by Jay Allan
* * *
“All personnel, we are about to transit into the X108 system. If our data is accurate, that should be the location of Shangri la. And the fleet.”
Sasha listened to Captain Skarn on the shipwide com. She was sitting in her quarters, looking at Don Rames as she did. “It is almost time,” she said, her voice stilted, without emotion.”
“Yes,” Rames said, his tone similar to hers. “As soon as the ship transits.”
“Agreed,” Sasha said. She turned back to her computer screen. The humans—that is what they called themselves—had extensive records. Combined with the memories of the biologic unit Debornan, the computer data had given her a fairly complete record of what had transpired. As expected, the bipeds were enemies of the Regent. They were a danger, and they had to be destroyed. But there were many, far more than those on this single vessel. It was necessary to develop a plan. The Debornan and Rames units did not have sufficient skills or access to destroy the entire human fleet. But they could strike a blow that would severely damage the bipeds. The enemy’s commander was highly skilled, and his tactics had thwarted many of the Regent’s plans. With careful planning, Debornan and Rames could get close to him. An assassination was highly feasible.
Cornwall was returning from a mission of exploration. Almost certainly, the fleet’s commander would want a report of what it had found. That would provide access…but there was no way to know for certain that Debornan and Rames would be selected to make such a report. There were thirty other biologics on Cornwall. Those biologics represented unacceptable risk to the plan. They had to be eliminated.
Sasha sat silently as Cornwall passed through the warp gate. Her display had gone dark. The human technology was backward, incapable of functioning during a warp gate transit. She knew from the memories of the biologic whose body she inhabited…the system failures would last only a moment. Then, Cornwall would contact the fleet. But she would not allow that.
She looked over at Rames. He nodded, and she returned the gesture before her eyes turned back to the screen. Her eyes were focused, waiting for the familiar image to return. The light came back first, bright, displaying a static pattern. Then text, the login screen, the unit rebooting.
Sasha continued to stare at the workstation as it finished its restart. “Ready.”
Rames nodded again. “Ready.”
She put her hands on the keyboard, typing in the passwords she’d set up days before. She was accessing hidden code, a program she’d placed in Cornwall’s AI. Then she hit the final key, and her screen went dark.
She knew what was happening. In the depths of Cornwall’s computer system, hundreds of files were being eliminated. Safeguards and failsafes were disappearing, and warning systems were disabled. The kernel, the essence of the ship’s AI, the files that made it what it was, deleted itself, replacing the previous directives with the ones Sasha had programmed. The computer system that controlled most of Cornwall’s vital functions was changed. Its primary directives, to protect the ship’s crew, were gone, replaced by far more malevolent routines.
Sasha glanced over toward the door to her tiny quarters, confirming that it was closed and locked. In a few seconds, Cornwall’s corridors, its chambers and compartments, would become deadly to the humans infesting the ship. There was no poison. There would be no fighting, no radiation…only a mild euphoria, and then death.
She stared at the screen, watching a large number on the top left. It read 11%…then 10%. All over the ship, everywhere but in her quarters, Cornwall’s life support system was removing the oxygen from the ship’s air, leaving it nearly 100% nitrogen.
She punched a few keys, activating several of the ship’s security cameras. She paused on the bridge. Captain Skarn was on the floor in front of her chair, lying on her back, a peaceful expression on her face. Sasha knew there were similar scenes all over Cornwall. Inert gas asphyxiation was a merciful, painless way to eliminate the ship’s crew, though that fact hadn’t entered into Sasha’s decision-making process. It was also an easy way, one that would leave little evidence once the bodies were thrown into the reactor and disintegrated. As far as anyone in the fleet was concerned, the crew had been lured to the surface of the planet…and massacred by First Imperium robots. The story would serve multiple purposes. It would explain why Debornan and Rames were the only survivors…and it would add to the fear driving the biologics.
