Peacekeeper Pathogen (Galactic Alliance Book 6)

by Doug Farren

  “A peacekeeper!” Lashpa said. “We should be able to track her whereabouts very easily.”

  “Indeed. I’ve already requested her entire record.”

  “Five months later, a Shandarian male living on Shandar suddenly became ill and quickly died in a manner closely resembling T11-N106. By this time, the Omel had become interested in this new disease because of the unusually brutal way in which the patient died. Based on the limited information provided to us by the Omel, it appears as if the patient had never left Shandar.”

  “A Terran female,” the Orion continued, “was next about two weeks later. She worked as a cargo handler and died on Luna.”

  Krish walked over and joined Orion at the screen. “The rest all occurred within the next three months. An Omel cook who lives on Earth and died while on vacation visiting Om; a Terran housewife who lived and died on Mars; a Terran male Purist from Safa who died on the Shandarian world of Vernot; and finally, Nathan Smally whom you’re familiar with.”

  “Two Purists,” Tom pointed out. “Isn’t that a coincidence.”

  “Perhaps,” Orion replied. “But the only point in common between them other than the fact that they are Purists is that they were both on Gwon-go, the Mowry homeworld.”

  “That’s not much of a coincidence,” Lashpa said. “What else do we know about these people?”

  “The investigation is still in its infancy,” Orion replied. “It’s going to take some time to gather enough information to formulate a possible source.”

  “What are the chances that there’s been more deaths that have not been linked to T11-N106?” Lashpa asked.

  “As with any disease, it’s possible there have been unreported deaths associated with T11-N106 especially because the occurrences have been so spread out and the disease is so new,” Krish replied.

  “Why are we focusing our efforts on this disease?” Tom asked. “If it was created by a race unknown to the Alliance, shouldn’t we be trying to locate them? We need to get the military in on this.”

  “Where do you want them to start looking?” Lashpa asked. “If we can identify a pattern associated with the infections, we might be able to identify the point of origin. At a minimum, finding a cure for this disease will prevent a possible attack before it can be initiated.”

  “How capable is this science ship the Omel are sending?” Tom asked.

  “It’s a large vessel equipped to perform almost any conceivable scientific observation,” Krish replied.

  “Does that include medical science?” Tom asked.

  “The Churva is equipped with the most advanced medical instruments available,” Orion pointed out. “The Omel are very proud of their science vessels and they regularly update them.”

  “Excellent! Inform Biomaster Flothir that Nathan Smally’s autopsy can take place on the Churva.”

  “Acknowledged,” Orion said.

  Looking over at Lashpa, Tom said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “As am I,” she said. “There’s a restaurant nearby that serves Rouldian cuisine. Care to join me there?”

  “As long as they have cooked food as well.”

  Chapter 6

  Purist: A Terran who believes humanity should isolate itself from all contact with non-human cultures to preserve the purity of humans. The Army of Humanity (AOH) was a Purist terror organization dedicated to removing all non-Terrans from Earth by whatever means necessary. The AOH was effectively dismantled following the end of a failed attempt to take over the government of Earth. Purists live on a planet they’ve named Safa.

  The next day, Tom woke up to find three large data files waiting for him. The largest by far was a detailed history of Peacekeeper Qiu Lijuan extending back in time many years. The other two contained everything Earth intelligence knew about the two Purists who had died from the disease. During breakfast, Tom glanced through the massive file then asked Orion if he had identified any correlations that might give them a starting point towards solving the problem.

  “I’ve been unable to identify any correlation or pattern of movement at this time,” the ship replied.

  “Two of them are Purists,” Tom pointed out.

  “Two out of eight known cases,” the computer replied. “According to Earth intelligence, Raashid Hamady was a tunnel engineer and was on Gwon-Go from just after its discovery by the Purists until they evacuated the planet. He returned to Safa and left for Glish a few days after the war ended. Saood Raad is a purchasing agent for an electronics firm on Safa who frequently traveled to other planets. He became ill during a trip to the Shandarian world of Vernot. I see no correlation.”

