This is why you don’t start fights with enemies you know nothing about, he thought for the umpteenth time. “Well, once we have an idea—”
An outburst from his com brought him up short. Husher unholstered it to find his Tactical officer looking up at him. “What is it, LT?”
“We have a situation in the brig.”
The brig? Oh, no.
“Did he get out?” Husher turned away from Gamble without comment and began speed-walking in the direction of the brig.
Tremaine looked bewildered for a moment, then relieved. “No sir, nothing like that.”
“What, then?”
“It’s Fesky, sir. She got into his cell.”
Husher’s knuckles whitened around the communicator. “On my way,” he said, leaving the quarantine zone behind him.
Chapter 22
Quarantine Zone
Engineering Plant, UHC Relentless
Inside the quarantine zone, Logistics Specialist First Class Zed Heller was in love.
Zed had never really been in love before, but he was pretty sure this was how it worked. At least, that was how it worked in the vids he loved to watch, the old Earth ones that he sneaked down to the rec deck early in the morning to watch by himself, after the rest of the team were in bed, sleeping off hangovers.
Zed was a romantic. His mother had told him so. His sister had told him so. And really, Zed wasn’t arguing. He just needed someone to shower all his affections on.
And now he had her.
Claire Mulloy was everything that Zed wasn’t. She was tough and smart and uncompromising. She outranked Zed, but he wasn’t in her direct chain of command, so their jobs didn’t have to get in the way. She was just about the sexiest woman he’d ever met in his life.
And she wanted to be with Zed. He was over the shock of that by now. He’d made the first move, somehow managing to trick her into a date that wasn’t really a date, but once they got there it was a date, and after the night that followed it was one-hundred-percent-for-sure a date.
He glanced at his com, at the last message he’d gotten from her. He goggled at the words ‘sexy beast’ like he’d never seen words before. He almost tripped over a toolbox some engineer had left lying around, but he looked up just in time, and managed to conceal his stumble—or so he thought.
“Heller, you still trying to figure out how to walk?” snapped Cornell, laughing like this was actually funny and egged on by his little cabal of fellow assholes, Xander and Ellis. How Cornell had come to be Zed’s supervisor, he could never know.
That wasn’t true. Zed did know. Cornell was a weasel and a kiss-ass, and he knew all the right people to get himself put in charge of a project like this.
Cornell wasn’t just an asshole. He was a professional asshole. He had a certificate somewhere that proved it. Probably stuffed up his ass.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Zed shot back weakly. He never won these little games, even when his brain wasn’t mush, except he didn’t like to let Cornell get in free shots.
Oh, what the hell. Let Cornell be an ass. Zed was in love!
This time, he did trip, landing face-first on the deck as his detail tablet flew through the air.
He cursed under his breath. The fact that the quarantine team was using multiple specimen collection trays made the floor a nightmare to traverse. Then again, Zed was a Logistics officer in a radiation suit in a heavy containment scenario, so really, he should probably watch where the hell he was walking.
Screw it. He was in love. Though the hysterical laughter from Cornell and his hyena friends did put a little dent in his joy, if he was being honest.
He scrambled to his feet and gave Cornell the bird, then checked his suit’s principal readout and saw green across the board. Thank God for that. The last thing he needed was to break his suit and end up having to stay here with the sad-sack marines. Most of them looked like they’d rather eat the business end of their weapons rather than sit around twiddling their thumbs for another minute.
Several of the marines must have seen Zed do his faceplant, but if any of them noticed, they didn’t say anything. Nice to see someone was professional.
“I’m off,” Zed said as he approached the overseer at the exit lock. The meathead looked nonthreatening enough, but he had a weapon on his belt, and the marine that Zed could see on the other side of the door looked competent enough. Zed wondered why a simple decontamination needed all this.
Sure, it was alien goop. Big deal. It wasn’t the first time Zed had been around something like that. Once they had it in the lab and could isolate it, the secrets would come out. Usually boring and predictable secrets, but Zed was trying to be optimistic. Love will do that to a man. Damn, he was in a good mood.
The guy glanced down at Zed’s chest, scanning for the ID number, then checked his roster. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he nodded and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re clear, doc,” he said in a bored voice that barely concealed a yawn. “Have a good day.”
Zed didn’t bother to correct him. He wasn’t a doc. He was a PhD candidate. But to the overgrown ape with the big gun, he might as well be.
He stepped into the decontamination room and began to unzip his suit.
Twenty minutes later, Zed stepped out, finally free of the plastic bubble he’d spent the last four hours in. He was walking toward the head when a couple drops of water splattered down on his shoulder, splashing his neck and face. Zed wiped it away as he looked up, expecting to see a leaking compressor. But he couldn’t see anything except the edge of the containment airlock, and the small overhang that stuck out from the bulkhead.
He looked at his fingers, and felt his eyes widen. It wasn’t water. It was a mucus-like green substance. It had the slightest bit of viscosity to it, but it was thin like water or blood.