Her eyes fixed on the corner of the screen…3%…2%. Her studies of the bipeds suggested that they should all be dead by now, but she had decided on a safety factor. She would allow the vessel to remain at 0% oxygen for ten minutes. Then she would restore normal conditions. While she waited, she would contact the fleet, give them the bad news about Cornwall and the rest of its crew.
She felt something. A disruption. What was left of the personality that had been Sasha Debornan. It was unsettled, horrified at what she had done. It was pushing, struggling, trying to escape its confines…but to no avail. The nanos controlled the biological being utterly. Soon, the essence that was Debornan would have completed its usefulness. Then it would be terminated. But not yet. There was still work to do.
She reached down and flipped on the com unit. “Fleet command…fleet command, this is Lieutenant Debornan on Cornwall.” Her voice was brittle, heavy with fear and sadness. She had studied the memories of the biologic, and she had utilized them to create an appropriate voice and demeanor. There could be no question. The biologics in the human fleet must believe that Debornan and Rames had returned. Then they could obtain the access they required…and complete their mission.
“Fleet, this is Cornwall calling Midway. Please respond.”
“Cornwall, this is Lieutenant Commander Krantz aboard Saratoga. Midway is currently not in-system.”
Sasha processed the new information. Where is the fleet’s flagship? Where is Admiral Compton? Should I modify the plan, seek a new target? Or should I wait? Need more data. Play along for now…wait…evaluate.
“Commander,” she said, her voice distraught, “it is terrible. We only have two survivors.”
“I am sorry, Lieutenant. That is horrible news.” A short pause. “I am transmitting course instructions…you will rendezvous with Saratoga. Admiral West is sending a shuttle with replacement crew…and to bring you back for debriefing.”
“Very well, Commander. Understood.” She cut the line. There was no immediate access to Midway. But they would be on Saratoga. They would meet Admiral West.
Is West a suitable replacement target for Compton? She considered, accessing Debornan’s memories, the ship’s files she had reviewed. No, she determined. Erika West was an extremely skilled officer. But she was not capable of filling Admiral Compton’s role. Indeed, there was some chance West would become a destabilizing force, causing discontent and disruption in the human fleet.
No, she would not kill West. Not yet. She would wait…and access whatever records she could…to determine when Compton would return.
She stood up, glancing down at the screen again. The readout read 19%. The ship’s support systems had returned almost to normal.
“Come,” she said, looking over at Rames. “It is time.”
He nodded and rose alongside her.
Yes, she would wait for Compton to return. But first, she and Rames had to haul thirty bodies down to the reactor.
* * *
“It’s bad, Admiral. Everyone on Snow Leopard appears to be infected now.”
West sat in her chair, her face an angry scowl. She’d had an instant of gratification, when the scanners confirmed Cornwall had entered the system. She hadn’t had a word from Compton, but the return of the scientists was good news…at least for a moment, until the word came over the com. Only two out of thirty-two had returned. The rest were lost. Dead.
She was worried about Shangri la too. She’d expected to feel some kind of joy, or at least relief when the fleet arrived here, but all she could think about was
the cost. She wondered, was survival at all costs worth it? She wasn’t sure what others would say…nor what she believed as a commander responsible for twenty thousand people, but for herself as an individual, she knew. She’d rather be with Compton…even if he was nothing but part of a cloud of slowly-cooling plasma right now.
And now this. An epidemic. Illnesses were fairly rare in the tightly controlled environments of fleet warships, a factor that alone was cause for concern. But a pathogen that ripped through an entire ship’s crew…that was something deeply worrying. From what she’d heard it appeared very much like some strain of the flu, but it resisted all attempts at treatment. The best efforts of Snow Leopard’s single doctor had been enough to provide some temporary relief of symptoms, but it didn’t appear to have slowed the progress of the disease at all. Worse, Snow Leopard had been resupplied, and now there were additional cases appearing…on the supply ship itself, and on at least eight other vessels it had since docked with. Whatever her people were facing, it was clearly highly contagious. And from the grim reports coming from Snow Leopard, it appeared to be life-threatening as well.