  “Two out of eight is 25%,” Tom said. “The correlation is that they’re Purists and Purists seem to always be at the center of trouble.”

  “It is, at best, a tenuous link,” Orion replied. “I should also point out that there is no evidence indicating the Purists have the technological knowledge to construct an organism as complex as T11-N106. Nobody in the Alliance does, indicating that the source is most likely not a member of the Alliance.”

  “Still, it’s a start. Doesn’t it seem likely that an unknown race would have to work with one of the member species? They have to get their intelligence from somewhere.”

  “The Chroniech spied on us for years without our knowing of their existence,” Orion pointed out. “The Purist dislike of non-Terran species would tend to eliminate them from the list of suspects.”

  “They want Earth,” Tom replied. “And they’ll work with anyone willing to help them obtain that goal.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Is Lashpa awake?”

  “She is.”

  “Give her a call,” Tom ordered.

  A moment later, the Orion’s AI generated an image of Lashpa sitting across the table from him. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Morning. Have you looked at the data that arrived this morning?”

  “Not yet. Have you found something?”

  “Only that there’s a chance the Purists are behind this,” Tom said.

  Lashpa’s hand appeared, a live anchovy squirming between two of her fingers. She dropped it into her mouth and chewed, then replied, “Krish does not believe there’s sufficient evidence to point the finger at the Purists. None of the other victims appear to have any connection to them.”

  “True,” Tom admitted, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. The Orion was careful to blank out Lashpa’s image as he closed his eyes in thought, keeping the virtual reality environment as realistic as possible. Dropping his hands and leaning forward, he said, “Have you noticed how concentrated these deaths are? All of them are in this small area of space. Why haven’t we seen any Rouldian deaths, or Lamaltan, or Shintur? It seems to be concentrated in the area near Earth. I still think the Purists are responsible.”

  “The Purists don’t have the technology,” Lashpa pointed out. “Perhaps- - -”

  A high-pitched alarm abruptly cut her off. Her image vanished as Tom shot out of his chair and headed for the control room. “Commencing emergency reactor startup,” the ship announced, using Tom’s cybernetic ears instead of relying on the ship’s address system.

  The hum of the auxiliary reactor increased to a low rumble as power was fed into the startup coils of the main reactor as well as the drive system. The ship quickly supplied the details of the developing situation as Tom hurried down the passageway.

  “A large cargo shuttle has experienced a sudden and complete loss of all propulsion and is on an uncontrolled descent. The loss of power appears to have been caused by an explosion from within the cargo bay. An orbital patrol ship—the Siam—is on an intercept but will not be able to slow the descent enough to prevent a catastrophic crash. The status of the two crew members is unknown at this time.”

  Tom slammed into the command chair as the main reactor’s fusion fire was lit and began producing power. Anticipating his need, the ship’s AI had already configu
red the main screen to show the tactical situation. A blinking yellow icon was hurtling towards the Earth from orbit. A light yellow curved line indicated the shuttle’s projected course. A second icon, blue in color, was rapidly approaching. A quick glance at the screen confirmed that no other ships would be able to intercept in time. Tom touched the shuttle’s icon and a box popped up showing the relevant information.

  It was a heavy shuttle, massing a little more than 18,000 tons and carrying a crew of two; a pilot and a copilot. It was currently at an altitude of 28 kilometers and sensor data showed its hull was rapidly heating up.

  An icon representing his and Lashpa’s ships appeared as they lifted off the tarmac. “Projected impact?” Tom asked.

  “Somewhere west of Cheyenne, Wyoming,” the ship replied. “Rescue operations will alter the current trajectory.”

  Tom touched the icon representing the approaching patrol vessel. A quick thought into his biolink caused the list of details being presented to expand. Scanning the statistics, he came to the conclusion that the patrol ship’s tractor beam would not have enough pull to prevent the shuttle from crashing into the surface. It barely had enough power to slow it down enough to keep the hull from melting.

