by Eric Thomson
Barca shook her head.
“No. We can’t risk our people, and I doubt Dawn Hunter’s expedition netted us much. That means we would need to send the next ones further out, and I’m leery of doing so now that our industrial base looks like its growth might be self-sustaining.”
“Would you order Dawn Hunter’s destruction if her crew is infected, and we can’t find a cure?” Hamm asked.
She raised her hands, palms facing upward, in a gesture of helplessness.
“Do I have a choice?”
“I suppose not.”
“Is Sister Gwenneth aware of this?”
“Yes. I spoke with her before roping in the abbey’s chief healer.”
Hamm cocked an eyebrow. “And what did she say?”
“Trust in the Almighty.”
Sirak rolled his eyes theatrically. “The Void giveth, the Void taketh away, blessed be the Void.”
— 11 —
“Sir.” The bridge sensor tech raised her hand. “I’m picking up a radiation spike at the wormhole terminus.”
Lieutenant Stefan Norum, Savage’s assistant combat systems officer, swiveled the bridge command chair to face the sensor station.
“Unless the wormhole went rogue and connected to another star system, that should be Dawn Hunter.”
“We’ll find out for sure in fifteen minutes tops, sir.”
“Yep.” Norum stroked the screen embedded in the command chair’s arm. “Bridge to the captain.”
A few seconds passed. “Vara here.”
“Officer of the watch, sir. The wormhole terminus radiation levels are spiking. Dawn Hunter should cross the event horizon in about fifteen minutes.”
“Excellent. Thank you. Vara, out.”
Norum turned his eyes back on the starboard secondary display showing the remotely piloted medical probe sifting through the wreckage, looking for a suitable corpse. Though it was a horrible sight, everyone aboard who could do so watched with grim fascination. Piloted from the CIC, the probe carried a small medical lab in its payload compartment instead of the usual sensor package. A medical droid who would manipulate the selected corpse and extract the required samples under its operator’s control augmented it.
Ten minutes later, the door to the bridge opened with a sigh. Norum glanced over his shoulder and immediately sprang to his feet.
“Captain on the bridge.”
He stepped away from the command chair and waited until Vara sat before reporting.
“Radiation levels at the wormhole terminus are still rising. The medical probe found a suitable corpse, and Ivan Rebroff reports they recovered a relatively undamaged computer core.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Vara usually kept out of his people’s way after issuing orders so they could get on with it. So far, he’d been successful in avoiding the CIC, which served as the recovery effort’s operations center. But he felt an overwhelming need to speak with Alwin Kuusisten the moment Dawn Hunter crossed the wormhole terminus’ event horizon. That last glimpse of the infected man frothing at the mouth just before his ship blew apart was haunting Vara’s every waking moment.
“Radiation surge leveling off, Captain,” the sensor tech reported shortly thereafter. “And here she is.”
A third blue icon appeared inside the bridge’s tactical projection, joining those representing Savage and Ivan Rebroff.
“Signals, open a link with Dawn Hunter.”
Moments later, Lieutenant Commander Kuusisten’s square face appeared on the primary display.
“Dawn Hunter reporting to the Outer Picket, sir.”
“Welcome home, Alwin. And welcome to Outer Picket.”
“Sir?” A puzzled expression creased Kuusisten’s forehead.
“The last twenty-four hours were just a tad strange. We need to talk.”
“Those bogies?”
“Yes. I would like this to be a private conversation on your end, so you can decide how you’ll handle things. My crew already knows everything.”
“Give me a moment, sir. I’ll shift to my day cabin.”
“Go.”
Kuusisten’s face vanished as Dawn Hunter paused the link, but less than a minute passed before it reappeared, this time with a different background.
“Ready, sir.”
Vara recounted everything in detail, adding Defense Secretary DeCarde’s suspicion the pathogen might come from an old imperial bioweapon lab. Then he let Kuusisten watch the recording he’d sent back to HQ. As Vara spoke, he saw Kuusisten’s face lose its usual ruddy glow.