She’d have known about the epidemic weeks earlier, but Snow Leopard’s doctor hadn’t reported it, not at first. It was easy to second-guess that decision now, but she realized the disease had appeared routine at first, with only two or three patients showing symptoms. It was one thing to wish this particular outbreak had been reported sooner, but then she imagined every sick bay ringing alarm bells over upset stomachs and allergic rashes.
What really pissed her off was the lack of a report on the spread of tiny warheads that had targeted Snow Leopard. Captain Ving had done his duty, forwarded the data to Midway before the flagship left with the rearguard. The report got to Saratoga in Midway’s last communications dump, but there was very little information—and no apparent effect at the time—so it hadn’t made its way up the chain to her. Ving himself had stated he believed the weapon had failed to operate in whatever manner the enemy had intended it to. She was inclined to think she would have been more attentive in his shoes, but again, that was far easier to say after the fact. Still, Saratoga’s communications staff should have seen the report got to her, or at least to Krantz, whether they thought there was anything to it or not.
The people responsible for that bit of poor decision making had been dealt with severely, half a dozen officers busted all the way down to common spacers. That bit of after the fact discipline had failed to make West feel any better…but she figured it might at least serve as an example that would remind others to report anything out of the ordinary, no matter how unimportant it may seem. Still, it wasn’t going to do a damned thing to stop this disease, or to prevent it from spreading to a dozen or more ships. In the end, she’d lost almost a month to the spread of this thing, time during which she could have had all the fleet’s med services working on a cure.
She had no idea how long it would take her med teams to beat this disease, but the knowledge that a virulent pathogen had been a major factor in the destruction of the people of the First Imperium did nothing to make her feel any better. If this was related in some way—and her dark mind assumed it was—how could her people even hope to cope with something the advanced science of the First Imperium had failed to defeat?
“Repeat the warning to the fleet. All vessels that have had any contact with Snow Leopard or the freighter Wanderer are quarantined.” She paused. “And Hank, I want you to review the records personally. If any of the ships Wanderer docked with had any contact with any other vessels, those ships are to be quarantined too. That includes any shuttle traffic back and forth. Understood?” West knew the extent of contact between ships in the fleet, and she had to put a stop to that right now. She knew at least ten ships had been exposed already…and she suspected Krantz’ review would turn up at least a few more. She didn’t know for certain the pathogen had been spread to any other ships, but she damned sure wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Yes, Admiral. I’ll make sure we’ve got it controlled.”
She just nodded. For an instant she thought she should do it herself, just to be sure. But Hank Krantz was as capable an officer as she’d ever known. Trust didn’t come easily to Erika West, but her tactical officer had long ago earned it. Besides, she had other concerns. Saratoga was approaching Shangri la. In a couple hours they would know what was waiting for them…if it was hope for a future…or bitter disappointment.
* * *
“Sara….”
The voice was soft, distant. She was floating, disoriented. Her eyes were filmy…she could see the figures above her as hazy silhouettes, moving slowly. She could feel…hands touching her. She was weak, her body heavy. Heat…the fever. Her sickbay gown soaked in sweat.
“Sara…answer me, Sara. Say something. Here, squeeze my hand.”
She felt something. Touching. A hand on hers. She tried to grab it…but it was no use. She couldn’t move. She rasped loudly, struggling for breath…but there was none. She felt herself slipping away, deeper, darker. The figures were gone now…just a shadowy haze. Falling. Silence. Blackness…
Then awareness. Her body spasming. Pain. A shock. Light. Breath, air.
“That was close.”
The words were louder, but she had trouble understanding. Then another feeling, a wave moving through her. Alertness. Clarity. She was looking up at sickbay, the bright lights, the pristine white of the walls, the cabinets.
“BP still low, heart rate 32…but we got her back, Doctor. At least for now.”
“Chris…” Her voice was soft, weak.
