The Relativity Bomb

by Arlene F. Marks

  Like all of Nayo’s ideas, it was brilliant. It was a shame he’d died before he could—

  Wait.

  As though seeing it for the first time, the Doc looked around her at the laboratory that Nayo Naguchi had insisted be built on Daisy Hub before he arrived. It had been state of the art at the time. Clearly, he’d intended to continue his scientific work while managing the station.

  Once his tenure as manager was over, the last thing he would want was to have his notes and experiments fall into the hands of a certain European gene broker. And what better way to hide them than by encoding the data as a strand of RNA, concealing it inside the body of the rat that he’d brought aboard the Hub with him, and then leaving the animal behind?

  “Oh, Nayo,” she murmured, her gaze coming fondly to rest on the two caged animals at the far end of her laboratory work table, “you did it, didn’t you?”

  — «» —

  Townsend stepped out of the tube car on Deck L and into a world of pink. It wasn’t just pink, he amended as he stood, slack-jawed, in the middle of a broad work area surrounded by lockers and warehouse shelving, workshops and meeting cubbies, all painted the same startling hue — it was hot pink. This was a color he’d never expected to see anywhere on Daisy Hub, let alone on the deck where all the engineers and technicians spent their time. Only the surface beneath his feet had escaped the painter’s brush.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Engineering Specialist Spiro Gouryas stood behind a work table littered with tools and drawings. His arms were crossed over his chest, and a wry expression perched on his swarthy face. “Singh has been figuring out the molecular paintbrush. You told us to give priority to firming up those soft spots the Midnight Muralist created on the Hub’s bulkheads. So, he’s been looking for ways to reset the refractive index of a plaincoated metal surface without altering its molecular latticework.”

  Townsend frowned. “You’ve had no help from the Muralist?”

  “Not directly. When you publicly ordered him to report to us for a debriefing, you probably spooked him. He’s been leaving us notes, though. Written in longhand, with graphite or something like it, on pieces of paper. We think he’s male, judging from the handwriting. In any case, he clearly wants to preserve his anonymity.”

  “And Singh has picked up where the Muralist left off. Perfect.” He repressed a shudder. “How can you even work in here?”

  Gouryas shrugged. “I grew up with five sisters. Pink doesn’t bother me. But you should have been here a few days ago, when he was going through his orange period. That was a distraction.”

  “Is he making progress, at least?”

  “Appears to be. He can overpaint now without turning anything into transparent acrylic. But I’m guessing you’re here to talk about the brig.”

  Townsend joined him at the work table. “Is it doable?” he asked, gesturing at the scattering of papers that covered its surface.

  “Not really. In a pinch, we could convert an airlock or one of the berths on F or G Deck into a temporary holding cell, but there’s no way to create additional rooms on any of the decks without affecting the structural integrity of the Hub. Thanks to the Muralist — and Singh,” he added, glancing around significantly, “that index is already down to less than 87 percent, so there’s no way I’m going to approve drilling holes to set anchors for enclosure bulkheads.” He paused, visibly weighing his next words. “There is a brig already built, you know, on Zulu.”

  Drew had already rejected that option. The Ranger station was currently under the command of Bonelli’s trusted second, Lieutenant Rodrigues, but it was an acting position only, until a new commander could be appointed. That was the man Townsend needed to be able to work with, and until he arrived and Drew felt confident about bringing him onside, the Max Karlov problem would have to remain Daisy Hub’s responsibility.

  Batting aside the engineer’s observation, he asked, “What about the stealth shield? Any progress there?”

  “Some. Singh has been busy with the paintbrush, but Beale and Oolalong have been going over the manual and—”

  “There’s a manual?”

  “Most of the time we ignore it, but yes, there’s always a manual. This one was originally in Nandrian. Nagor translated it for us into Gally, transliterated that into Anglo, then gave it to Holchuk, who gave it to me. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to present the demonstration.”

  Townsend’s wristcomm buzzed, sending his next thought flying into the ether. “Drew,” said Lydia, her voice taut as a bowstring, “you need to go to Med Services. The Doc says it’s urgent.”

  — «» —

  Townsend wasted no time getting to Deck H. Doc Ktumba was tall and physically imposing, with an aura of authority that had once made a Nandrian warrior back down. The woman had steel in her, no question. Although it wasn’t difficult to annoy her, Drew was hard pressed to imagine a scenario that would faze her. And yet, something must have done just that, or why would she have called for his help? His imagination roiling with dire possibilities, Townsend left the tube car and headed in the direction of the triage room door.

  “Over here!”

  He turned and saw the Doc standing just outside her lab, impatience stamped on her already formidable features. Funny — she didn’t appear to be in distress. Then again, this was the Doc, he reminded himself, and she had used the word “urgent”.

  Drew hurried toward her. “What’s happened?” he demanded. “What’s the emergency?”

  “It’s not an emergency,” she said, throwing him a frown as the door to the laboratory hummed open. “I told Lydia that I needed to talk with you right away so you would be fully informed before making any decisions regarding the disposition of our newest arrivals.”

