Mission: Mistletoe

by Gemma Brocato

  Offices and storerooms neatly lined the perimeter of the lab. Two people occupied the fishbowl office with the largest windows. From her position, she determined they were arguing. One had to be the Chief Science Officer, Dr. Udon Truser. Both were dressed in the sani-suits required to minimize contamination in the lab, but their tension was palpable through the bulky material. She scanned the rest of the room, taking in the various workers scattered at different workstations. Everyone’s attention focused on the argument, not on their work.

  Lab politics was the most likely source of the clash. Rhayne had experienced her share of spats with fellow researchers, but she strove to fly under the radar most of the time. She believed conducting a thorough investigation to find answers capable of saving lives was a better use of her time. Even in the deepest part of space, some things never changed. Scientists still got their lab coats in a twist over territory, project management, and most importantly, academic credit and accolades.

  Rhayne grimaced and turned to find her name etched over one of the chrome and alu-steel cubbyholes. She pressed the ID mechanism with the pad of her thumb and the door slid on nearly silent hydraulics to reveal a clean suit. After putting her satchel on the lower shelf, she stripped off the science uniform she and every other visitor received when they’d off-loaded to Kronos. The color varied by the individual’s assigned department. Science personnel wore kelly green, a color Rhayne found delightful. It made the auburn of her hair seem brighter. The unitard she wore under her lab attire was the same color, making her skin glow. Thank heavens she wasn’t in engineering. Their color was baby poop yellow—no one looked good in that shade. White had been reserved for personnel in positions of authority.

  Pressing the control that adorned the sleeve of her suit, the protective covering sealed shut. Pressurized air filled the suit’s built-in channels. Once fully inflated, the self-contained ventilation fans activated. Rhayne fastened the utility belt around her waist then double-checked the functionality of the life sign monitor affixed to it by a clip. Stooping, she picked up the satchel that contained her important research notes. She pressed her palm against the lock release, opening the portal. The failsafe monitor designed to regulate climate conditions in all sani-suits automatically clicked on with a soft whirring sound as she entered the clean space.

  The portal whooshed closed behind her. Overhead, light glowed red for ten seconds as Rhayne and her briefcase waited for the contaminant-destroying UV cycle to complete. She shifted her jaw from side to side, popping her ears as containment pumps evacuated air from the room. Once the door to the lab finally slid open, she drew a deep breath then took an eager step into the lab. This would be her home for the next few months.

  The crisp, almost citrusy odor of distilling mistletoe scented the air. It was a pleasant change over the stale, almost medicinal air the space station constantly recycled.

  An administrative employee motioned her over. “Good morning, Madame. I’m TD58. May I ’elp you?”

  Rhayne blinked in surprise as the man identified itself as a tech droid. Unlike most droids, it had a café-au-lait protective exo-shell, making its coloring more natural than the slightly green tinge of synthetic skin. 58 had been assembled with brilliant green oculi where a human’s eyes would have been. It was a startling effect. Its French accent surprised Rhayne. It waited, fingers poised efficiently over the comp screen, ready to enter the visit into the system.

  “I’m Rhayne Drake.”

  “Ah, Dr. Drake. Welcome to Kronos. We ’ave been expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” Rhayne smiled at the droid then mentally rolled her eyes. Tech droids weren’t programmed to respond to facial expressions.

  58 inclined its head slightly. “I’ve viewed your précis and I ’ave to admit I’ve never met a ’uman with photographic recall. It is a trait you’d find in a being with artificial intelligence.”

  Concern skittered through Rhayne. This droid knew more about her than he should. Privacy policies, in place for nearly a millennia, protected lab workers on sensitive projects. In 2150, rebels on Mars stole droids from a weapons development study and mined the data banks for information. The resulting intelligence had then been used to blackmail workers. The secrets they’d divulged had jeopardized a critical project. Since then, droids never had the security clearance necessary to retrieve personal information. Who had violated policy and given this one access to hers?

  The droid continued talking, as if unaware, or uncaring, that she hadn’t responded. “Allow me log your entry, zhen we’ll take care of zee formalities. Dr. Althea Cooper, your research mate, is busy at zee moment, but she will be with you shortly. Please validate your assignment by inserting your badge into zee scanner.”