“The Lyonesse Branch of the wormhole network is officially shut. Now that you’ve arrived, no one else gets in, and no one leaves. The moment I reported this, General Barca issued the order to consider any vessel approaching Lyonesse either via this wormhole or through interstellar space as a plague ship that should be at the very least stopped and quarantined, Dawn Hunter included. You’re not going any further until we figure out what happened and make sure no one in Dawn Hunter is affected. It means your ship is now part of Outer Picket and under my command.”
“Yes, sir. Understood. But so that you know, we’re healthy here.”
“Perhaps, but since we’re in the dark so far, you are quarantined. Nothing leaves Dawn Hunter. Not even a shuttle. If you need supplies, we’ll send containers over, and we won’t ask you to return the empties, just as we won’t recover the probes currently sifting through the wreckage.”
When Vara noticed the obvious worry reflected in Kuusisten’s eyes, he said, “Spit it out, man. Something’s eating at you.”
“We rescued a stranded spacer on Yotai. I sent down a landing party, which included two of my Void Sisters. What if they unwittingly picked this virus?”
Vara’s right eyebrow crept up. “Talk to me, Alwin.”
Kuusisten recounted the events in the Yotai system.
“Damn.” Vara, wearing a grim expression, shook his head. “We’re hoping those bogies were the first to come out of the badlands with the disease, but there’s no telling whether others might have contaminated former imperial worlds in the sector, such as Yotai. And since we don’t know what it is, let alone how it’s transmitted...”
Kuusisten’s shoulders twitched in a helpless shrug.
“My medical officers will run physical exams of the crew and our passenger while we wait for the results of your investigation, just in case. As they say, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That should be the Navy’s unofficial motto if you ask me.”
“Never take counsel from your fears, Alwin. The odds are in your favor. If this Stearn Roget was infected on Yotai, chances are good the disease would have manifested in some way by now, considering the weakened state he was in when you found him.”
“True.” Kuusisten exhaled loudly. “What a mess. Can you imagine if a fatal sickness spreads across the galaxy with the help of rabid reivers? We might be the last humans left in a few years.”
“I’m trying hard not to think of it.”
“Well, if there was nothing else for the moment, I’ll convene my department heads and pass on the joyful news.”
“After which, your counselor and medical officers should speak to mine and Ivan Rebroff’s.”
“Absolutely. With your permission, sir?”
“Go. Savage, out.”
**
“This bizarre-looking thing,” Sister Laerta, Savage’s chief medical officer, pointed at the conference room’s main display, “is our culprit. A virus unlike any other ever seen, but despite its disturbingly demonic appearance, the pathogen is one that thrives in organisms whose ancestors evolved on Earth. That means it’s almost certainly not of alien origin, nor, I suspect, is it of natural origin.”
Two tense days had passed since Dawn Hunter’s arrival and the medical probe’s recovery of a barbarian corpse suitable for analysis.
Vara shook his head in disgust. “Wonderful. So, Secretary DeCarde could be right. It might come from an imperial biowe
apon lab looted by barbarians.”
“Perhaps. Or this pathogen is natural but has mutated beyond recognition and became something that bears no resemblance to known viruses. We won’t be able to tell where it comes from and what it does without further in-depth study. I focused on getting a clear identification so we can search for its presence in Dawn Hunter. Besides, we neither have infectious disease specialists nor the proper equipment. Perhaps the Navy could set up a remotely operated lab here — say one module for the lab itself and one unconnected module for researchers — and work with the specimens we’ve already extracted. If this is spreading throughout human space, we will face it again.”
“What about an antiviral?” Lieutenant Commander Kuusisten, or rather his hologram, asked.
Laerta gave him a rueful glance. “Sorry. I’m a generalist, so that would be well beyond my competence. But my findings are already in the hands of the finest specialists back on Lyonesse. And now that we know what to look for, Sister Cory can test whether your crew picked up a nasty little hitchhiker. She’ll test your environmental filters as well. If the pathogen is present in the air, it will show up.”