He knew instantly that it was the alien specimen. He knew it was acidic. And he’d seen what it had done to those marines—the tiny piles of organic matter that were left after it was done with them.
“Shit!” he yelped, wiping it away in a blind panic. “Shit, shit, shit!”
He ran to the head, then splashed water on his neck and face, washing the goop off. He waited for the burning sensation to start, for the acid to start tearing into him.
But nothing happened.
No pain. No burning. No anything.
He had to tell his supervisor about this, right now. He had to tell Cornell.
The thought made him sick to his stomach. Cornell would rub this in Zed’s face. He could already see him, that fake-serious expression as he told Zed he’d royally screwed up—that he was off the project, and how Cornell was really sorry about it. Then Zed could hear him laughing with his stupid jerk-off circle of friends the moment he was out of sight. And of course, afterward, Zed would have to go sit with those sad-faced marines and twiddle his own thumbs.
And he could just forget about Claire. They’d had one great date and one great night together, but now he’d be in quarantine for God knew how long, and he’d never see her again. He’d die old and broken and—
Stop! He stared at himself in the mirror, droplets still clinging to his face. Stop being a manic idiot like you always are, Zed. Just think!
There was no burning. No effect at all. Whatever the goop was that had killed those marines, this clearly wasn’t the same stuff. It wasn’t acidic. It was just a little bit of residual nothing.
He rubbed his neck and shoulder again. There was nothing there. It wasn’t even red or irritated. A little discolored water had fallen on him and he’d wiped it away. And it was gone now. Nothing to see.
He’d just tell Cornell that he’d spotted it there on the edge of the containment area. If anything, he’d get some begrudging respect from Cornell. He’d even let him take credit for finding it. Go ahead, Cornell, I insist. It’s your project. You found it, great job. Promotion time for you.
And Zed could go on with his life. He could see Claire.
Everyth
ing would be fine.
Everything was fine.
He walked out of the bathroom and back to the contamination lock, to the com unit on the bulkhead. “Hey, Cornell, got something out here you need to check out. I think there’s some substance out here, outside containment. I haven’t been in contact with it or anything, but it needs to be cleaned up using proper protocol.”
He paused, waiting for Cornell to acknowledge his message. He rubbed his brow absentmindedly, then took off his jacket. Zed was always the cold guy that needed a jacket, but for some reason, he was really warm right now. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about the temperature settings in here.
He wiped sweat from his brow again. Wow. It was like a sauna in here, all of a sudden. He was glad to be leaving soon.
“Just be quick about it,” he said. “I have a date.”
Chapter 23
Primary Incarceration Unit
UHC Relentless
Husher entered the brig to find himself staring not at his evil double in the main cell, but at Fesky. The cell’s bulkheads were covered in blood, as was the Winger.
“What the hell happened?”
“We locked her in there,” the guard said. Husher remembered that his name was Damon, and that he had a big family back in the Feverfew system, one of the old systems Husher had visited when he was a young officer. They’d talked about one of the local delicacies that involved stuffing vegetables into the intestines of dead animals. Damon seemed to think it was the best thing humanity had ever discovered. Husher had had other opinions.
“How did this happen?”
“She walked in and said that you gave her permission to see the prisoner.”
“And?”
“And, uh…well, everyone knows that she’s here as your guest. I mean, I didn’t think…” His voice trailed off. “I should have inquired further, sir. It’s my fault, of course, Captain. I just took her at her word. Simple as that, sir.”
“So where is the other…me?” Husher still felt unsure about how to address the situation of having an evil twin. If more from the Progenitor system had survived, maybe this would be a more common problem.
But you took care of that, didn’t you?
He shook the self-doubt from his mind. It was always there, always looking for an opening. His little demon for the rest of his days. Maybe everyone had a version of it, but Husher also knew not everyone’s demon could point to billions of lost souls in another universe.
“We moved him,” Damon said hesitantly, nodding down the brig toward one of the smaller cells farther back.
“Why?”
“After she…”Damon nodded at Fesky, who was balled up in the corner of the cell, where she hadn’t moved since Husher had entered. “After she got in there, she went insane. She started tearing into him, ripping his face to ribbons with her talons. We rushed in and pulled her off him.”
Damon turned over his arm and showed Husher a long healing patch that ran from his armpit to his elbow. “Some of that blood is mine. She was insane. Attacked everything that moved. We didn’t dare try to relocate her. We just jerked you—him—out of there and threw him in one of the smaller cells. Then we shut her in there.” Damon shrugged. “We haven’t even examined her since it happened. I don’t think she’s hurt.”
Husher nodded as Damon finally stopped and took a breath, seemingly spent in the telling of the story. He wondered if the man thought he was going to court-martial him for his actions. He’d let Fesky in there, which was a huge lapse, but he wasn’t wrong to assume that Fesky had his blessing. Husher was the one who’d insisted she come along on the mission, so it was unfair to put this on Damon.
“I’m going in to talk to her,” Husher said. “Open the cell.”
“Sir, she would have killed him if we hadn’t gotten in there. As it is, he isn’t in good shape.”
