by Jim C. Hines
That meant a targeted, encrypted transmission, a private connection with Command back on Earth.
A normal signal from Andromeda 12 to Earth would take approximately eleven years to arrive. A communications pod, as Puffy had condescendingly explained, was essentially a miniaturized A-ring mounted near the front of the ship, used for accelerating and decelerating electromagnetic waves. Assuming you aligned the communications pod, correctly matched transmission speed to the relative motion of your target, set the proper power levels, and on and on and on.
“Simulation terminated,” Puffy said brightly. The cartoon ship’s face stretched into a caricatured frown. “By sending a signal of that power and duration, you’ve burned out the acceleration module in the communications pod. You completed 62.3% of the simulation. Would you like to try again?”
“How far did you get?” asked Wolf.
“Sixty-two. You?”
“I hit seventy-five point three once.” She flushed. “Only twelve percent this time, though. I rushed it.”
Mops removed her monocle, set it on one of the inactive consoles, and rubbed her eyes. Monroe was down examining the Prodryan fighter. Kumar had joined him, after he finished taking care of the Krakau bodies from the bridge and Captain’s Cove. “Doc, what’s the status on the rest of the crew?”
“All alive, according to scanners and security footage. I’ve noted eighteen injuries, most of which occurred during our exchange with the Prodryan fighters. However, they’re exhibiting more aggression.”
“They’re getting hungry.” She sat back, hooking her arms over a higher bar for support. The ship was theoretically capable of feeding two hundred humans for six months without resupplying.
She imagined her team hunting ferals, setting traps and lures . . . Wolf tackling one . . . Mops and Monroe piling on while Kumar unsealed the feral’s uniform and hooked a meal to their feeding tube. Then waiting while the contents were delivered to the feral’s stomach. What could possibly go wrong?
“Doc, what does our nutrient paste taste like? If we broke open a bunch of tubes, would the crew eat it willingly?”
“I doubt it,” said Wolf, before Doc could answer. “A bunch of us tried it back in training. It’s like eating salty snot.”
Maybe they could find something to make it more appetizing. The mess had a small supply of spices and condiments for Glacidae and Krakau palates.
“We should take them to the Ganymede Supply Depot,” Wolf suggested. “Last I heard, that place had the mother of all rat infestations. If we dropped the crew off there, they could hunt their own meals. We’d solve two problems at once.”
Grom’s synthesized voice buzzed through Mops’ collar speaker, saving her from having to respond. “I have something you need to see, sir. I’ve been going through the medical team’s logs and video. This is beyond my job description, by the way. Working out of class entitles me to a bonus.”
“The point, Grom?”
“It looks like Medical was making progress on identifying the contagion.”
She sat up, fatigue pushed aside. “How much progress?”
“That’s hard to say. Medical Commander Maria deleted those logs.”
“What the hell?”
“Yes, the hell was confusing to me as well,” agreed Grom. “Sending the logs now.”
Mops’ monocle darkened before she could respond. She saw MC Ave Maria, an older Krakau with dark red skin and thick, muscular limbs talking to one of the human medics, Doctor Curie. Two infantry troops were restrained in exam beds behind them.
“You can tell she’s agitated,” said Grom. “See how low her body is, and how her arms undulate in all directions? That’s a defensive posture. It helps them sense predators approaching through the water.”
A nurse came over, carrying a vial of human blood. Mops recognized him as Sherlock Holmes, one of the feral crew her team had encountered before. He was probably still glued to the wall where they’d left him. She made a mental note to do something about that.
“Test results came back the same as before,” said Holmes. “Sir.”
Maria barely looked up. “Your equipment is faulty. You must have forgotten to sterilize it.”
“I know how to analyze blood samples,” Holmes shot back. “And I know how to sterilize the damn equipment.”
Maria shrank away, her skin darkening. “Then the samples must have been contaminated.”
“All of them?” asked Doctor Curie. “That seems unlikely, Commander.”
