by Jim C. Hines
“Better to be safe. Medical, this is Captain Brandenburg. I need a doctor and security escort in the Captain’s Cove for Lieutenant Khan.”
Khan continued to gaze trancelike into the distance.
“Medical would have checked her over as soon as she returned and completed decontamination,” said Danube. “It’s standard procedure. She—”
Khan’s arm shot out, her fingers wrapping around one of Danube’s thick lower limbs. Danube emitted a high-pitched whistle of distress as Khan clamped down and hauled her closer.
Captain Brandenburg shot through the water like a torpedo. She wrapped all three tentacles around Khan’s arm, trying to break her grip. “Stand down, Lieutenant!”
“I don’t think she can hear you.” Danube tore free, sacrificing the last twenty centimeters of her captured limb in the process. She wrapped her remaining limbs around Khan. The captain did the same. Together, they pinned and restrained the snarling human.
Khan’s teeth snapped audibly as she struggled to break free.
“Security, this is Commander Danube. Lieutenant Khan has gone feral. Repeat, we have a feral human in the Captain’s Cove.”
Mops’ monocle cleared. She blinked, fighting off dizziness as the sights and sounds of Waste Reclamation replaced the Captain’s Cove. “What happened? Where’s the rest of the feed?”
“That’s all I could access,” said Doc. “It could be data corruption, or more likely, medical privacy rules prevent us from seeing the details of Lieutenant Khan’s treatment once the medics arrived.”
The Krakau had always taken human medical privacy seriously. Not only for the humans’ sake; they wanted to protect the details of their treatment, making sure hostile races like the Prodryans couldn’t reverse the cure.
Mops tried to imagine what had happened next in the Captain’s Cove. Khan could have broken free when Medical and Security tried to take her. Or, depending on how quickly this thing spread, maybe the humans who’d arrived to help had gone feral as well.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” asked Monroe.
“Nope.” Though her monocle had cleared, she could still see the wildness on Khan’s face, the mindless hunger. Had Khan known what was happening to her? Had she felt her humanity slipping away from her? “We need to figure out how the hell the Prodryans did this and how to reverse it.”
“What if it can’t be reversed?” Kumar asked as he absent-mindedly polished a series of pressure gauges along the wall.
Mops thought about how quickly the Pufferfish’s crew had turned. How quickly this could spread through the medical centers on Earth, or the EMC training facilities. “In that case, to borrow a phrase from the Krakau, we are officially inked.”
In Earth year 2122, Nusuran organic memory crystals revolutionized computer systems and artificial intelligence throughout the fledgling Krakau Alliance. Composed of pure Stishovite and ranging in size from a few millimeters to several centimeters in diameter, the spherical crystals are exponentially more efficient at storing data than previously used technologies. It’s estimated that a single Nusuran memory crystal could survive a thousand years with less than 0.02% data degradation.
The popularity of such crystals was only slightly impacted by the revelation of their origins, discovered by a Krakau xenocorprologist.
Nusuran biology is extremely efficient. Almost everything they ingest is broken down and utilized by their metabolism, except for trace amounts of silica. That trace matter is compressed and processed by a small, densely muscled set of four sphincter-like organs, and excreted approximately once per year. Crystal size and quality varies, depending on the individual Nusuran’s age, diet, general health, and other factors.
The largest and purest memory crystals require both a strict high-calorie diet and ridiculously powerful laxatives.
—From Rectal Revolution: A New Age in Computer Technology
“WARNING: SUIT AIR SUPPLY at twenty percent.”
“Kumar, Monroe, where are we at with that decontamination plan?” asked Mops.
Kumar pushed back from the terminal he and Monroe had been hunched over. “It’s difficult to plan a course of action when we don’t know what we’re dealing with, sir. Is it viral? Nanoparticulate? Something else altogether?”
“Given how fast it spread, it’s probably airborne,” said Monroe. “It reached every part of the ship, so the air filtration systems don’t slow it down.”
