by Doug Farren
“That’s three out of eight deaths,” Lashpa pointed out. “It could easily be coincidence. I’m sure you didn’t base your conclusions on this meager evidence. What about the others?”
“Gwon-Go was the only commonality we could find based on the known information at the time,” Krish replied. “We decided to pursue this possibility further. This required us to assume that Ferny Corbal became infected through contact with his son. Given the fact that T11-N106 is known to sporulate, we speculated that it might serve as a pathway to infection. We started looking into the travel history of the remaining individuals.”
“And you found something,” Tom said.
“Affirmative,” Orion replied. More data began appearing on the screen as the ships continued their narrative. “Tanya Boles, Terran female, cargo handler on the ES Pack Rat for two years prior to her death. The Pack Rat was utilized to help move the Mowry away from the radiation zones surrounding the nuked Purist bases on Gwon-Go.”
The ships paused to allow Tom and Lashpa to assimilate the new information. “Either it’s just another coincidence,” Tom finally said, “or T11-N106 can be spread through secondary contact. You’re starting to get me worried.”
“That seems to link half of the known cases,” Lashpa said. “On the surface, I would believe this is enough evidence to give us a place to begin looking. But I have the distinct feeling you’ve found more.”
“Correct,” Krish replied. “We began exploring another theory and sent out a request for specific travel information. Due to communication delays, we’ve not received all the requested data but we did find another strong link. Nathan Smally, Terran male, starship engineer, lived on the Shandarian world of Mientra. Shortly after his death, it became known to us that he had a close female friend. Mary Trent, Terran female, construction engineer. Frequently travels from her home on Mars to Mientra as part of her job. Records indicate the starliner that travels that route is also used for the Earth/Safa route. The Terran company that runs the starliner provided us with a list of all passengers who’ve used that vessel over the past four years. Shortly after the AOH war ended, twenty-eight individuals known to have been on Gwon-Go were brought to Earth for questioning. Their names were on the list.”
“Is Mary still alive?” Lashpa asked.
“As far as we know, yes,” Orion replied. “She was en route to Mientra at the time of Nathan’s death. She will be met by a Shandarian doctor upon arrival at Mientra and examined.”
“Did Nathan ever travel on the same starliner?” Lashpa asked.
“No.”
“Then you’re assuming Mary picked up the infection from the starliner and Nathan was then infected by her.”
“Correct,” Krish replied.
Lashpa looked at Tom, her tail wriggling like a snake trying to crawl across the floor—a clear sign of worry. “If these assumptions are true, then it’s possible for a person to be infected yet show no signs of illness.”
Tom felt the pit of his stomach collapse into a singularity. “That means it could be everywhere and we would never know it!”
“Agreed,” the two ships simultaneously replied as the simulated white screen faded and was replaced by the room they were standing in.
“We have to tell Flothir about this,” Tom said.
Tom touched the intercom’s control screen and said, “Biomaster Flothir, we need to talk to you right away.”
“I’m a bit busy right now,” he replied, “Can it wait?”
“No. We have some very bad information concerning T11-N106 you need to hear.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Tom and Lashpa waited while Flothir went through the decontamination process before removing his biohazard suit. After being briefed on the new information, he said, “This is indeed very bad news. If T11-N106 can be spread through such casual contact and individuals can be infected without any outward signs, then the pathogen will quickly spread throughout the entire Alliance. I take it we’re heading for Gwon-Go?”
“Yes,” Tom replied. “I’m not sure what we’ll do once we get there, but as far as we can determine, Gwon-Go appears to be the source of the pathogen.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Biomaster Flothir said. “The Mowry are at the start of their industrial age and certainly don’t have the ability to formulate something as sophisticated as T11-N106. The Purists don’t either.”
“Is it possible for it to be a naturally occurring disease native to Gwon-Go?” Lashpa asked.
“No,” Flothir replied, vigorously shaking his head. “Biocomputers are not natural. T11-N106 is beyond any doubt a manufactured organism.”
“If someone can be infected by it,” Tom began, “and not be sick, then what triggers it to kill?”
“An excellent question,” Flothir replied. “And one, I’m afraid, I can’t answer.”
“You’d better come up with one quickly,” Tom said. “If this thing has spread as far and as wide as we suspect, a trigger now could be catastrophic.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Flothir said. “But as of this moment, we don’t even have a way to test for the presence of the disease much less know enough about it to determine what triggers it to kill.”
“Then you’d better get to work,” Tom said.
Flothir stared at Tom for a moment, glanced at Lashpa, then turned and re-entered the isolation chamber leading into the examination room.
“You shouldn’t be so harsh on him,” Lashpa said, as soon as the air-tight door boomed shut.
“The Alliance is facing disaster!” Tom replied. “The biomasters are our best hope of stopping this before whoever created it causes untold billions of deaths.”
“True. But bullying them will not make them produce a solution any faster. I’m sure they are aware of the scope of the issue. Perhaps more so than any other species given their past history.”
“May we interrupt?” Tom and Lashpa both heard their respective ships ask.
“Proceed,” they both replied almost simultaneously.