  Rhayne glanced around the lab hoping to locate Dr. Cooper as she complied with the droid’s direction. When the notifier signaled that the cycle was complete, she secured the card to a clip at her waist next to her life-signs monitor. She followed the tech across the room to a lab station opposite the corner office. Although the occupants of the office had ceased arguing, the tension in their aggressive posture told Rhayne the discussion was far from over. Director Truser’s hands were fisted on his hips. Rhayne recognized his stare for what it was, cold and dismissive. The door shushed open as the woman approached it briskly. Rhayne heard and felt a loud thump when the woman slapped a hand hard against the doorframe as she exited.

  “Et voila! ’ere is Dr. Copper,” the droid said as the woman stepped toward the lab station, muttering under her breath. “I ’ope all is well between you and Dr. Truser.”

  “No, 58, all is not well between Dr. Loser and me. He is more stubborn and obstinate than Griffin.” The woman heaved an explosive sigh and turned a curious glance toward Rhayne. “Sorry, you’ve caught me at a bad time. What treat have you brought me today, 58?”

  “Meet Dr. Drake. She es zee newest member of your lab team. Dr. Drake, I’m pleased to introduce Dr. Althea Cooper.”

  Rhayne extended her hand in greeting. “Hello, Dr. Cooper. I’m quite excited to have this opportunity to work with you…um, for you. Your last research study on chimerism was cutting edge. It’s an honor to join your team. I can’t wait to start contributing.” Sheesh, could I sound any girlier?

  Dr. Cooper shrugged her white lab sani-suit into a more comfortable position, pulled her long salt and pepper braid over her shoulder, and toyed with the end. “Call me Althea. I’ve received your research notes and lab reports. Believe me, you’ve already contributed. Welcome to the team.”

  “Bon. If you ’ave no further need of me, I’ll get back to zee desk,” 58 chirped.

  “Wait,” Althea said. “Would you grab me a coffee, 58? You know how I like it, and do not skimp on the extra ionization. Caffeine alone won’t do the trick today.”

  “I never skimp on your beverages, Dr. Cooper,” 58 responded in an affronted tone. “Even though you require constant reminders about ’ow bad ionization is for coffee. Dr. Drake, might I bring you something? Coffee, tea?”

  “Any chance you can get me a cup of JanusTea?”

  “Excellent choice. The pro-polyphenols in one cup will perk up even zee most sluggish individual.” 58 threw a pointed glance at Althea, who just frowned.

  “Someone should have erased its nutria-chip when they upgraded it to lab droid.” She lifted her shoulder, as though shrugging away an unhappy thought. Gesturing to a nearby lab terminus, she said, “Dr. Drake, this is your station. Your office is the third one down. I’m next door to you, and directly across from you is Dr. Truser, lab commander supreme.”

  Sarcasm, coated in ice, dripped from Althea’s words. Definitely bad blood between these two. Trepidation buzzed like a claxon through Rhayne, intensifying her wish to avoid lab politics.

  Althea pointed toward a nearby office. “Let’s get you settled in. After you familiarize yourself with the toys you’ll be working with, we’ll get started.”

  Rhayne nodded and followed Althea past shining b
lack lab tables, cellular scanners, and high tech workstations toward the office. Skirting around the desk, she dropped her briefcase on the chair and glanced toward the lab read-reports and disk logs neatly lining the shelves of one wall. Thoughtfully scanning the titles, her hands twitched. Titan, she was eager to get started. So much useful information, I should dig right in and start. I know there’s a cure here. I will find it!

  Althea busied herself tidying a stack of docu-nimbis left by the last occupant. “I guess apologies are in order for my earlier outburst,” she said. “I shouldn’t call Dr. Truser arrogant.”

  “Why not? I find most lab directors take themselves far too seriously. So arrogant is actually the correct adjective.” Oh, Zeus, had she really said that?

  Rich, resonant laughter rippled out of Althea’s mouth. “I’m going to like you, Dr. Drake. I’m going to like you a lot. What’s your story?”