“I reviewed the decon logs for units three and five,” said Kumar. “Everyone went through standard decon protocols when they got back from the freighter. Anything they carried on their suits should have been fried. None of them had any suspicious gifts or packages. Is it possible we were infected through some other vector?”
“Unlikely,” said Mops. “Khan was on the freighter, and she was one of the first to go feral.”
“Once we know how to kill this thing, we’ve got a plan for incrementally cleansing the ship.” Monroe waved a hand at the screen. “We’ll need to completely shut down air circulation vents, pull the filters, and sterilize every duct from the inside. Individual rooms and corridors should be straightforward. The biggest problem will be the occupied areas.”
“What about Grom?” Wolf piped up. “They don’t seem to be affected. What if we take some of their blood and transfuse it into the rest of us?”
Grom raised their spines in alarm.
“I can cite 1,892 reasons why that’s a horrible idea,” Doc offered.
Mops sighed. She wanted her team jumping in with ideas. She’d just hoped for better ones. “Grom, can you fool the maintenance system into believing the ship’s in drydock?”
“I’ll need to shut down and interrupt the reboot cycle, but I think so. It’ll take at least five minutes.”
“Do it.”
Kumar was the first to figure it out. His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward excitedly. “You want to run a level one decontamination?”
“Whatever this thing is, a level one decon ought to kill it, don’t you think?” asked Mops.
Grom looked up from their terminal. “You realize it would also kill me, and possibly you and your team as well?”
Another warning appeared on her monocle. At the same time, Wolf said, “Sir? My suit just gave me a low oxygen warning.”
“We don’t have many options.” Looking at their readouts, the rest would be getting similar alerts any minute now. “Monroe, Kumar, we’ll start with your incremental plan. Waste Reclamation goes first. We’ll decontaminate the room and ourselves at the same time. Grom, you’re going to Battle Hub Two. Once you get there, see what you can do with the internal scanners. Doc’s done a good job walling off most of the crew, but we can’t risk a single straggler catching us off guard or getting into sensitive areas of the ship.”
“The last time I moved freely about this ship, your fellow humans tried to eat me!”
“They should’ve tried harder,” muttered Wolf.
“We’ve got most of the crew isolated,” said Mops. “Doc can help you navigate around most of the strays. You’ll be fine. Probably. Better off than if you stay here.”
“Grom’s right that a level one could kill us, too,” Wolf pointed out.
“It could.” Mops made shooing motions at Grom until they hunched low and started working on the maintenance systems. “Our other choices are to suffocate in our suits or unseal our suits and get infected with whatever turned the rest of the crew feral. Which would you prefer?”
Wolf didn’t answer.
“Powering down maintenance computers now,” said Grom. The terminals went dead, and the lights dimmed. Grom hummed quietly as they waited for the system to reboot.
“What are you so cheerful about?” demanded Wolf.
The Glacidae glanced over. “If this does kill you all, I’ll be left in command of the Pufferfish.”
Glacidae didn
’t look fast, but given proper motivation, they made impressive time. Mops watched on her monocle as the icon representing Grom scurried through the ship toward the battle hub.
By now, Mops’ air supply light was flashing a green Danger warning on her monocle. “Shut everything down. Monocles, suit electronics, terminals . . . anything you don’t want fried. Monroe, does your arm have an off switch?”
Monroe grimaced. “He’s always cranky afterward. Once after an upgrade and reboot, he spent ten minutes making obscene gestures at my CO. Claimed it was a malfunction, but the logs were clean.” He murmured a command, and the arm went limp.
“Better swallow that gum, too,” Mops added. One by one, the screens that had just come back up blinked out again. She sat at the remaining terminal and set the countdown for a level one decontamination on Waste Reclamation, along with a hundred and twenty meters of corridor directly outside and a maze of air circulation ducts. Kumar and Monroe had sealed off different vents to isolate the ducts in question from the rest of the system.