“The investigation into the crash of the cargo ship two days ago has determined that the explosion was the result of a leaking fuel metering valve in the ship’s emergency chemical propulsion system. The technician working on the valve developed a bad headache near the end of his shift and asked to go home. He told a coworker about the work that needed to be completed but that person forgot about it. The leak built up an explosive mixture and ignited. The explosion ruptured a fuel tank which also exploded, destroying a good portion of the ship’s engineering section.”
“Where is this technician now?” Tom asked.
“If you are referring to the person who became ill, he did not return to work. A police officer sent to his house found him in his basement workshop in so much pain he was unable to move or call for help. Based on the description of his condition, it’s believed to be T11-N106. The man is being transported to Kauffman Clinic and another biomaster is being assigned to his care.”
Tom and Lashpa listened intently to the report. When it was over, Tom shook his head and said, “We must find a way to stop this or we’re going to have a major problem on our hands.”
Lashpa’s tail slowly swung back and forth. Tom was always impressed by the fact that she could swing it around a room without hitting anything.
“Nine people have now died from T11-N106,” she said. “But there’s evidence to suggest that it’s probably spread to several tens of millions. Why these nine? What caused them to die and why has nobody else shown any signs of infection?”
Tom looked through the glass where Flothir was once again hunched over Nathan’s body. “Ask him, he’s the expert.”
“We’ll be arriving at Gwon-Go in a little less than nine days,” Lashpa said. “By the time we arrive, we should have a plan as to how to proceed. Any ideas?”
“No,” Tom admitted. “But I need a good strong cup of coffee. I wonder if this ship carries any.”
“I would li
ke a cup as well,” Lashpa replied.
Tom looked at Lashpa as if she had just told him she wanted to paint her armor blue. “Since when did you start drinking coffee?” he asked.
“The miners on Crapshoot drink it as if it’s some sort of magic elixir,” she said. “I decided to try it and discovered I like it.”
Tom shook his head, “Just when I thought I knew everything about you, you turn around and hit me with something like this.”
“Krish,” Lashpa said, “does the Churva have coffee aboard?”
“Yes,” the AI replied, sending the answer to both their implants, “Apparently, the Omel are also fond of coffee.”
A tiny, transparent map of the Churva appeared in Tom’s upper right-hand field of view. One of the benefits of having cybernetic eyes was the ability of having his ship show him how to get from one place to another. Since the Orion was in contact with the science vessel’s central computer, getting a map of the ship was simple.
Following Lashpa out of the room, Tom said, “Orion, ask the Churva to let us know as soon as Biomaster Flothir is done examining Nathan’s body.”
“Acknowledged.”
The peacekeepers encountered only a few Omel on their short trip to one of the ship’s three mess halls. As they turned to enter, Orion said, “Put your hands inside one of the wash stations.”
Just to his right, Tom noticed 14 small openings set into the wall. Placing his hands in two of them, he felt a warm rush of liquid followed by a blast of even warmer air. As soon as the blower stopped, he removed his hands. Lashpa had also done the same thing. Now that their hands were clean, they were free to enter.
Twenty-five round tables with seating for six were spaced out evenly across the floor with at least two meters between them. Two groups, one of three and another of five individuals, sat at two of the tables with trays of food in front of them. They looked up as the peacekeepers entered. One of them got up and approached.
“May I assist you?” she asked as she slowly ran her eyes from Tom’s head to his feet.
“We’re in search of some coffee,” Tom said.
Turning to Lashpa, she performed the same visual examination then pointed towards a small alcove. “The dispenser is over there,” she told them. “It’s clearly labeled in Galactic Standard. I’m Shirna. If you need anything else, please ask.”
Without waiting for a reply, she walked back to her table.
“I felt like she was examining me for defects,” Tom told Lashpa as they walked over to the dispenser.
“That’s exactly what she was doing,” Lashpa replied.
They found the coffee dispenser and a short time later found an unoccupied table.
“There are times when I think you were sleeping during your cultural indoctrination classes,” Lashpa said.
“At the academy?” Tom asked, taking a sip of his steaming coffee. “That was two years ago. I remember learning about a lot of different races, but I don’t remember them saying anything about undergoing a full body scan from every Omel I meet.”
Lashpa took a sip of her own coffee, her reptilian lips being just as maneuverable as Tom’s. “This is good,” she said, setting her cup down. “Most Omel who have regular contact with other races have learned to be more discrete in how they look at others. The crew of this ship apparently have not had much contact with anyone outside their own culture.”
Tom had been thinking back to his time at the academy, trying to remember as much as he could concerning Omel culture. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I do seem to recall learning that because of the Omel’s history of using biological weapons as their primary means of warfare for centuries, they developed a habit of looking over anyone they were about to come in close contact with for signs of disease.”
“See,” Lashpa said, “you can remember if you apply yourself.”
“I’m wondering how you’re going to eat during this trip?” Tom asked, a smile forming on his face.
