.
"Makes sense. She knew the tank better than you all did, and she would know where the spare oxygen would be. Did someone accompany her?" Shaw asked. Marcus shook his head.
"No sir, she went by herself," the young engineer replied. Whereas before he felt uncomfortably hot, now he felt like he was bathed in ice. He felt McCullagh's eyes bore holes in the back of his skull. He dared not turn around to look at her. I don't technically want to incriminate her, Marcus thought, but if she did something wrong, they deserve to know about it. Shaw turned back to his monitor and began typing.
"How long was she gone for, Engineer?" the older man asked. Marcus fidgeted.
"Around twenty, twenty-five minutes, I think," said the young engineer. Shaw continued to type.
"Any other small details you think would help this investigation?" Shaw asked him. Marcus shook his head.
"No sir, though if I remember something, I'll be sure to inform you." Shaw glanced at Marcus.
"Oh, I bet you will, Rhyne," said Shaw. "Tell me, Engineer, theoretically speaking, if Marine McCullagh slipped away to arm a nuclear self-destruct located aboard the Methuselah, why do you think she would want to destroy the Methuselah? If you didn't know, if the Methuselah required scuttling, we likely would have done so using the primary cannon, rather than use any nuclear weapon located aboard the Methuselah." Shaw turned to look at Marcus again. The young engineer sat quietly, thinking of a good response. After a few short moments, he came up with an answer.
"To hide something," Marcus said quietly. Shaw nodded slowly, before going back to his terminal.
"You may go back to your duties, Engineer Rhyne. Tell Ghi to come in when you leave." Marcus nodded, and stood up with semi-shaky knees. His feet felt like lead. As he went to the door, he heard Shaw call out to him. "Have a good one," he said. Marcus mumbled a response, and exited the brig, telling Ghi he was expected inside. The marine nodded, and went in, closing the door behind him.
Marcus shakily walked towards the hold, where he could continue his work. But his mind was awash with questions that burned him. What was McCullagh trying to hide? he wondered. Penske's warning not to sniff around or do anything but his job echoed between his ears. He decided that for now, he would listen to her advice, and returned to the hold to "do his fucking job."