“Did you see that?” Berryman cried. “What the hell was that?”
“Bloodworms,” Korie admitted. “The whole ship is infested with plasmacytes. Bloodworms.” There. He’d said it.
“Oh, God, no—”
“They got Hodel!” Easton was gasping, choking on his words. “Hodel! Those bastards! They got Hodel! We were just talking—just finishing up—and all of a sudden, they came out of the wall! They came out of the wall! And there wasn’t anything he could do! They were all over him! There wasn’t time! I tried—I fried them, but they exploded! They exploded! They turned into red fire! Oh, God, they got Mikhail!” And then, his voice breaking, “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t help him. He was screaming. I had to ... I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t save him! They were all over him, so I ... I ...”
Berryman grabbed him, held him by both shoulders, stared into his face, helmet to helmet. Their faceplates touched. “Danny! Listen to me! Danny! It’s all right! I’m here! You’re all right! You can stop now! You did all right! You did good!”
“Listen!” said Shibano, cautiously approaching the hatch. He held up a hand to the others.
Still in their suits, they froze—and listened.
The muted noise of the bloodworms could be heard rising—a kind of muffled chorus in the bulkheads all around them. The sound was horrible.
“That explains the unknown life readings that HARLIE picked up. They were coming through the bulkheads, the decks, the overhead—” Berryman stopped in mid-word and looked up nervously. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested.
“To where?” asked Bach.
“Will that hatch hold?” Korie pointed.
“It’s a Class-A security hatch,” said Shibano. “It had better.”
“Or what?”
“Or—I’m going to complain to the manufacturer.”
Korie remembered where he was then—a voice was yammering in his ear—Goldberg’s. “Korie! Acknowledge! Acknowledge now, goddammit!”
“Acknowledge. Acknowledge. We’re all right!” Korie said quickly. “Take a breath, Goldie. Take two.” He paused to take his own advice, checking around to see if the remaining members of the mission team were all right. Easton was still badly shaken—and Bach was ashen. Berryman and Shibano had their rifles charged and were standing at position. He looked at his helmet display, checked his own health, then read the displays of the others as well. Heartbeats and respiration were elevated. All of them. To be expected. To the Star Wolf, he said, “Did you get any of that?”
“We got it all. Captain saw it. We’re reviewing our options now.”
“You’re reviewing your options—?” Korie’s astonishment was evident. “Excuse me?”
Parsons came on then. “Stand by, Mr. Korie. The chief medical officer, the chief of security and myself are having an argument. I haven’t decided yet whether to shoot Commander Brik.”
“You want my opinion?”
“I already know your opinion. But you’re over on the Norway, and if I shoot him I’ll have to do the paperwork myself. I’m about to violate a standing order. Before I do that, I need to know if our security officer is going to cooperate or attempt mutiny. Stand by.”
Parsons turned to Williger and Brik. They were still in the Officers’ Mess. Cappy and Armstrong still held their rifles aimed at Commander Brik. Williger had a work station powered up and processing.
But there were no secrets anymore; the crew had seen it now. And she’d said it all on an open channel. Just as well. The ship’s complement needed to know what was happening. The truth might be dismaying—but uncontrolled rumors running down the keel of the ship would be even more destructive.
“Dr. Williger? I need an answer.”
The chief medical officer shook her head grimly. “I don’t like it, but—” She rapped the display in front of her with her knuckles. “HARLIE thinks they were onto something. They were on station for nine months without incident. The failure of their safeguards—it might not have been accidental.”
“Go on.”
“We know that the plasmacytes can be contained with repulsor fields. We know that their security gear was fail-safe. And we know that they were equipped with a Class-9 power core, so they could have maintained repulsor strength indefinitely. So if the bugs got out, either somebody was stupid, careless or ... suicidal. The fail-safes should have protected against stupidity and carelessness. If it was deliberate ... it couldn’t have been done without the knowledge of the LENNIE unit, so the record should be in the autonomic log.” She sat down at the table, directly opposite Brik. She glanced up at him with visible exhaustion. “My point is, we know that their security worked for nine months before it broke down, so maybe the breakdown wasn’t an accident.”
“Go on,” Parsons prompted.
Williger took a breath. “I’m not comfortable with this, Captain.”
“None of us are.”
“No, I mean—I’ve done triage before. But in every previous situation where we had to make decisions about who should live or who should die, there was a medical logic to it. The same logic doesn’t apply here. This is the logic of infection—and fear. And it’s a whole different game. I’ve been going through this material as fast as it comes across. And you were right. They made some significant advances here. Not a cure, not yet—at least not in anything I’ve seen—but they were experimenting with various plasmacyte-inhibitors, and some of them worked in testtube situations, and I can’t help wondering what else there is in these files. Maybe there is something here. It’s possible they even completed their goals. I’d like the chance to keep looking—and keep hoping—for a while longer.”
“Go ahead,” said Parsons. “Convince me.”
“Two reasons. First, if someone did deliberately release these things on the Norway, then it had to be in response to something. Maybe it was because someone did make a breakthrough in treatment. And second, I want to keep hoping, because ... just because. I’m only human.”
