Daylight broke around the ship in a dazzling pastel blue, towering heads of cumulus spreading outward in every direction. Ghostrider sliced through the clouds, riding a long trail of vapor that traced her path across the sky. Nathan had to shield his eyes against the blunt sunshine that streamed through the canopy, his other hand working the stick to test out the control surfaces. The foils responded, putting Ghostrider into a lazy turn. Nathan watched the compass until it pointed dead east, where he picked up a Port Authority landing beacon.
“Thank God,” he whispered.
Nathan took the ship down past ten thousand meters, on a glide slope toward Incorporated airspace. As the clouds parted, he got his first glimpse of the coast—the skyline of Manhattan just off to the northeast, its spires reaching into the heavens. Harsh light glinted off the stratotowers in ominous welcome, but to Nathan there could be no more beautiful sight. He banked over to an intercept course, lining up with the beacon and heading in.
Nathan made sure that Ghostrider’s IFF transponder was broadcasting, then opened up a priority channel. “To anyone listening,” he said, “this is Lieutenant Commander Nathan Straka, CSD vessel Almacantar, flight designation Ghostrider. I am inbound heavy and request immediate assistance. Please respond.”
The speaker piped up, a stern voice on the other end.
“Ghostrider, this is Manhattan free flight. We have you at the outer marker. Be advised that you are entering restricted airspace. Vector to zero-one-zero immediately. Do not approach or you will be fired upon.”
Nathan’s relief soured into anger.
“I don’t think you understand, free flight,” he shot back. “I’m declaring an emergency. I need to set down now.”
“We’re aware of your status, Ghostrider. Regardless, you are ordered to vector course zero-one-zero and await escort.”
“And how long is that supposed to take?”
As if answering, a bright flash exploded around Nathan. Pulse beams crossed in front of Ghostrider’s nose, blasting him like antiaircraft fire. The ship cavitated off a concussive wave, dropping over thirty meters before the foils could grab more air. Nathan banked into a clumsy evasive move, just as two interceptors roared past him.
“Shit!”
The interceptors peeled away from each other, coming around in a graceful arc to assume an escort formation. They flew in close, boxing Nathan in on both sides, allowing him no room to maneuver. Even if he could have, there was no way for Ghostrider to outrun them.
What the hell is going on here?
The pilot on his starboard edged in even farther. Hidden by his helmet and oxygen mask, he barely seemed human. He pointed at Nathan and motioned down, ordering Ghostrider to follow.
“Welcome home,” Nathan muttered.
Lea watched Didi Novak from outside the isolation ward, monitoring the examination through the one-way glass. The man she knew only as Commander Straka lay on a diagnostic bed, patiently enduring the good doctor’s ministrations while she ran a battery of tests—each seemingly more obscure than the last. Lea didn’t precisely know what Trevor Bostic was after when he ordered the exam, or why he had been so insistent—but something didn’t add up, and she could only hope that Straka could provide some answers.
Novak finished up with one of her charts, a grave expression haunting her face as she read the results. Just as quickly, she turned it off—resuming her friendly, professional demeanor when she went back over to Straka, patting him gently on the shoulder as she excused herself. She then exited the ward, immediately joining Lea in the observation room. She allowed the door to click shut behind her before she spoke, handing the chart to Lea.
Lea mulled it over, a complex list of chemical compounds Novak had found during the toxicology screen.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“Yes,” Novak drew out, “but not for any of the obvious reasons. The screen turned up negative for pathogens, but I did find highly concentrated levels of betaflex compound in his bloodstream.”
“How high?”
“Lethal, I’m afraid.”
Lea glanced at Straka again, wondering if he knew.
“How did it happen?”
“According to the commander, self-inflicted,” Novak said. “It must have been a series of massive doses, taken in rapid succession.”
Lea sighed.
“How long does he have?”
“Betaflex acts as a slow nerve agent,” the GME explained. “The effect is degenerative, over an extended period of time—but in these amounts, it won’t be long. Best guess—not more than forty-eight hours.”
Lea nodded, passing the report back to Novak on her way out.
“What are you going to tell him?” the GME asked.
“The truth,” Lea said as the door closed, “if that’s what he wants.”
Nathan spotted the woman hovering at the edge of his room, studying him with wary eyes. He had a hard time believing she worked for the Collective—mainly because she didn’t look at him like a prisoner, a first since he had been rushed in here. She was also bruised and battered, fresh bandages on her head and hands. Corporate types rarely got their hands dirty, much less beaten up. That was enough for him to take a shine to her.
“Hey,” Nathan said. “You here to run some more tests?”
“No,” the woman said, walking over to his bedside. “We’re all done with that.”
“Good,” he chuckled. “I was starting to run out of samples.”
The woman smiled, but sadly.
“Nathan Straka,” he said, offering his hand.
“Lea Prism,” she replied, accepting his gesture.
“You the person I’m supposed to talk to?”
“That’s what my boss tells me.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“It’s been a crazy week.”