  He followed her inside, pausing briefly on the threshold to reacquaint himself with the Doc’s private domain. As weighty and inflexible as the Doc herself, at least a dozen gleaming machines lined up along the bulkheads like sentries awaiting commands, their steel-and-plastiplex faces flat and unrevealing. Ruby called the Med Services lab an impressive display of twenty-Earth-year-old scientific technology. Arkady and Sun, the techs primarily responsible for maintaining it, described it in even less flattering terms. All Drew could say was that before coming to Daisy Hub, he had never seen anything like it.

  Drew Townsend was no stranger to laboratories. As a field investigator in New Chicago, he had had reason to visit a variety of forensic scientists in their workplaces over the years. He’d even caught the occasional case in which a laboratory was the crime scene. But that had been on Earth, home world of about three billion Ineligibles and routinely the last place the High Council invested its research and development resources. Everyone knew that all the newest and shiniest toys went into space, along with the best and brightest minds, leaving Earth to make do with whatever was left.

  That an orbiting detention center like Daisy Hub had been retrofitted to be as well-equipped for medical treatment and research as any off-world hospital of its era — that had been Earth Intelligence’s doing. After reading through the first ten standard years’ worth of station managers’ reports, Townsend was certain of it.

  The Doc’s brisk voice snapped him back to the moment. “Have a look at these.”

  She had spread some charts out on a work table directly in front of him. At least, he was assuming that the rows of dark and light bars were charts.

  “These are chromosomal maps,” she explained. “The configuration on the left is Human, randomly selected from crew records. The one on the right is Karlov’s.”

  “You’re telling me he’s not Human?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all, Mr. Townsend. At this level of analysis, the two maps are identical. Generally, I have no reason to delve any deeper when examining a new crew member. However, Hagman said something about the black and white rat possibly being part of
the message Karlov was carrying. That started me thinking. So I took a closer look, at both their genomes.”

  “And?”

  She reached for another sheaf of printout, then apparently had second thoughts and pushed it away instead. “All right,” she began, “you know what makes Yoko special, and why she’s on the Hub.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Nayo gave his rats longevity by activating an enzyme that repairs the telomeres at the ends of the chromosomes, thus inhibiting the aging process at a cellular level. I found the same effect in the nuclei of the black and white rat, who, it turns out, is also Yoko’s sibling.”

  Townsend’s brain nearly stalled. “So they’re the same age? We have two of Naguchi’s immortal rats on the Hub?”

  “So it appears. But that’s not the most interesting finding,” she told him, raising a forefinger and both eyebrows for emphasis. “When I examined Karlov’s cell nuclei, his telomeres appeared to be pristine as well. Nayo’s next round of experiments would have been conducted on Human test subjects. I believe that’s what Karlov is — the next logical step of a longevity experiment.”

  There was so much wrong with this theory that Drew didn’t know where to begin. He struggled for words for a moment, finally managing to remark, “Well. That’s— That’s quite a leap of logic, Doctor.”

  “Maybe it is. However, Naguchi died fifteen Earth years ago, and that gives another scientist plenty of time to analyze his work and then expand on it. I have no idea who that person might be, or how and when the black and white rat could have been acquired. I only know what I’ve seen under the microscope. And I wanted you to know that until there is cogent proof to the contrary, I’m going to assume that Karlov is Yoko’s Human counterpart, sent to us along with Yoko’s sister for safekeeping. You may be the station manager, Mr. Townsend, but according to the regulations governing space installations, you are not the highest authority on Daisy Hub in matters of crew well-being. I am. And I’m taking Max Karlov under my protection until such time as someone gives me a damned good reason not to.”

  Townsend thought about objecting but realized it would be foolish. The Doc was a force of nature, the proverbial immovable object. Even if he could convince her that he was right and she was wrong, it was bound to be a costly victory.

  Privately, he thought the very notion of a soldier like Karlov needing protection was laughable. But she had raised a valid point. They needed to figure out who and what Karlov was, and why he was on the Hub, and they had to do it as soon as possible.

  In the corridor outside the lab, Drew thumbed the call button on his wristcomm. “Lydia, I want to meet in AdComm in half an hour with any crew members who have had more than casual contact with Max Karlov since he arrived.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “Here he is,” Ruby caroled.

  Townsend counted eleven frowning faces turned toward him as he stepped out of the tube car on AdComm. On his instructions, Ruby and Lydia had arranged chairs in a semicircle around his desk in preparation for the meeting, and all but one of them — Hagman’s — were occupied. The Head of Security stood off to the side, his legs braced and his arms crossed as though daring anyone to bad-mouth Karlov, his new best friend. Drew sighed inwardly. He should have known this wouldn’t be easy.

  While still providing the illusion of normalcy, Townsend had done his best to limit Karlov’s access to sensitive parts of the Hub. In the past interval, the new crew member had worked shifts on two “safe” details — Tannis Walker’s and Fritz Jensen’s — and had attended martial arts classes with Lu Xensiu and several briefings with Holchuk. Three of these officers were now present. So was the Doc, scowling at Townsend from her seat in the back corner.

  Lydia had taken a chair in the front row, directly facing his own. Once he was seated behind his desk, she leaned forward and said softly, “Drew, Rodrigues is on his way here, ETA in about three hours, and he has information he says he’s been ordered to deliver to you in person.”