Sister Brienne let out an exasperated sigh. “Why would anyone deliberately develop such a horrible thing?”
“Why do humans insist on periodically slaughtering each other in wars of unimaginable destructiveness?” Vara raised his hands, palms up. “Imagine if our major wars hadn’t happened. There would be enough humans to colonize half the galaxy by now.”
“And do so in peace, one would hope.” Laerta looked around the table at Savage’s department heads. “I’m open to questions, but beyond identifying the virus, I can’t tell you much more about it.”
When no one spoke up, Vara tapped the tabletop with his extended fingers.
“Clearing Dawn Hunter is the immediate priority. She’s been away for the better part of a year, and her people need Lyonesse’s pure air in their lungs again. HQ will rule on anything beyond that, but I’ll suggest the Navy set up a fully equipped lab that can study what, for lack of a better term, we’ll call the Unidentified Virus for now. Any last-minute comments or questions?”
He gave those present, either in person or via hologram, a full minute to respond. No one did.
“Since there’s nothing more to discuss at the moment, thank you. Commander Kuusisten, I look forward to your report once Sister Cory and her staff run the tests.”
“Sir.”
“Dismissed.”
The holograms of Ivan Rebroff and Dawn Hunter’s captains vanished as the department heads stood. Sister Brienne gave Sister Laerta a barely perceptible sign, and both lingered until only they and Vara remained in the conference room.
He looked expectantly from one to the other. “Yes?”
“Even if Cory finds no trace of the pathogen in Dawn Hunter’s crew or environmental filters when she runs her analysis,” Sister Laerta said, “I’m sure Lyonesse will impose a lengthy quarantine once the specialists back home study my findings. I didn’t raise the matter in front of Captain Kuusisten since I’m not qualified to make recommendations, let alone decisions. But we don’t know how well this virus can hide, nor what its incubation time is. Dawn Hunter could still be a plague ship even if her last contact with a planetary atmosphere was two weeks ago.”
“Understood. We’ll wait until the experts on Lyonesse pronounce judgment before we let Dawn Hunter leave Outer Picket. Until then, she’s legally under my command. Captain Kuusisten won’t act without my permission. He’s a solid officer. One of the best.”
“Our survival as the last bastion of advanced humanity, or at least one of the last bastions, may depend on it.”
A skeptical expression crossed Vara’s face. “I’m not sure it’s quite so dramatic, Sister.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?”
— 12 —
“Gwenneth. Welcome!” Jonas Morane beamed at her as he swept his arm toward the open door behind him when the head of the Order emerged from her aircar carrying a small valise.
She returned his affectionate smile with one of her own.
“Jonas. You look as hale and hearty as ever. I didn’t notice your guard detail on the way in.”
“They noticed you and let me know the moment you crossed the perimeter. We changed protocols, so Emma and I could enjoy more privacy without affecting our security.” He nodded at the woods beyond the estate’s imitation forged iron fence. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but there’s a guardhouse hidden among the trees, one undetectable unless you stumble over it. From there, my security team can detect any intrusion and deal with it.”
Gwenneth climbed the broad stone steps and followed Morane into the modest two-story house. Sitting on a rise overlooking one of the Middle Sea’s many secluded inlets, the home built by Lyonesse’s second president and his partner, Emma Reyes, was clad in pinkish-gray granite and topped by a dark green metal roof. It could withstand the worst Lyonesse’s weather might throw at it during the stormy season while still allowing for a quiet, genteel life in a subtropical environment. Morane and Reyes had official quarters in a wing of Government House but rarely used them.
The inlet, renamed Vanquish Bay in honor of Morane’s former command, was a mere fifty kilometers southwest of Lannion. Less than an hour by land and only fifteen minutes in an aircar — an easy commute for both the republic’s president and his now-retired partner.