  “Um…I was top of my class at Science Universal Academy, and I’ve worked in genetic research for the last ten years, most recently at—”

  Althea interrupted. “Yes, I’ve seen your resume. What I mean is…why did you want to come all the way to the ass-end of the system to work on the Mistletoe Project?”

  Rhayne shifted uncomfortably and turned her back on Althea. She hadn’t verbalized the true reason behind her desire to work on this project to any of the interviewers. It was so intensely personal, Rhayne was afraid the other lab personnel would question her logical, empirical nature. Her entire contribution would be open to the most intense scrutiny. But she owed this woman, her new lab partner, the truth. Knowing this moment would arrive didn’t make it any easier.

  Rhayne took a deep breath and uttered words that still choked, even three years later. “My reasons are mostly selfish. My dad had the p53 genotype and developed neoplastic disease. His cells aged prematurely until they just gave out. He died of the cancer before a cure could be found.” Rhayne took a shaky breath before she continued. “From what I’ve read of the Mistletoe Project, his death was preventable. If research into the regenerative properties of a universally common parasite had been done a hundred years ago when it was first proposed, he might still be alive. I’m intrigued by the research I’ve read so far, and I know I can add valuable insight in developing the serum.”

  “Well, I think personal reasons are valid. I’m sorry about your dad, Rhayne.”

  Rhayne nodded her acknowledgement and shrugged off the unhappiness that had bloomed while confessing the truth. “So the faster I get to work, the sooner I might save someone else’s dad, or mom, or child.”

  58 interrupted when it walked through the door with their beverages. It handed one cup to Althea and deposited the other on the desk. Althea sniffed her cup suspiciously as the droid spun on its robotic heel to exit.

  “Wait. Did you ionize this?”

  “Dr. Cooper, I’m a droid. My programming does not include free will. You told me to ionize it, and I did. I might express zee nutrition information stored in my intel-core, but your directions weren’t optional. I obey your commands.”

  “Sorry. You’re as opinionated as the rest of the team. I forget you’re a droid sometimes.”

  “You think of me as part of zee team?” An expression that could pass for a smile broke out on the droid’s face. If she hadn’t known it was a programmed response, Rhayne would have mistaken it for pleasure.

  “Yes, 58. You are part of the team. We couldn’t function without you.” Althea said simply.

  “Just so.” A bob of its humanoid head in their direction and the droid exited.

  “It used to be a dietary droid until someone boosted its intel capacity. Even though I wish otherwise, it comes in handy occasionally. It makes a seriously delicious Idoorian stew.” Althea gestured toward Rhayne’s lab terminus. “Ready to get to work?”

  * * * *

  Hours later, Althea approached Rhayne’s workstation. Stacks of nimbis document files and lab notes neatly lined the right side of the table. As Rhayne glanced up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the office window directly across from her terminus. Her cinnamon-colored hair glowed in the light projecting a 3-D lab report on the green screen of the holo-imager. Shadows shifted across the surface as Rhayne’s fingers flew on the touchnet panel, rapidly moving from one set of records to the next. She’d made progress in getting through the previous occupant’s journals, but she knew she hadn’t gotten far enough.

  Althea rapped her knuckles on the hard basalt surface of the terminus. “Nobody loves an overachiever. The lab is closing for the day.”

  Rhayne’s jaw sagged. “What?”

  “You can wipe that panicked expression off your face. It’s quitting time.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize it was so late. I have some reviews to finish. I’ll just take the notes back to my quarters.” Rhayne reached for a stack of docu-nimbis, eager to continue working.

  Althea smiled as she shook her head. “Sorry, Dr. Truser doesn’t allow any documentation out of the lab. And no, you can’t stay to work late. He insists on being last man out. He has control issues.”

  “I can’t leave. I’m not up to speed yet.”

  “Shocking. The end of your first day and you’re not completely familiar with the work,” Althea teased. “The company will certainly be deducting remedial credits from your pay packet.”

  “Can I access the files and protocol from my personal system off site?”