“Warning,” the screen flashed. “Level One Decontamination cannot commence until all personnel have left the area.”
Mops studied the safety protocols, which showed four living bodies present in Waste Reclamation. One by one, she manually retagged them as piles of biological waste material.
The warning vanished. Mops started a one-minute countdown, then shut off the console. “Doc, decon should take about five minutes. Can you power yourself down but keep a timer going to restart in ten?”
“As long as I run the timer from another location and have it send the startup signal remotely,” said Doc. “But if this thing damages my circuits, I expect an upgrade!”
Her monocle went blank and fell from her eye, landing in the base of her hood and leaving her in darkness. She sat on the floor and tried to relax her muscles.
“I’ve always wanted to see a level one from the inside,” said Kumar.
“And we wonder why the rest of the galaxy thinks humans are idiots,” snapped Wolf.
“Not at all,” said Monroe. “There are plenty of other, better reasons.”
A hurricane tore through the room, silencing further conversation. The initial rush of air was meant to stir particulate matter from the various surfaces. It slammed Mops sideways, and she heard someone—probably Kumar—yelp as they tumbled to the floor.
The wind shifted. Mops’ suit puffed from her body as the vents sucked the air from the room. The sound faded, then died. Mops clapped her hands together in front of her face, but neither saw nor heard anything. She kept clapping until the sound began to return, muffled and tinny. The air pumping into the room wasn’t a breathable oxygen mix, but a low-pressure conductive medium for what came next.
A blue spark, surprisingly bright, leaped from the ceiling to the floor. She glimpsed Kumar sitting wide-eyed, Monroe resting with his back to the wall, and Wolf standing defiantly in the middle of the room, as if daring the ship to do its worst.
The next spark arced to the top of Wolf’s head. She dropped like a stone in Tjikko gravity. The electrical dispersion grid woven into the material of her uniform to diffuse energy weapon strikes should have kept her alive against the shock . . . hopefully.
More sparks flew, creating a blue strobe effect that made her eyes ache. Normally, her monocle would have darkened to compensate, but the lens was dead and useless at the bottom of her hood.
The electrical storm would fry nanotechnology, cook exposed bacteria and viruses, and basically burn the living hell out of anything and everything it touched. If the contagion turning the crew feral could survive this—
A jolt struck her suit. The dispersion grid helped, but not as much as she would have liked. Her muscles locked, and her jaw clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack. Her heart pounded hard and fast. Her body felt swollen, like she’d been overbaked to the point of bursting.
Monroe was next to topple. Electricity sparked over his prosthetic arm.
The edges of Mops’ vision turned dark. The flashes contracted to a pinpoint of light. And then that pinpoint went black.
“Good morning!”
Mops awoke in darkness to the sound of Doc’s too-cheerful voice and the sensation of drool dripping down her cheek. The salt-and-alcohol smell of sanitizing foam was thick in the air. She wiped her face and froze. She hadn’t unsealed her hood.
“I remotely activated your suits to trigger the emergency hood release. After all your efforts, I couldn’t let you and your team suffocate in your own suits.”
“Thanks.” Her throat was dry and raw, like she’d swallowed a wire brush.
“No thanks necessary, Lieutenant. I’m programmed to assist with shipboard hygiene and sanitation, and that means not leaving dead and decaying bodies in the middle of Waste Reclamation. Especially since there’d be nobody to clean them up.”
“How about some lights?” Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy as she tugged off her gloves. The thick layer of dissolving foam covering everything didn’t help matters. She fumbled to retrieve her monocle from the bottom of her hood. It snapped into place over her eye, powering up immediately with the status of her team—all alive.
Monroe hadn’t woken up yet. Wolf groaned as she gingerly probed the top of her head. Kumar had taken out a large cleaning cloth and was meticulously scrubbing yellow foam from the front of his suit.
“You think it worked?” asked Wolf.
