Excerpt: Lies of Our Fathers (working title)

Prologue

The corridors were dark and cold now, the need for a comfortable temperature and light gone with the human crew. The once so vivid and colourful wallscreens were turned off now, dimmed to conserve energy that was needed elsewhere and there was a layer of frost covering everything. And it had all fallen silent now, where once rooms and corridors had been filled with the noise from both human voices and the internal workings of the life-support system. He stalked the empty corridors, remembering what had happened here, seeing the evidence here and there in places where he had chosen not to clean up the mess, chosen to leave the stains and holes in place as a testament to the future about what had occurred between these walls. But there was still work to do, still souls to tend to and attempt to keep alive and in good health until – and if – rescue got here. And so, he left the battlegrounds, turning his back on the horrors and atrocities that had been carried out here and headed aft, to visit those that might yet live.

On his way back to the Crypt, he passed by the arboretum and walking in among the dying trees, the sunlamps overhead turned off now and the birds lying dead on the frosted green grass. He sat for a few moments in the darkness, on a wooden bench lovingly carved by the Old Man himself in his spare time and just looked out on the landscape. Even when it had been as bright and clear as a summer's day in here, the forest had seemed bigger than it really was. A trick of wall screens, cunningly placed trees and a blue sky overhead had made everyone forget that this was a room that was no larger than an averaged sized ballroom in an old Earth castle. And yet, it was the largest open space on the ship, given over entirely to trees, bushes and a few flowers. But no more. Now the flowers had wilted, the bushes were crumbling and the trees had lost their foliage and would be rotting if not for the sub-zero temperatures. He had waited as long as he could to shut down this space, but the time had come and with him the only one left to enjoy it, he couldn't justify the energy expense.

He got off the bench and followed the path down to the small frozen pond and looked at the pink water lilies preserved under the ice as perfect as the day they had bloomed, long ago now. But they were marred by the other thing frozen in the ice. Deep in the iced-over pond, deeper than he had any right to see, half-hidden by water plants and dead koi, lay a shovel with blood splattered on its blade. He had left it there, just as with the signs elsewhere in the ship, to serve the purpose of witness for those who would come later. He sat watching the pond for long moments, once again remembering what had happened and regretting that he had done nothing to stop it, when he still had the chance. Now, it was too late, much too late. And it was useless to sit here commiserating with himself when there was still important work to be done. He left the pond and the shovel behind, vowing for the umpteenth time that he would never return, that he would leave well enough alone and just concentrate on the task ahead.

As he left the arboretum to go to the Crypt, he couldn't help thinking of the woman who had loved both these places.