  “Ah sweetie, I feel your pain. But nope. Also the director’s orders. No unauthorized access after hours. All work is to be done in-lab and under his watchful eye. Just last week everyone had to vacate the lab when Truser left early for a meeting.” She chuckled as Rhayne gasped. “It’s good that you’re a firecracker. We need science personnel like you. The work will be here tomorrow. That’s called job security.”

  “Holy Titan, it’s not like I haven’t run my own labs. I’m not a year-one researcher.”

  “Don’t feel bad. It’s not about you. It’s Loser Truser’s issue. I think he’s hiding something. Or maybe just compensating.” Althea inclined her head toward Dr. Truser, who scowled at the pair of them as he approached. She whispered conspiratorially under her breath to Rhayne, “Prepare yourself. You’re about to meet greatness.”

  As Rhayne saved and closed the file on her imager, she watched the man saunter toward them. Even his walk was arrogant. He was one of those men whose age was impossible to guess. He could be in his forties or his sixties. His baby smooth face and scalp offered no clues, and thanks to Retrino-A implants, which delivered a continuous supply of regenerative serum, a person could hide his or her true age indefinitely. One of the side effects of the drug was that skin texture resembled synthesized plastic. Rhayne wondered if Truser had a true portrait of himself reflecting the harshness of time and elements. Like the ancient Earth fable her father used to read to her about a man who’d made a deal with the devil.

  Now, she was just being fanciful. No one believed in demons in this century. As Dr. Truser drew even with the pair of them and extended his hand, she suppressed a shudder. The light from the blank holo-imager bathed his sharp features with a sickly green cast.

  “Dr. Drake, I’m sorry I haven’t been over to introduce myself. I was managing a bit of trouble with one of the other techs. I hope you’re settling in all right.” His voice was smooth, cultured, and more than a little condescending. The man directed a challenging scowl at Althea. “I’m sure Dr. Cooper has provided you everything you need.”

  Rhayne pulled her hand from the director’s clammy grasp, surreptitiously wiping the excess dampness on her lab suit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Truser. Dr. Cooper has been most accommodating.”

  “Ah, good. Then she’s explained about my policy on hours?”

  “Just now. Although I’d like to request an exception and be allowed to stay this evening.”

  “Impossible.” His tone morphed from condescending to terse.

  “I’d really like to get up to speed o
n the project. I feel as if I’m operating with one hand locked in a Calisto vise.”

  Dr. Truser shook his head and slapped an obviously phony smile on his face. “No one has access after hours except me. Take the evening off, Dr. Drake. I’m sure Dr. Cooper has told you my rules equal job security.”

  “I don’t like to have unstructured—” Rhayne sputtered to a halt. If she couldn’t work, what would she do with all the free time? “I…I don’t know what to do…”

  Althea sniffed and looked at Rhayne. “Why don’t you get changed and join me? I’m meeting Griffin at Ma’Jut. I’d be happy to share my wisdom over Endorian wine.”

  It should have been awkward. Althea had asked Rhayne out for a drink and didn’t include their boss in the invitation. Rhayne was uncomfortably aware Althea seemed beyond caring what Truser thought. He had to know his second in command had just snubbed him. Rhayne glanced between the two as she reluctantly shut down her workstation comp-sys holo-imager but said nothing in response to the invitation. Dr. Truser scowled again before spinning around and walking away toward his office. Thankfully, he’d remained silent.

  Rhayne tapped her personal code into her station to shut it down for the day. “Who’s Griffin?”

  “My son. He manages the lounges and entertainment sections on Kronos. He returned yesterday on the transport with you. I’m surprised you didn’t meet him.”

  “I didn’t really leave my cabin except to hit the galley. I had work to do.”

  Althea smiled as she spoke. “Well, you’re done for now. Head back to your quarters and dress for a casual evening. No uniform. I’ll pick you up at nineteen-thirty.”

  Rhayne watched the older woman walk away, then set about cleaning up her lab terminus. Hadn’t that been interesting? Decided animosity had flared between Althea and the lab director during the short interchange. Was it professional rivalry or something bigger? While Althea had welcomed Rhayne, Truser had avoided his newest employee all day. That alone made Rhayne support Althea. Bloody Hades! Taking sides already. She didn’t have patience for the time-sucking morass created when politics and personalities created drama.