“If they made a breakthrough in treatment, why didn’t they use it on themselves?”
“Maybe they need a clean environment to evacuate to. Maybe they keep getting reinfected. I need time here, Captain.”
“Time is what we don’t have, Dr. Williger. We’ve got less than thirty hours of repulsor power aboard the Star Wolf and only three days until the Norway hits a wall of flame. It doesn’t matter how much time you need, Doctor; that’s all the time you have.”
Williger nodded. “If we can implement equal or better security, we might just be able to get our people off that ship—that would buy us some more time to study the logs.”
“And then what?” demanded Brik. “Then we have plasmacyte-infected individuals aboard this starship, in violation of a standing order.”
“Mr. Brik,” Molly Williger stood up and faced him coldly. She was a short woman—very short—so much so that she was often mistaken for a dwarf. She stared up at Brik’s three-meter height and glowered at him. “I do not appreciate being interrupted. It is nyet kulturny. It is extremely bad manners. And considering that you are already treading the borderline of insubordination, not to mention mutiny, I respectfully request that you keep that big ugly hole in the front of your face properly closed until you learn how to use it appropriately.”
Without looking to see if Brik was obeying—she took it for granted that he would—Williger turned back to Parsons. “The other thing we might try is for me to go aboard the Norway and try to implement a treatment there and evacuate them back here—but if the treatment doesn’t work, we still risk infecting the Wolf—”
“Doctor, talk straight with me. Is there a chance to save our people or not?”
Williger sighed. “Half an hour ago, I would have said no. Now, I’m not so sure.” She met Parson’s gaze unashamedly. “I’d hate to spend the rest of my life with the knowledge that there was something we could have tried and didn’t.”
Parsons didn
’t answer. She turned away and stared at the display on Williger’s workstation. She needed to make a decision now. She couldn’t wait any longer. She looked up at Brik. “Do I have to shoot you?”
“I doubt you could succeed,” he said. “But that’s not the question you’re really asking. What you want to know is whether or not I will cooperate with a rescue attempt if you order it. Captain, this ship has a history of surviving situations where certain destruction was inevitable. Sooner or later, I expect the law of averages to catch up with us. So it is part of my job to urge caution, because caution is always the best survival tactic—except in situations when it isn’t. Unfortunately in this situation, caution also equates to cowardice, and, regrettably, I have been around humans long enough to have been infected with some human ways of thinking.”
“And your point is ...?” Parsons prompted.
“I would rather die following the foolishly reckless orders of a human captain than be known as a cautious Morthan.”
Parsons stared at Brik for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking or serious. But then, Morthans never joked, did they? So she accepted the statement at face value. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Commander Brik. Dr. Williger, proceed with your best option. Security, you’re relieved. Now, let’s get back to the Bridge.”
Escape
Security Officer Daniel Easton leaned over a scorched console and wept softly to himself. Medical Tech Paul David Berryman came over and stood beside him. He put one hand on his partner’s shoulder, a carefully calculated response—when what he really wanted to do was just wrap him up in his arms and hold him tight forever.
“I couldn’t stop them, Paul! Every time I fired, they just got angrier! They just kept coming! I couldn’t save him! You didn’t see it—”
Berryman moved his hand to the back of Easton’s neck. He wished he could reach through the starsuit and massage the muscles of his back; he could sense the tightness just by Easton’s posture alone; but this would have to do. After a moment more, he reached across and took Easton’s left wrist and turned it so he could read the monitors there.
“I’m all right,” said Easton, pulling his arm back. “I’ll be all right.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t, but as senior medical officer on this team, I have a responsibility to make sure.” He reached out and gently took Easton’s wrist again. He held his partner’s hand tightly in his own while he studied heart and respiration rates. He leaned his head in close so their helmets were touching, and whispered, “Just take it one breath at a time, Danny. I’m right here. Just like always. Okay?”
But before Easton could reply, Wasabe Shibano’s voice filtered through both their helmets. “Oh, no—”
Shibano was pointing toward the hatch they’d all just tumbled through. “Mr. Korie!”
Three red worms were crawling down from the top of it. They flickered in scarlet—an unholy haze of light.
“Stay back!” cautioned Easton, but Korie was already stepping forward. “How the hell—?”
There were pinpoint holes in the hatch. As he watched, another and another of the shimmery red worms came burrowing through the foamedcarbon /polymer surface.
“Captain?” Korie said. “They’re coming through the hatch. Do you copy?”
“We’ve got it onscreen,” Parsons acknowledged. “Stand by.”
Brik’s voice cut in then: “Scanners show the whole forward section of the ship is heavily infested. They’re moving toward you. Return to the transfer tube now. We’re taking you off.”
“You can’t—”
“Listen to me,” said Brik. “We can do this. You’re not coming back into the Star Wolf. You’ll stay in the transfer tube. We’ll break away from the Norway and come around aft. We’ll put you back aboard her through the aft airlock—on the other side of her repulsor fields. If there are any survivors, that’s where they have to be.”
Korie said, “Captain Parsons? I strongly advise against this. The risk to the ship—”
“—is minimal. We’ll focus the repulsor valves to our side of the tube.”