“You arrived just in time.” Emma Reyes, a lithe woman whose silver-tinged red hair and delicate features belied a long life on Lyonesse and other imperial worlds, smiled warmly when they entered the plant-filled solarium. She gestured at the broad expanse of south-facing windows made from transparent aluminum. Menacing clouds were piling up over the open sea at an alarming rate. “I figure it’ll be one heck of a soaking, and I so love sitting out a monsoon downpour in here. Watching all that water cascade off the roof will be fun. Are you staying overnight for a change?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course, we don’t mind. You’re almost part of the family. Are your Brethren becoming tiresome again?”
“A few of them.” Gwenneth gave Morane a nod of thanks when he took her bag.
“It’ll be in your usual room. Tea?” He waited for both women to reply before leaving the solarium.
Reyes gestured at well-padded chairs facing the windows.
“Shall we sit and watch the storm?”
“As opposed to discussing the other sort of storm closing on us?” Gwenneth asked with a mischievous smile.
“I’m sure Jonas will guide the conversation in that direction. He was getting a tad bored with his role as president now that the administration is working like a finely-tuned engine. But recent developments perked him up again.”
“The unknown pathogen.”
“It has everyone in the upper echelons of government and the Defense Force spooked. Or to be more precise, the idea that hordes of rabid barbarians infected with a deadly disease are heading for Lyonesse because they heard we’re still an advanced society utterly terrifies them. Did Government House warn you that Dawn Hunter would stay with Outer Picket until we’re sure no one aboard is a carrier?”
Gwenneth nodded.
“A confidential call from Brigid DeCarde. They’re keeping the news closely held. It might be months before Dawn Hunter receives permission to come home.”
“That’s what she discussed with Jonas.”
“Who discussed what with me?” Morane, carrying a tea tray, asked as he came through the kitchen door. He placed it on the low table by the chairs and sat across from both women, his back to the increasingly gloomy sky.
“Brigid, concerning Dawn Hunter.”
“There’s no reason she absolutely must come home right away. She’s a sound ship, with a crew used to long periods of inactivity in deep space, and she still carries plenty of supplies. If they hadn’t landed a party on Yotai, I wouldn’t be worried, but Yotai is well within range for rovi
ng barbarian wolf packs like the one Ossian Vara destroyed.” When he saw the question on Gwenneth’s face, Morane said, “He commands the cruiser Savage, which is currently Outer Picket’s lead ship. A solid officer. One of Reginus Bryner’s men back in the day.”
An ironic smile lit up Reyes’ face. “See what I mean?”
As Morane frowned at her, a distant rumble of thunder reached their ears, and they turned their eyes on a now black horizon.
“I understand the storms lashing Isolde’s northern coast this time of year,” Reyes waved toward the window as if indicating the southern continent, whose shores lay over a thousand kilometers away, “are much worse than anything we see here.”
“And that is why the first humans who colonized Lyonesse settled here rather than there.” Morane offered Gwenneth a steaming cup while Reyes helped herself, then he picked up the third and settled back, studying the abbess over the rim of his mug. “Since we’re caught up on the plague ship scare, how are you doing, Gwenneth? Do I see a hint of fatigue in your eyes?”
She sighed softly.
“Some days, many days, in fact, I wish I could become the Void’s equivalent of an elder stateswoman and spend the rest of my years as a simple sister. But so long as I am sound of mind and body and the Brethren keep electing me, I’m bound by the Rule and must serve as abbess.”
“What’s driving you to distraction these days?” Reyes asked after glancing at her partner.
Gwenneth took a sip of tea before replying in a thoughtful tone. “Internal politics, if you can believe it.”
“Surely you deal with those frequently. No organization is immune, not even a monastic order.”
“The latest bit isn’t quite as simple.” She paused when thunder, this time louder, punctuated her rueful words. “A growing faction among the Brethren believe we’re likely the last functioning Void abbey in existence and believe I should declare us the motherhouse. The new Lindisfarne, if you will. Everyone knows about the new and rather large Void Orb now adorning the abbey’s quadrangle, one which, not coincidentally, is perfectly sized for a motherhouse. The group calling themselves the Lindisfarne Brethren erected it.”