“I …” Lashpa paused, her cup half-way to her mouth. Slowly setting her cup down, she looked around the room. Unlike most mess halls the Omel did not use a long buffet-style table where the food was served. This mess hall was set up more like a restaurant where each meal was individually prepared. It was another consequence of their past. Open food could easily become contaminated by airborne bacteria. Each meal was cooked to order using freshly cleaned pans and utensils in a spotless kitchen.
“I guess I’m going to have to get used to eating cooked food for the next week,” she finally admitted.
“You don’t have to torture yourself,” Tom said. “When you get hungry, we’ll drop out of stardrive long enough for your ship to dock. You can eat all the live, squirming things you want all the way to Gwon-Go.”
“And yourself?”
“I think I’ll stay here and get to know the Omel. Seems my cultural education needs a bit of enhancement.”
Chapter 9
Omel: The biological wizards of the Alliance. They originate from a low gravity, low light planet and are a very tall, thin race, averaging just over two meters in height. Their lengthy arms terminate in six very long, slender, fragile-looking fingers. Two large round eyes are set into their long head. They have small ears and a thin nose. The Omel appear very much like a Terran that has been stretched from head to toe. The most prominent distinguishing feature of their race is their translucent skin that gives them a very red appearance.
Since the Churva was theirs to do with as they pleased, Tom and Lashpa decided to take a tour of the vessel to assess its capabilities. After two hours of walking around, they ended their tour of the ship by showing up on the bridge.
“I’ve been told you’ve been looking around,” Captain Orflen said as the two peacekeepers entered the spacious bridge. “What do you think of my ship?”
“I’m very impressed,” Lashpa said. “This is perhaps one of the best equipped science vessels I’ve ever seen.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Tom added.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Captain Orflen replied. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you will be needing a stateroom. I’m assuming that since we are underway and you are aboard, that the answer is yes?”
Tom looked as Lashpa and smiled. “I will be remaining on board. Peacekeeper Lashpa will be returning to her ship in a few hours.”
“That will require you to drop out of stardrive for a few minutes,” Lashpa said.
“Of course,” the captain replied. “Just give the word.” Turning his chair slightly so he was facing Lashpa, he continued, “To be honest, I was very worried about our ability to provide appropriate food and sanitary facilities for you. This ship was built to accommodate our physiology. Perhaps I should have a few of our guest staterooms modified to provide the necessary conveniences for non-Omel.”
“If you plan on having non-Omel guests aboard,” Lashpa said, “that might not be such a bad idea.”
“Has there been any word from Biomaster Flothir?” Tom asked.
“No. If you like, I can ask him for an update.”
“Please do so.”
The captain walked over to one of the semi-circular consoles and bent down to speak to the operator.
“I’ve never seen a bridge like this,” Lashpa remarked. “It’s huge, spacious, and quiet. It’s not just efficient, it’s luxurious.”
“It reminds me of the primary control complex on the Kyrra worldship,” Tom said. “Only their consoles were closer together.”
“I would like to have met a Kyrra.”
“And I would love to see their reaction,” Tom said, putting a hand on Lashpa’s front flank.
“Why? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
Captain Orflen rejoined them and said, “Biomaster Flothir has agreed to take a break and meet with you. He’s asked if it’s okay if you join him in dining hall ‘A’. He’s apparently very hungry.”
“As long as he doesn’
t need to discuss anything of a confidential nature,” Lashpa said.
“Discretion is something we Omel are quite familiar with,” Captain Orflen replied.
It took only a few minutes for the peacekeepers to make their way to dining hall ‘A’. After noting that Flothir had not yet arrived, they grabbed themselves another cup of coffee and found an out-of-the-way table. Biomaster Flothir arrived a few minutes later. He went straight to the counter, placed his order, then came over and took a seat across from Tom.
“Have you found anything useful?” Tom asked.
“Only that this is the most sophisticated pathogen I’ve ever encountered,” Flothir replied, rubbing his eyes. “Immediately after Mr. Smally’s death, we hooked his body up to a machine that would help preserve it. I was hoping it would trick the pathogen into believing Mr. Smally was still alive. All trace of it is now gone.”
“Have you found any residue that might be useful?” Lashpa asked.
“We’ve been performing a detailed analysis of every part of Mr. Smally’s body and have found nothing. It’s the same as with the other bodies we’ve examined. This pathogen is very good at keeping its secrets.”
“So we’re back to where we started,” Tom said.
“Not at all!” Flothir replied. “Thanks to Mr. Smally’s cooperation, we’ve seen the pathogen and we have a few samples. We have far more information than we did a few weeks ago.”
“But we still have no way to identify if a person is infected until they begin to show symptoms,” Lashpa said.
“Is there a way to detect T11-N106 outside the body?” Tom asked. “We have evidence it might be transmissible by coming into contact with something an infected person touched.”
“At the moment, no. From the single instance I observed, the pathogen’s spores look like small grains of sand. They would be indistinguishable from normal dirt and dust particles. Any test we might run on a sample would involve the detection of a known DNA or RNA marker. The pathogen’s self-destruct mechanism prevents this.”
“So it’s completely invisible until it strikes,” Lashpa concluded.