“There’s no need for this, ma’am.”
“Yes, there is. Spare me the phony heroics. I need you where you can do the most good.”
“Brik—you can’t let her do this.”
“She threatened to shoot me.”
“So what? When has a threat like that ever stopped you?”
Parsons voice came through loud and clear: “This is an order, Commander Korie.” She added, “Listen to me. Dr. Williger thinks there might be a way—a way to rescue you. And any survivors on the Norway. She thinks they may have found a treatment. You’ve got to go around and find out.”
Korie looked to the other members of the mission team—and then to the Class-A Security Hatch. A stream of little red bloodworms was already dripping down its surface—the first trickle of a scarlet waterfall. Korie started to object, then abruptly he surrendered. “Aye, aye, Captain. We’re on our way.” I’ve made too many mistakes, too many! I’ve lost Hodel! To the team, he snapped, “Move out.” He waved them out. “Come on, let’s go! Now!!”
Once the decision was made, there was no hesitation. The team tumbled down through the Fire Control Bay, to the keel—there were bloodworms in the corridor! And sparkles too! They scrambled forward through the flickering air, to the promise of the airlock at the end of the keel. Their boots pounded hard on the rubbery surface of the deck, scattering even more sparkles.
Quickly, they reentered the airlock, a flurry of firefly pinpoints swirling in with them. Korie was the last one through the hatch, and he popped it shut behind him. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Korie sounded like a drill instructor. Bach was already punching for emergency transfer and as soon as the aft hatch slammed, the forward hatch popped open.
The five surviving members of the mission team pushed into the transfer tube—hard against the repulsor fields. It was harder going back, they were swimming upstream now and the current was against them. The thickened air was a wall of resistance, but Korie put his shoulder against Shibano and pushed, and Shibano put his shoulder against Easton and pushed. Easton put his shoulder against Berryman and pushed. Berryman pushed Bach forward, and the whole team pushed uphill through the repulsors. The railings doubled as ladders. They climbed through an invisible avalanche of tar. It was exhausting work, and they pulled themselves in silence, punctuated only by gasps and curses. Behind them, the twinkling wavicles drifted away, pushed inexorably backward to lodge against the aft hatch of the Norway’s airlock.
Bach was in the lead. She climbed as far up the transfer tube as she could, grunting and swearing under her breath with an astonishing range of expression. She didn’t care who heard. Finally, gasping in exhaustion, she secured herself, clipping her safety line to a loop in the railing. She gabbed Berryman and pulled him up next to her, holding him until he secured his safety line as well. One by one, they pulled the members of the team as far up the transfer tube as they could. One by one each of them secured his safety line.
“All right, Star Wolf, we’re secured in the transfer tube.” Almost before Korie had finished saying it, the compressed-air latches at the end of the tube popped open and the Star Wolf lurched backward, away from the Norway—almost a physical act of revulsion and disgust.
The air fled the transfer tube in one quick gust—just another thump, almost unnoticeable in the gelatin current of the repulsors—but the vacuum hardened their starsuits and now their voices were carried by electronics alone. The optical transceivers on their suits communicated across a broad spectrum of light, listening and speaking and recording each other’s information, and constantly relaying it back to the Star Wolf.
All of them were experienced with hard vacuum—but even so, it never lost its power to amaze. This was as close to raw space as any human could ever achieve. As one, they all turned to gape downward out the empty end of the transfer tube. It felt like they were clinging to the inner wal
ls of a bottomless well. Were it not for their lifelines, it would have been too easy to go tumbling down and out—pushed to their doom by the repulsors.
As the Star Wolf pulled away from the Norway, they saw the other ship as a red-tinged spearhead, dark against the stars—incredibly clear and close. But its running lights were off and it looked dead. Other than that, there was no external evidence of the horror within.
As the Star Wolf began its turn, the Norway slid sideways and disappeared, replaced by a moving panorama of darkness and stars at the gaping end of the transfer tube.
Out here, the stars were hard and bold, incredibly distant and pinpoint bright. They hinted at meanings so grand and awesome that, even glimpsed like this, they were still overwhelming. The sensation of falling, of being pushed, became even more intense.
And then, abruptly, the view below was filled with flame—savage and bright, a terrifying floor of hell, a crimson flood of light that welled upward like surging lava—the distant surface of the giant red star. The members of the mission team flinched and recoiled—as much from the glare as from the suddenness of the ferocious vista. It took an achingly long time for the starship to sweep across the wall of flame. Impossibly, it seemed to fill more than 180 degrees of arc—the way the star was stretched out of shape, it was a believable illusion.
And the whole time, the repulsors continued to press against them, pushing them down toward the flames.
Then, blessed darkness again. Blessed relief. And stars, quiet stars. The team waited in silence, listening to ship noises and chatter through their communicators. As their eyes adjusted, they looked for telltale twinkles. There were none—none that they could see, at least—the repulsors had driven them backward out of the transfer tube. But they didn’t know how secure their starsuits were; it was likely—inevitable—that each of them had been penetrated by the wavicle form of the creature. And even now, there were probably pinpoint worms, growing within their bloodstreams.
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