“Contaminated with what?” added Holmes. “I ran the tests twice, and the results were the same. The entire infantry team was infected with a derivative of something called Krakau venom.”
“Impossible,” said Maria. “Krakau aren’t venomous.”
Holmes’ face turned redder. “Tell that to the damn computer!”
“All right, let’s calm down and think about this rationally,” said the doctor. “The computer identified a potential match. Does it have any recommendation for how to counter the effects?”
Holmes laughed, sounding a little hysterical. “I asked. It told me there was no such thing as Krakau venom.”
Maria turned away, whispering so softly Doc had to enhance her words. “Commander Maria to Captain Brandenburg.” She paused, head cocked. “Captain, please respond.”
Mops checked the time stamp. This would have been right around the time the captain had died.
Holmes glared at Commander Maria. “Sir, if you know what this stuff is . . .”
“It is a mistake. Nurse, clear all test results from the system. I will recalibrate the equipment and run the analysis myself.”
Holmes started to argue, but Doctor Curie put a hand on his shoulder. “Commander, a mistake seems unlikely,” she said. “We’ve gotten the same results from different equipment and different samples. We don’t have time—”
“Both of you will delete these test results and report to quarantine,” said Maria. “Your stubbornness in this matter could be a symptom of infection. I’m ordering you kept in isolation until I’ve examined you both.”
“We have an outbreak on this ship,” Curie said tightly. “Medical is overwhelmed. You can’t—”
“Do I have to summon Security?” asked Maria.
Mops’ monocle turned clear. “Is that all?”
“Holmes and Curie left, as ordered,” said Grom. “Sir, I’ve searched the medical records, and those test results are gone.”
Mops frowned. “Medical records are protected. You shouldn’t be able to run that kind of search.”
Grom hesitated before answering. “I used—borrowed—your access codes as acting captain.”
Mops clenched her jaw, swallowing her initial response. She could chew Grom out later. “Doc, what can you tell us about Krakau venom?”
“There’s no such substance. Krakau aren’t venomous.”
By now, Wolf wasn’t even pretending to work anymore. She stared openly at Mops. “This bioweapon has something to do with the Krakau?”
Mops didn’t answer. She signaled Kumar and Monroe, opening a group comm channel. Monroe had seen more of the galaxy than anyone else on the team, and Kumar had probably read half the nonfiction in the EMC library. “Have either of you ever heard of something called Krakau venom?”
“Krakau aren’t venomous,” said Kumar.
“So I’ve been told. Monroe?”
“Not that I can recall, sir.”
Damn. She replayed the recording from Medical. “Holmes and Curie could have been infected. We saw what happened with Lieutenant Khan. She was confused.”
“I’m not the best judge of human emotion, but they didn’t appear confused.”
“No, they did not,” Mops said slowly. “Grom, where did Commander Maria go after that?”
“She removed Holmes’ and Curie’s access
to the Pufferfish medical systems, then went to the bridge. I’ve never seen a Krakau move that fast.”
“We could be taking this too literally,” Monroe said over the comm. “Maybe we’re not talking about actual venom produced in their bodies. It could be slang for some kind of recreational drug. You can find all sorts of bizarre shit on the seedier stations and colonies, including more than two hundred varieties of Nusuran aphrodisiacs.”
“That doesn’t explain why the computer identified Krakau venom, then claimed there was no such thing,” said Kumar.
“Sounds like someone tried to wipe Krakau venom from the computer’s memory, but missed an entry somewhere,” said Grom.
“Why would the Krakau deliberately try to hide this?” asked Mops.
Wolf sniffed. “Maybe one of the Krakau was helping the Prodryans.”
“If so, it didn’t work out very well for them, did it?” asked Grom.
Mops stood and paced circles around the bridge as she thought. “Forget what it’s called. Look at what it does.”
Wolf shrugged. “It turns humans feral.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Kumar.