  Of course, he had. Life on Daisy Hub these days seemed to be one head-smacking revelation after another. With luck, Rodrigues’s message would be something Townsend could share. He was getting tired of keeping secrets from people he cared about.

  Drew leaned back in his chair, dragged in a long breath, and announced, “All right, people, I’m assuming that you all know why you’ve been called here. I want to know what you’ve observed and what your instincts are telling you about our newest crew member, Max Karlov. The circumstances under which he arrived on the Hub were unorthodox, to put it mildly. To put it bluntly, it appears he was smuggled here, sent by persons unknown and for reasons we can only guess at. For the past while, he’s been on a sort of probation with limited access to information. Unfortunately, we cannot afford to let him stay that way. There’s too much happening on Daisy Hub right now that must be kept within the family. So, I need your help to decide: Is he in or is he out? Can he be trusted with knowledge of our recent activities?”

  “And if the answer is no?” demanded Hagman, his tone even pricklier than usual as he deliberately uncrossed and recrossed his arms over his powerful chest.

  “Then we have to find a way to get him off the station, if not now, then at some point in the very near future.” Hagman’s expression was darkening, and an uneasy murmur had sprung up around him. To forestall an argument, Townsend added quickly, “Who wants to start sharing their impressions of this man?”

  “Me.” Ruby stood up and turned to face the rest of the group, visibly choosing her words. “I’ve been suspicious of him from the beginning, and not just because of the way he got here, or the fact that his eyes are two different shades of blue and one of them’s a fake. Anyone who’s ever had java before coming here has nothing good to say about Jensen’s version of it. It’s sludge. It’s mud-in-a-cup. But Karlov thinks it’s delicious. His first day on the Hub he must have drunk twenty cups of it, one after the other. This morning he tossed down three and said it was the best way to start the day.”

  “So? He likes the taste of old motor lubricant,” growled Hagman.

  Rounding on him, she snapped back, “And the Nandrians like the taste of lemon juice.”

  “They’re aliens,” he pointed out.

  “Exactly!” said Ruby, her arms flung wide in a gesture of finality. “There’s something not right about Karlov. He looks Human, and he’s friendly enough, but my brain has been itching ever since he came aboard. And those are my impressions,” she concluded, with emphasis on the last two words, before dropping back into her chair.

  “Speaking of Nandrians…” Lydia got to her feet then and repeated her conversation with Karlov about SPA choices. Meanwhile, Townsend could practically hear the wheels turning inside Hagman’s head, shredding every argument as it was presented. She was right — he was in love.

  “Okay, I can understand a soldier wanting to test himself in virtual combat against the most formidable opponent possible,” Lydia conceded. “But what really stuck in my mind was that when I suggested ordinary sports like golf and tennis, he gave me a blank look, as if he’d never heard of them before.”

  “I got that feeling from him too,” chimed in Nora Duvall, Jensen’s sous chef. “The day after he arrived, he came into the caf on a meal break and seemed to have no idea what any of the menu items were. Granted, Fritz likes to experiment with different food combinations, but a dish is still identifiable when it’s served. Stew looks like stew. Pasta looks like pasta. Karlov couldn’t tell the difference. It was so strange! He’s supposed to be from Earth, and yet I got the impression that he was encountering Terran cooking for the first time in his life.”

  “Do you suppose he might have been institutionalized or something?” ventured Will DeVries, one of Lu’s martial arts students. “Because he struck me as being a good-hearted guy, not stupid by any means, just lacking life experience. As if he’d grown up in a very small and shel
tered environment, like an orbiting platform, or…” He hesitated uncomfortably. “Or maybe a hospital.”

  “Like a mental hospital? Are you saying he’s crazy, boy?” Hagman challenged, moving to stand over him as, behind them, Gavin Holchuk and Lu Xensiu began slowly rising from their seats.

  Slightly built, DeVries must have realized what would happen if he got to his feet at that moment, but after multiple sessions of ninja training he wasn’t about to back down in front of his sensei, either. So, he sat stiffly upright in his chair and stared defiance at the larger man. “Daisy Hub is an orbiting detention center,” he pointed out. “Does that mean we’re all criminals?”

  Confronted by calm logic, Hagman seemed to shrink a little. Holchuk and Lu returned to their chairs. Townsend let out the breath he’d been holding. So did everyone else in the room.

  “Take my word for it, Max is no fruitcake,” Hagman informed them. “We’ve spent hours together, and he’s as sane as I am.”

  “Careful, Orvy,” muttered Nora, just loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  “And he’s fun to be with,” Hagman continued, raising his voice to carry over the wave of laughter her comment had generated. “And he’s having fun too. So what if everything’s for the first time for him? He’s enjoying himself, something the rest of us haven’t done much lately. So, here’s my impression of Max Karlov: He’s like a kid at a thrill park, and he deserves every chance we can give him.”

  Tannis Walker sprang from her chair then and declared, “Hagman’s right about Karlov being like a kid. He was on my waste management detail for five days, and the smile never left his face. I don’t remember the last time I saw anyone get that excited about the workings of a water reclamation system.”