“I’ll see to him in a second. For now, I want in that cell. Your marines at the doors can come in with me, if they like.”
Damon nodded reluctantly. He really didn’t have a choice in the matter, if Husher was being honest, but the brig was Damon’s responsibility right now, and Husher didn’t want to step on the man. He’d been through enough because of Husher already.
“OK. I want two marines in there with you and two outside. The marines go in first.”
“Of course.”
As the marines entered the cell, Fesky didn’t stir. Husher walked in behind them and headed straight for her. “Fesky. It’s me.”
At the sound of his voice, she leapt into a fighting stance with lightning speed. The marines flanking Husher brought their weapons to bear.
“It’s me,” Husher repeated firmly. “The captain. Your friend. I’m not the monster.”
“I can’t tell.” She narrowed her eyes. “I can’t tell.” Her voice was faltering and broken.
“It’s me,” Husher said a third time, keeping his voice low and soothing. “Just me.”
She finally came out of her fighting stance. “Maybe it is. But maybe it’s another one of his tricks. Who can say?”
“Since you apparently ripped him to shreds, allow me to deploy some logic. We don’t have the kind of magical technology to have fixed that in the few minutes since it happened, so you can be pretty sure I’m not the same person you just did that to. OK?”
Fesky nodded. “OK, yeah. That makes sense.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Why not? You didn’t tell me he was here. So when I found out, I decided to see for myself. And then, when I saw him, I just…I don’t know what happened. It just happened.”
“How did you find out about his presence?”
“People talk.”
“Not about this. I made sure nobody knew.”
“You weren’t sure enough.”
Husher sighed. “I thought bringing you along would help you. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Who said I needed help, Husher?”
He shook his head. “The doctor was right.”
“You’ve talked to the doctor, then? Did my evaluation meet his approval?”
Of course not. And no wonder. Look at what just happened. But Husher bit his tongue on that score. “He has a new therapeutic approach,” he said instead, channeling Guzman’s peculiar description. “But it would require that I be present during the sessions.”
“Group therapy sessions?” Fesky squawked. “I’ll play along on the condition that you have to play along, too.”
God, she did know him. She knew he’d do anything he could to avoid Guzman’s psychological scrutiny. Still, if it would help her, he was willing.
“It’s a date, then.”
Fesky clacked her beak as Husher turned and marched out of the cell. The door slammed behind him.
He turned. “For now, I think you’re going to have to stay here. I’ll have you confined to your quarters later today, with marines posted outside the hatch.”
“I’m sorry, Husher.” Fesky’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper, and she did sound contrite.
“So am I,” he said.
He motioned for the marines to follow him as he walked down the short corridor to the handful of smaller cells. He found his doppelgänger in the last one on the left.
“You look like shit,” Husher said, and he meant it. The man’s face was bloody and bloated. He had two heal-patches on his head and more on his neck and both shoulders. There was a tear in his shirt that ran all the way to his belly, the fabric red on both sides.
It looked like he’d been through a shredding machine.
In spite of it all, his double wore a mischievous grin. “She was so happy to see me. It’s so nice to renew old acquaintances, don’t you think?”
Husher shook his head. “If I didn’t think I might need you here—”
“But you do need me.” The other Husher squinted at him. “I can see it. You’ve seen something out there.”
“Something, yes. Whether it has anything to do with the Progenitors a
nd their AIs, I’m not sure.”
“But I am sure, Husher. I can feel it.”
“If it is a Progenitor creation, I’m going to need more than just hunches.”
His twin sat back, a smile forming on his bloody, cracked lips.
“What the hell are you smiling about?”
The man shook his head, still grinning. “I have a good feeling about this universe.”
Chapter 24
Tactical War Room
UHC Relentless
“Pocket universe.”
“A what?” Husher asked his sensor operator.
Winterton shifted in one of the tactical room’s uncomfortable chairs. With the second watch holding down the CIC while they were in warp, Husher and the rest of the department heads had seized the moment to figure out exactly what they knew. They all needed sleep, but none of them were getting it anyway, so it made sense to put their minds together instead.
“That’s how I would describe it, sir.”
“Just because the stars seem close together?”
Husher had asked his sensor operator to help make sense of this new universe they found themselves in. In working with Fontaine and Moens to plot a course for the snap warp jump, he’d collated more data about this dimension for analysis.
“There’s a reason the stars are so close together here,” Fontaine put in. “It seems this galaxy is unusually dense because the universe is unusually dense.”
Moens nodded. “This is all there is.”
“What do you mean, ‘all there is?’” Husher asked.
“There’s no universe here, nothing beyond the edges of the galaxy. Or, what we thought was a galaxy. Turns out it comprises the entire dimension. That’s why we were able to coordinate the jump so quickly.”
“I thought the density of the stars was the reason for that.” Shota sounded irritated. For the young commander, scientific discussions didn’t hold a candle to tactical ones. Frankly, they didn’t rank terribly high for Husher either, but since they were stuck in this dimension, understanding it would be critical.
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