  “Maximum possible thrust,” Tom ordered. A quick flip of a switch caused his ship to be surrounded by a silvery sphere of energy. The shield would keep him from melting his own hull as he raced through the atmosphere.

  “Get me the Siam.”

  Tom felt his weight increase as the ship applied more thrust than the compensator could neutralize. There was a brief delay, then a man’s face appeared on the left side of the screen. A half-second later, Lashpa’s face appeared.

  “Thanks for the assist,” the Captain said as soon as the connection was made.

  “We’ll need to be careful how much deceleration we apply,” Tom told him. “Without any power, the crew won’t have the benefit of a compensation field.”

  The Captain’s eyes had been bouncing back and forth between the two peacekeepers and something off-screen. He swung his head around and said, “Activate tractor!” Returning his attention to the peacekeepers, he said, “I don’t have nearly enough power to make the crew uncomfortable. The most I can do is to keep them from burning up.”

  “Do what you can,” Lashpa said, “We’ll be there momentarily.” Turning her attention to Tom, she said, “I’ll take port, We’ll have to balance our beams or the torsional stresses will tear the ship apart.”

  “Roger that,” Tom said. “Orion, are you confident you and Krish can handle this?”

  “Affirmative,” the ship replied.

  “Continue on automatic,” Tom ordered. “Try to steer clear of populated areas and keep the G-forces under six.”

  “By the time we’re able to engage,” the ship replied, “We’ll have to apply at least 6.5 Gs to prevent a fatal crash.”

  “Even at that rate of deceleration,” Krish added, “the landing is going to be very hard—expect injuries and significant damage.”

  “Let’s hope the crew is smart enough to get into their suits,” Tom said.

  “Tom,” Lashpa began, “I recommend donning combat armor for the rescue.”

  “Agreed. See you on the ground.”

  His combat armor was open and waiting for him when he arrived. Tom walked up to the open back of the suit, leaned forward, and inserted his arms. Clamps engaged, locking his cybernetic limbs to that of the suit’s. His legs were next. As each one slipped into the suit’s open leg, the flaps closed locking him in place. The back swung closed and latched. As the solid, domed headpiece locked itself shut, the combat suit’s electronics merged with those built into his cybernetic systems. There was a brief feeling of disorientation as the suit became Tom’s new body. His vision was restored as a vast array of sensors fed enhanced images and data directly into his optic nerve.

  After running through the diagnostics, he said, “Suited and ready. Give me a visual.”

  The Orion complied, giving Tom the illusion that he was now outside the ship looking at the shuttle as they rapidly approached. The ship had stopped tumbling. The Siam’s tractor beam was holding onto the aft end of the vessel with the bow pointing straight down. A huge hole had been ripped open in the hull, sending small bits of debris flying away as the maelstrom created by the shuttle’s passage through the atmosphere swirled around the opening. A quick command caused the Orion to overlay an internal schematic of the ship over the hull. The engineering section containing the ship’s reactor was located just forward of the breach.

  Three minutes later, Tom felt his weight shift as the Orion began to decelerate.

  “Suited and ready,” Laspha said.

  Two minutes passed before Tom heard the high-pitched whine of the tractor beam. The ship began to shudder as the beam grabbed hold of the shuttle and pulled. Locked in place, he could feel every vibration as they fought to slow the shuttle and steer it clear of anyone who might be in its path. Working together, the three ships managed to put the shuttle into a level attitude but rotated away from its normal landing configuration.

  “Impact in nine seconds,” the ship announced.

  “Drop me as close as you can after the shuttle is down,” Tom said.

  “Acknowledged. Impact in four … three … two … one.”

  There was a terrific jolt as the tractor beam released the shuttle. Dust and debris flew into the air obscuring the shuttle from view as it skidded along the dirt. Tom’s vision swam as the Orion executed a quick maneuver. A moment later, the ship announced, “Standby for drop.”