“Doc, how long since you unsealed our suits?”
“Two hours, eleven minutes, and twenty-three seconds.”
Lieutenant Khan had started showing symptoms when she reported to the Captain’s Cove. Depending on when exactly she’d been exposed, that could have been anywhere from thirty minutes to three hours.
“If it didn’t work, we’ll find out soon enough.” Mops drew her air compressor gun, fitted it to the small tank in her harness, and blasted the rest of the foam from the closest screen. Kumar perked up and gestured to himself. With a sigh, she sprayed him clean as well before easing into the closest chair. “Doc, put me through to Grom.”
The Glacidae responded immediately. “I see you survived, Lieutenant. I reached Battle Hub Two without incident, and started working through the tutorials on the internal sensor systems. I take it the decontamination worked?”
“We’ll know in another hour.” Mops frowned. “Was that an explosion?”
“What? Oh, sorry, let me pause that.”
“Pause what? I don’t recall explosions and screaming in the standard scanner tutorial modules.”
Grom hesitated. “It’s . . . Maze Hunter 4. I picked up an expansion pack on Eridanus 2. With the rest of the crew offline, the response time is amazing. I’m on the final level—”
“You’ve spent the past hours playing a video game?” Mops asked quietly.
“And watching the tutorial. Glacidae are better multitaskers than humans. No offense. Our brains are able to compartmentalize—”
“You didn’t think there might be more important tasks for you to focus on?”
A pause. “I followed all orders you gave me. Sir.”
Mops turned on the console in front of her. “Send me an updated scan of the ship, and a systemwide view of our position.”
“One moment. Let me review my notes.” Several minutes passed before her display lit up with the information she’d requested. The Pufferfish had drifted about twenty kilometers. At this scale, they were essentially standing still.
The ship’s internal status appeared unchanged. “Doc, show me everything we’ve decontaminated so far.” Waste Reclamation and the closest corridors turned blue. “Kumar, get to work decontaminating the next areas we’ll need. Food and supplies. Main lifts and corridors to the bridge and other vital areas.”
“At least one bathroom,” Kumar added.
Mops didn’t answer. A series of bl
ips on the screen, about 250 million kilometers from the Pufferfish, had caught her attention. “Doc, what are those?”
“A-ring deceleration signatures. Looks like six ships arrived in-system.”
Mops worked through the math in her head. “If we’re just seeing the flares now, that means they arrived about fifteen minutes ago?”
“Nope. More than an hour and a half. But the screen will keep displaying the energy readings until someone acknowledges and clears them.”
She muttered a curse. “If that’s their location ninety minutes ago, where did they go?”
“Unknown. Deceleration signatures are like a flare, visible throughout the star system. Normal sublight propulsion is another matter. At this range, targeted scanners might be able to pick them up, but we’d need to know where to look. Depending on their speed, we’re talking trillions of cubic kilometers.”
She stepped away from the console and knelt by Monroe. His breathing was strong. She pushed back his hood and smothered a laugh. His white hair stood out like a lopsided dandelion, probably a side effect of the electrical portion of the decon process.
She ran a quick hand through her own hair. Static crackled, but it wasn’t as bad as Monroe’s. She gave him a gentle shake. “Wake up, JG. We’ve got six unidentified ships sneaking around. I need everyone up and working.”
He groaned and tried to shove her hand away. When that didn’t work, he turned onto his side, his natural hand clutching hers.
A chuckle behind her cut off too quickly for her to see who it was. She tugged her hand free. “Attention, soldier!”
Monroe jerked up, groaned, and clutched his head.
“Sir, we may have a problem,” said Kumar. “I’ve got a clear path to the bridge, but the bridge itself is occupied. Looks like two ferals, and . . .”
Mops moved to look over his shoulder. “And?”
“If I’m reading this right, four Krakau bodies. With two more sealed in the Captain’s Cove.”
“Work with Doc to get those ferals off the bridge and into a contained area.”