“I beg to differ,” Grom growled. “I had ample time to observe when I was trapped in Recreation, and those humans were very definitely feral.”
“Kumar’s right.” Mops turned. “It doesn’t turn us feral. It neutralizes whatever the Krakau did to fix us.”
Grom sniffed. “Semantics.”
“It would explain the secrecy,” Monroe said slowly. “The Krakau won’t even tell us what they pump into our blood to start the rebirth process. Too much potential for abuse.”
“Assume ‘Krakau venom’ relates to the cure.” Mops returned to the captain’s station, her muscles tensing with each step. “We know the Prodryans can turn us feral again. Do you think they’ve also figured out how to cure feral humans?”
Monroe swore. “If they could raid Earth and round up a group of humans, they’d be able to make their own EMC soldiers.”
“Grom, keep digging through medical records,” said Mops. “I want to know everything they said or did as this outbreak spread.”
“Does this mean you’re giving me permission to keep using your access?”
“For now. But we will have a conversation about this later.” Mops closed her comm and turned to Wolf. “I don’t care how long it takes, we don’t leave this bridge until we’ve contacted Command.”
It was clear Wolf was as shaken as Mops felt. There was no hint of attitude or sarcasm in her “Yes, sir.”
Mops turned to her own console and restarted the simulation.
EMC Combat Incident Report
Date: April 12, 2251 EGC (Earth Gregorian Calendar)
Location: Andromeda 12 system
Report Filed By: Lieutenant Marion S. Adamopoulos, EMC Serial Number 8251A
Enemy Force (Size, Species, Armament): Prodryan fighter ships (6), under command of someone called Assault Commander Burns Like Sunspots of Prodryan fighter squad 521. Armament . . . they mostly fired missiles at us.
EMC Casualties: None
Enemy Casualties: All of them
Has all tactical data from the encounter been uploaded to Command for review? No, but Puffy says he’ll be happy to help guide me through the process, and to recommend eleven post-combat tutorial programs.
Other Notes: I’m considering designating Puffy an enemy combatant.
“I THINK WE’VE GOT IT.” Wolf stabbed her index finger at her console screen.
Verifying connection to Stepping Stone Station . . . connection secure.
Estimated transmission time: six minutes, eleven seconds.
Begin message now.
Mops squeezed in beside Wolf. In theory, she should have been able to send the message from the captain’s station, but transferring the connection to her console was one more opportunity to lose that connection. “This is Lieutenant Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish. We’ve been attacked and require immediate assistance. Command crew is dead. Most of the human crew is . . . incapacitated. Please acknowledge.”
She sat back to wait. Six minutes and change for the signal to reach the Stepping Stone Station in orbit around Earth. Who knew how long it would take to notify the proper people. Then another six minutes for any response to make it back to the Pufferfish.
Given the distances involved, the relative motion of the two star systems, and the millions of other details that had to be properly calibrated, it was a miracle they could communicate at all. “Good work, Technician.”
“Thanks.” Wolf shifted impatiently and rubbed her eye.
“Take a break,” said Mops. “I’ve got it from here.”
Wolf was tired enough she didn’t argue. She just nodded and started toward the lift. “Crew quarters aren’t sterilized yet. Where—?”
“Mess hall,” suggested Mops. Once Wolf left, it was Mops’ turn to fidget. “Doc, play some music, would you? This is too damn quiet.”
A moment later, her speaker began to hum with a slow-paced piece her monocle identified as a court song called “Nakyangchun,” from a country called Korea. “How many different nations were there?”
“One hundred eighty-seven, according to the last known historical records.”
Almost one for every member of the Pufferfish crew. All with their own music and history and culture. She tried to wrap her mind around such variety, around a world where people could never hope to meet even a minuscule fraction of their fellow humans.
Would the Krakau ever restore her people to what they had once been? Would Mops live long enough to see it?