  Tom’s vision returned to normal as he was ejected from the underside of the Orion. A small tractor beam lowered him to the ground. Switching to enhanced vision, Tom looked around noting that the patrol vessel was hovering overhead. Lashpa hit the ground next to him and a moment later the two peacekeepers took off running toward the wrecked shuttle.

  “Warning! Radiation detected,” his suit told him.

  Glancing at his HUD, Tom said, “Levels are well within tolerance. The reactor shielding must have been damaged.”

  “The cockpit is over here,” Lashpa replied. A small insert appeared on Tom’s HUD highlighting their destination.

  Tom altered his course slightly, following behind Lashpa’s considerably larger combat suit. A few meters from their destination, they began to encounter debris. The plating around the entrance hatch was buckled but the bulk of the cockpit section appeared to be intact. Several small fires had broken out, mostly toward the aft section of the ship.

  “In the ship!” Tom’s suit picked up Lashpa’s broadcast on the emergency channel. “Do you read?”

  Lashpa repeated the message twice more as she tried, and failed, to open the hatch.

  “Jammed,” she said.

  Taking a step back, she whirled around and delivered a terrific blow to the hull just aft of the hatch with her tail. Backed by the power of her cybernetic tail, the thin skin dented inward and split. She grabbed hold of an edge and pulled, peeling back a section of the hull.

  Tom reached into the opening and began ripping out chunks of insulation to expose the inner wall as Lashpa continued to widen the gap. An explosion shook the ground, knocking him into Lashpa. He could feel the impact of hundreds of small pieces of debris hitting his suit as the radiation levels jumped up a bit.

  “What the hell are they carrying?” Tom asked.

  “There’s nothing on the manifest that appears to be explosive,” Orion replied, as a thick gray cloud enveloped them. “There are several highly combustible materials contained within the shuttle’s systems or an accumulator may have exploded.”

  Tom looked at the progress they’d made so far and came to a decision. “This is going to take too long,” he said. “Orion, target the shuttle just aft of the cockpit’s pressure bulkhead and chop the front of this thing free.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The two peacekeepers backed away from the ship as the Orion moved into firi
ng position.

  “Krish,” Lashpa said, “Tractor beam, forward section, pull it free.”

  The Krish moved to the front of the shuttle as the Orion opened fire with its particle beam cannon. A brilliant white beam touched the hull causing a shower of sparks and flame as the metal was vaporized. The Krish’s ghostly bluish tractor beam reached out and took hold of the bow of the shuttle. The particle beam drew a line down the side of the ship. A screech of metal along with loud popping noises announced the separation as the entire front section of the shuttle began to move. The Orion’s beam winked out as a four-meter long section of the ship began to slide across the ground.

  “Emergency responders on approach,” Krish said.

  “Warn them about the explosions and the radiation,” Lashpa directed.

  Krish stopped pulling when the separated section of the shuttle was 20-meters away from the remainder of the burning wreck. Ignoring the still-glowing edges of the hull, Tom and Lashpa approached the aft end of the cockpit. Tom grabbed the manual operator and turned. The door began to move into the bulkhead but stopped before it was half open. Lashpa grabbed the edge of the door and pushed. A few seconds later, the opening was large enough for Tom to step through, but without his combat armor.

  It required only a few seconds for Tom to step out of the suit and into the dark cockpit. As he walked forward, his suit closed itself up and moved out of the way. He found both occupants strapped to their seats. The pilot’s head moved as Tom approached. Although the man looked at him, he didn’t seem to understand where he was or what had happened. Glancing at the copilot, Tom could see her chest rising and falling but she appeared to be unconscious.

  “Two survivors,” he said as he began unstrapping the pilot. “Injuries unknown.”

  “The emergency vehicles have arrived,” Lashpa informed him. “They’ll have a stretcher here in a moment.”

  Tom moved the last strap out of the way then picked the pilot up, draping him over his shoulder. The man groaned as Tom carried him through the now fully-open door and placed him on the waiting stretcher. A paramedic, dressed in a bright red hazard suit began quickly checking the pilot’s vital signs as Tom spun around and reentered the cockpit. Another paramedic followed.