“You could say that,” Nathan agreed, the conversation lapsing into silence while he tried to figure Lea out. He didn’t have her pegged for Special Services—if she was, the first thing out of her mouth would have been some kind of threat. Lea seemed more like him, trapped here against her will. “They fill you in on my story?”
“Yes,” Lea replied.
“Then you know you’ve got big trouble headed this way.”
“JTOC is monitoring your ship right now,” Lea assured him. “They’ll take the appropriate action when it arrives.”
“That’s what my captain thought she was doing,” Nathan said, the memory of it nearly overwhelming him. “Look where that got us.”
Lea sat down on the bed and regarded him with sympathetic eyes.
“These survivors you discovered,” she began, “you said they were soldiers—Solar Expeditionary Forces. If you were attempting a rescue, why did they take over your ship?”
“It wasn’t a rescue—it was recovery. They were in stasis when we found them.”
Lea frowned.
“Stasis? How could they—?”
“One of my officers, Eve Kellean, revived them,” Nathan interrupted, forcing back his anger. “Made it seem like they were under, even though they were conscious the whole time.” He trailed off into a long, tense pause, hoping Lea believed him. “I don’t know how, but they managed to jack our computer core. By the time I figured out what was happening, it was too late.”
“What you’re saying is impossible, Nathan.”
He sank back into his pillow.
“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “But I’m telling you—whatever’s flying that ship toward Earth isn’t human. They’re more than that.” He shook his head, trying to explain in terms she would understand. “It’s like they’ve changed—mutated somehow. It had to be the Mons virus—”
“Wait a second,” Lea interjected. “They were infected?”
“Yeah,” Nathan said, playing off her reaction. “As soon as we found out, we tried to dump them overboard. That’s when they killed my crew.” He leaned in toward Lea. “You know something about this?”
“Their behavior,” she said, “describe it.”
“I don’t know,” Nathan began, turning those events over in his mind. “They all appeared to be in deep stasis, except…” When the words stopped, his expression became vacant.
“Any detail,” Lea coaxed, “no matter how small.”
He blinked several times, then turned to her in revelation.
“The monitors,” he said. “The readings—their vital signs, brain wave activity. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but now it makes sense.”
“What?”
“They were in perfect sync.”
Lea let go of him, some unknown horror dawning across her face.
“Like they were linked?” she asked. “Like a hive mind?”
Nathan shot upright in his bed.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“Previous experience,” she said. “An outlaw group has been developing a technology to link human minds into a biological network. The protocols for that network are based on a genetically engineered agent—an agent based on the Mons virus.”
Nathan felt his jaw drop, his heart racing.
“It’s possible that your survivors are linked in the same way,” Lea finished. “That over time, the Mons virus did naturally what this new technology is being manipulated to do—create a living network more powerful than anything we’ve ever seen.”
My God, Nathan thought. What have you done, Kellean?
Lea lowered her eyes.
“Were they still in quarantine when you abandoned ship?”
“Yes,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “But I doubt they are now. Kellean probably sprang them after they repressurized the ship.”
Lea touched him on the shoulder, a cold comfort—but welcome nonetheless.
“You did the right thing, Commander. I know all about these people. You can’t fight them on your own.”
“Maybe not,” Nathan replied, “but I sure as hell could have tried.”
Lea seemed as if she wanted to say more—but then Dr. Novak appeared at the door again, motioning Lea over. Nathan listened in on their conversation, which Lea made no attempt to hide.
“What is it?” she asked.
“JTOC just called.” Novak spoke in a strained tone. “That ship you were talking about is about to assume orbit.”
Lea glanced back at Nathan.
“He’ll need to be there,” she said. “Can you fix him up?”
It was obvious from Novak’s expression that she advised against it, but Nathan cut off any argument she was about to make.
“Give me whatever it takes,” he said. “You couldn’t keep me away.”
Novak exchanged a quick look with Lea, who nodded. The doctor then ordered a hypospray of high-grade stims, which she injected into Nathan’s neck. The clutter of his perception cleared up in an instant, though the fatigue remained—always in the background, reminding Nathan that something in his body was amiss. He didn’t need Novak or Lea to tell him that.
I don’t have much time, he decided, sliding out of bed. But I’ll be goddamned if I spend the rest of it running.
Up at his command post in JTOC, General Tambor barked out orders left and right. His people reported back to him from dozens of stations, relaying information in a steady mantra of shouts and intercom chatter. The alert siren had silenced itself, though the defense condition lights on one of the overhead displays flashed bright yellow. The other screens showered the operations staff with reams of data, most of it downloaded from patrol satellites and earthbound tracking stations—all of them focused on the approaching space vessel.
Lea found Trevor Bostic occupying a small corner of the command post, seated in a swivel chair and biting his index finger nervously. He stood up when he spotted Lea and Nathan walking off the elevator, hastily assuming a cool corporate façade in her presence—but Lea shot him a look that told him she knew otherwise.