A familiar Krakau appeared on the screen, and the song cut off automatically. “Lieutenant Adamopoulos, this is Admiral Pachelbel of Stepping Stone. The last communication we received was from Captain Brandenburg. She said the Pufferfish had successfully destroyed two Prodryan pirate ships. We’ve been awaiting her follow-up report.”
Admiral Pachelbel glanced at something offscreen. “We show you’re still in the Andromeda 12 system. We’re preparing medical assistance and a military escort for the Pufferfish. This channel is secure. Tell me everything about the crew’s status and the condition of the ship. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you through this. Over.”
“Admiral Pachelbel Canon,” said Doc. “Didn’t you serve under her?”
“My first duty rotation. I spent a year on Stepping Stone as a Plumbing tech. I found and fixed a recurring leak in a reclamation line that was contaminating the brine in her quarters with ammonia. She kind of took me under her wing—tentacle—after that.”
The admiral was large for a Krakau. Her thick yellow-and-brown limbs reminded Mops of distended bananas. White skin ringed her beak and eyes, a sign of old age.
For the first time since they entered Andromeda 12, Mops felt like the currents were flowing in her favor. Some high-ranking Krakau had trouble seeing humans as anything more than grunts, low-intellect soldiers who existed to keep their mouths shut and follow orders. In contrast, Admiral Pachelbel had gone out of her way to get to know the humans on Stepping Stone. She would take Mops’ report seriously.
Mops pressed the broadcast button. “Nice to hear your voice, Admiral. There’s no easy way to say this. The entire human crew, with the exception of myself and my team, have gone feral. This . . . led to the deaths of all nonhuman crew, save Technician Gromgimsidalgak.
“I believe the Prodryan pirates lured the Pufferfish here deliberately to infect us with some sort of bioweapon, possibly as a test. Captain Brandenburg sent infantry teams to the Nusuran freighter to clear any remaining pirates and help with repairs. That’s the most likely point of infection.
“We’ve secured most of the feral crew and run a level one decontamination to clean a small portion of the ship. This appears to have eliminated the contaminant. But we have no way of cur
ing the affected crew.
“An additional six Prodryan fighters arrived in-system a short time later and attempted to take the Pufferfish. We sustained minor damage and the loss of one shuttle, but we were able to destroy all six enemy ships.”
She hesitated, then added, “Medical tentatively identified the chemical basis of the bioweapon as Krakau venom. Over.”
She switched off the comm and sat back to wait. Twelve minutes passed. Then twelve more. Mops was about to summon Wolf to make sure the communications pod was still aligned and functioning when Pachelbel appeared on the screen again.
“Lieutenant Adamopoulos, we’re revising our plans. Our medical department will transmit instructions to sedate the rest of your crew for their safety and your own. After that, you’ll secure the crew in their acceleration chambers and return to Earth. We’re preparing a program you’ll be able to load directly into navigation that should automate the A-ring jump process. We should have that to you within five hours.”
Pachelbel whistled softly and moved closer. “Knowing you, you’re asking what the hell Krakau venom is, and why it necessitates a change of plan.”
“You could say that,” Mops muttered. Five hours to receive instructions for the A-ring jump home. It was faster than waiting for an escort to show up and install a new command crew on the Pufferfish. Potentially safer, too, given the status of the Pufferfish’s people.
“Krakau venom is the code name for an old weapons program,” Pachelbel explained. “A program we thought had been discontinued. Alliance Intelligence believed all samples had been destroyed. Obviously, they were mistaken. Not only have the Prodryans discovered the program, it sounds like they’ve improved upon it. For the infection to have gotten through standard decon procedures and spread so quickly, they must have developed a microbial carrier capable of rapid reproduction.
“The good news is that your Glacidae technician is not a viable host. A standard acid bath followed by a thorough sanishower should remove any infectious material they might be carrying, after which they should be safe to join the rest of your team. Make sure they breathe deeply during the shower to kill anything in their lungs. You can continue using level one decontamination procedures on the unoccupied parts of the ship.”