“Sara…yes, it’s Chris Flynn.”
She looked up. The face…familiar. Flynn.
“Dying…”
“No, Sara,” Flynn said, his words clipped, emotional. “We almost lost you, but we got you back.”
Flynn paused, stepping away for an instant. Sara’s eyes were clearer, she could see his face. White, pale, his eyes sunken.
“You…sick…too?”
“I’m okay, Sara.” He extended his hand, wiping her forehead with a cloth.
“Lie…” She paused and gasped for air, but her congested lungs resisted.
“Okay, Sara…yes, I’m sick. But I will be okay. You will too.”
She smiled weakly. Whatever meds he’d just given her, she had some clarity back. Enough to know he was lying.
“How…bad?”
Flynn looked down at her. “It’s bad, Sara. You’re very sick…and I haven’t isolated the cause yet, much less a cure. But we can manage your symptoms until we make more progress.”
She shook her head slowly. “No…not…me. Ship. How…many?”
Flynn hesitated. “Sara…”
“Don’t…lie…”
“Everyone, Sara. Everyone on the ship is infected.”
She closed her eyes. No…
She knew she was weak, that she wouldn’t last much longer. Flynn tried to give her hope, but she knew there wasn’t any, not for her, at least. But the thought of all her shipmates, sickening as she had…dying. It was too much.
She could feel a tear welling up in one of her eyes, sliding slowly down her face. But there was only one. She was feverish, dehydrated despite Flynn’s best efforts to force fluids into her. Her breaths were shallow, difficult. She could feel the fluids in her chest, the pressure.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“No, Sara.” She could feel Flynn leaning over her, but she couldn’t see him. Her eyes were failing. There was light, a dull white glow, but no details. She could feel her heartbeat, hear the rattling in her chest with every straining breath.
She felt the urge to fight, to struggle…to draw breath…to live. But she didn’t have the strength. It was too hard…and she knew there was no point, no hope.
She felt the darkness coming for her, one last urge to fight…and then nothing. Surrender. Blackness.
* * *
; Sasha sat in the small decontamination chamber, along with Don Rames and the shuttle crew that had brought her back to Saratoga. This was unexpected, a departure from standard procedure. She didn’t understand, and she reviewed the memories of her host, the files she had studied. No, this was not normal.
“Why are we being detained here?” she asked, looking over at the shuttle pilot.
“There is an epidemic running through the fleet. It has affected at least ten ships. Cornwall didn’t have any contact with it, but Admiral West ordered extra precautions. The decon procedure isn’t long, maybe another thirty minutes. Then we should be out of here.”
Sasha nodded.
An epidemic? Does that alter the plan at all?
She considered. She didn’t have enough information. She needed to know more.
“How did it start?”
The pilot had been leaning back against the wall, but now he straightened up and smiled in her direction. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. It started on one of the attack ships, and it’s spread to a bunch of other vessels.”
Sasha looked back at the pilot. She was confused…the other officer’s expression was odd, the tone of his voice. She accessed her host’s memories, her knowledge. Yes, of course. The other biologic was of the other gender. He was interested in some sort of breeding rituals. Yes…Sasha Debornan was quite desirable by the standards of her species. That is worth noting. It may be useful. But she didn’t see any advantage to be gained from the pilot, so she just nodded. Then she tried to ignore him. There was nothing to do now but wait.
* * *
Erika West rubbed temples with her fingers, trying to force away the headache that bored into her skull. The day had started off as shit, and it had only gone downhill from there. She’d expected to experience some kind of satisfaction when the fleet reached Shangri la. But now all she could think about was Admiral Compton and the ships he’d taken with him. And the plague running wild throughout the fleet. Krantz had tracked down all points of contact…and no fewer than twenty-two ships were now involved. And there were reported cases of mysterious illnesses with flulike symptoms on eleven of them. A minor disaster had expanded to a massive cataclysm in the making, largely because her people had failed to communicate quickly enough.