Tiernan was also there, helping coordinate the tactical staff. “Tell Space Command to patch their status feeds directly through JTOC,” he said, transmitting his instructions via the minicom in his ear. “We need full control over all their ASATs until further notice. Anybody gives you shit, send them back to me—got it?”
Lea turned away when Tiernan looked at her. In spite of everything, she had to admire the way he handled the pressure.
“So what have we got?” General Tambor asked.
“Orbital defenses are online and at our command,” Tiernan reported. “We’re moving antisatellite weapons to intercept the inbound craft as a precautionary measure. They’ll be in position inside of three minutes.”
“What about ground-based assets?”
“Six pulse batteries along the East Coast are within firing range,” Tiernan explained, pointing them out on a map display. “We’ve also put fighter wings out of New York, Norfolk, and Washington on full alert. They’re ready to scramble as soon as you give the order.”
“Do it,” Tambor said, then turned to Nathan. The general appraised him for a moment before asking, “You’re the only one to make it off that ship?”
“Yes, sir,” Nathan answered.
“What the hell are we dealing with, Commander?”
“I’m not exactly sure, General—except that you’re facing some very dangerous people. My advice, sir, is to blow them out of the sky while you have the chance.”
“Destroy a Collective Spacing Directorate vessel?” Tambor asked dubiously. “Without even trying to establish contact?”
“I don’t see what good that would do, General,” Lea interjected. “As Commander Straka has explained to me, we may be dealing with a highly evolved intelligence. If they could sabotage Almacantar’s computer core, there’s no telling what else they’re capable of.”
“I thought they were Solar Expeditionary Force.”
“They were,” Nathan explained. “God only knows what they are now.”
Tambor considered it, but clearly didn’t believe much of what he heard. Bostic picked up on his hesitation and put on a move of his own.
“General,” he said, “it might be in everyone’s best interests if we do as the commander says. We shouldn’t take chances with so much at stake.”
“Maybe not,” Tambor conceded, “but I’m not about to create an incident until I know what the hell’s going on.” With that, he stepped off the command platform. All of them followed him with their stares, down to where six heavily armed guards escorted someone into JTOC. They marched right up to the general, then parted to reveal the identity of their prisoner.
Lea gasped in astonishment.
Avalon’s hands and feet were shackled, her neck fitted with an explosive collar. Even so, the guards gave her a wide berth, their weapons constantly trained on her—taking no chances with a former free agent. Avalon wore her sensuit, its sensor web glinting in the dim, crimson light, though Lea imagined that the guards had reduced its effective range for their own protection.
Tambor approached cautiously. “You were with the SEF.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Then you’re going to help us sort this out.”
Avalon’s skin was pale, even more pale than usual, her face mottled with electrode scars. She stood up straight, but Lea could tell she was exhausted—fresh off the hours of torture Bostic had inflicted on her.
“Why would I do that?” she asked, quite logically.
Tambor made it very clear. “Things can get a lot harder on you.”
Avalon considered it for a time. “What do you need?”
Tambor waved the guards back, telling them to hold position. He then stood aside and motioned Avalon to the command post. Slowly, she ascended the stairs and joined the others. Lea immediately came forward, not exactly sure of what to say. She still owed this woman her wrath, and yet felt responsible for her at the same time.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” she said.
Avalon turned her head toward Lea, silver eyes mirroring her expression.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied, and didn’t speak of it again.
“General,” the watch officer reported, “we’re receiving a signal from the approaching spacecraft.”
“What is it?” Tambor asked him.
“Uncertain, sir,” he replied, as a deluge of numerics appeared on his display. “I’m not getting anything on voice or video channels—but I am receiving a large bitstream of data via the telemetry link.”
“Looks like an autodownload,” the general said. “Directorate ships are programmed to dump their mission data when they return home.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nathan countered, and rushed over to the comm panel. He read off the data, which looked like a standard telemetry stream—but then he turned to the general, his skin ashen. “I think they’re running a trojan, sir—the same thing they did to us. They could be infecting your system right now.”
“We screen all incoming transmissions for viruses, Commander.”
“Your filters wouldn’t recognize these viruses,” he retorted, then pleaded with the watch officer. “Shut it down.”
The watch officer looked up at Tambor anxiously.
“Shut it down,” Nathan repeated, “now.”
Tambor nodded.
The watch officer killed the transmission. After a few seconds the stream terminated, leaving only a blinking cursor on his screen. Nathan released a long breath, standing back up and returning to the general. “Looks like we got it in time,” he said, “but you should still do a thorough scrub of the entire network, sir—and don’t accept any more encoded transmissions.”
“Do as the man says,” Tambor told the watch officer. “And open up a voice channel. I want to see if anyone’s listening.”
The watch officer tried to comply, but the console wouldn’t respond.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “Voice communications seem to be off-line.”
“Can you pin down the cause?”
“I don’t know.” Lea watched him run a deep diagnostic, the results appearing on his screen. He shook his head, appearing confused. “It looks like a series of failures. So far, only the noncritical systems seem to be affected, but—”
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