by Doug Farren
Three hours later, the Orion announced, “We are approaching Namruit.”
“Wait here,” Tom told Flothir.
Taking his seat in the ship’s control center, Tom said, “God mode.”
A second later, he was floating outside the ship looking down at their intended landing zone. A small shuttle was parked on the field. A car was parked near the edge with two people standing outside. Zooming in, Tom identified one of them as King Syan. The ship gently touched down and dropped the entrance ramp. Tom exited god mode and made his way to the decontamination chamber. He patiently waited while the King cycled himself through.
“Thank you for responding to my request,” King Syan said. “A case of dirt-eating syndrome has appeared.”
“Where?” Tom asked.
“Oddly enough, right here in Namruit.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Tom said.
“I just need to get something from the other ship and then you can take us to the infected person,” Flothir said.
“We won’t have to go far,” King Syan said. “The person you’re looking for is standing in front of you.”
Tom felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “You?”
Chapter 21
Tom could clearly see the hurt look on King Syan’s face as he said, “Dirt-eating syndrome can strike anyone from a homeless person living in the streets to a king. This time, it was a king.”
Tom whirled around to face Flothir. “There must be something you can do!” he said.
“Tom,” Flothir said, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You know as well as I that there’s nothing we can do for him.”
“Peacekeeper Wilks,” King Syan began. When Tom turned around, he saw that the king was shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was from anger or something else. “You needed a dirt-eater to help you find the Purist research facility. Now you have one. It should not matter who it is. The fact that I’ve come down with the syndrome should make no difference.”
“He’s right,” Flothir said. “I’ll be right back.”
Tom waited until Flothir cycled through the decontamination chamber then turned to the king and said, “If we ever learn the whereabouts of the Gwon, I swear I’ll make them pay for this. Using people as they do is against everything the Alliance stands for.”
King Syan was sweating and he was looking around the floor of the ship. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into a tight fist. A moment later he seemed a bit calmer.
“The Star Gods created us,” King Syan replied after a moment. “While they were here, we were their property. We accepted that. But now that they’ve been gone for thousands of seasons, we would not welcome their return. I hope this disease they’ve created or perhaps one even worse has killed every last one of them.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Tom asked.
The King grabbed the handle of the decontamination chamber. “I need to get back outside,” he said, yanking the door open. “The urge is just too strong,” he added, slamming the door.
Tom watched as the King slammed the outer door open and then took off running down the ramp. As soon as the outer door was closed, Tom entered the chamber. He found King Syan on his knees at the bottom of the ramp, a handful of dirt in his hand and grit clinging to his lips. An assistant, the other man who had been standing next to the car as they landed, ran up and handed him a flask of water. King Syan grabbed the flask and used it to help him swallow the dirt. He threw the flask and beat his hands into the ground. Tom didn’t know what else to do other than watch.
“I’m sorry,” King Syan said, getting up and brushing himself off. “The urge is irresistible.”
“The pathogen needs a large amount of silica to build the outer shells of its spores,” Flothir explained. “I wonder if this urge to eat dirt has a genetic component that can be triggered by the pathogen.”
Tom turned and watched as Flothir calmly walked over to the assistant and took the flask he’d just picked up off the ground. He then walked over to the King and held out his hand. Laying in his palm was a white pill-shaped object about three centimeters long and a centimeter thick. “I need you to swallow this and then turn yourself in to the nearest hospital.”
King Syan grabbed the over-sized pill, put it in his mouth, then grabbed the flask. A moment later, it was on its way to his stomach.
“The tracker will attach itself to the lining of your stomach,” Flothir explained. “When the power cell expires, it will begin to slowly dissolve and your body will eliminate it bit by bit.” Reaching in his pocket, Flothir handed a memory chip to Tom. “The frequencies used and the timing sequence are recorded here. Your ship will know how to track the device.”
Tom took the chip. “If there’s anything- - -”
“My fate is sealed,” King Syan interrupted. “Make sure you find where the cursed ones have taken what belongs to the Star Gods.”
The King turned and walked back to his car without waiting for a reply.
“Tom,” Flothir began.
“I need to get my ship off this planet,” Tom said. ”Don’t worry, I’ll have it decontaminated before I leave.”
Flothir watched as Tom walked away, leaving him standing alone in the field.
An hour later, Tom sat in the control center as the exterior of his ship was being steam cleaned. As soon as the process was complete, he rose out of the atmosphere and put the Orion into a tight orbit.
“Eight ships are now involved in tracking King Syan’s location,” Orion informed Tom as they settled into orbit. “The hospital has used the Purist communications network to inform the other hospitals that a new case of dirt-eating syndrome has appeared.”
“Now all we need to do is wait,” Tom said.
“I’m sorry it was King Syan who became infected,” Orion said.
“Me too,” Tom admitted. “Maybe after he leads us to the Purist research lab we can find a way to cure him.”
“That’s a possibility,” the ship said. “But you should prepare yourself in case a cure cannot be found in time.”
“I’m going to get something to eat and then get some sleep,” Tom said. “Wake me if there are any developments.”
“Acknowledged.”
Five hours later, the ship woke him up. “King Syan is moving.”
“Where to?”
“The last signal put him near the edge of town.”
“Continue to monitor,” Tom ordered. “Make sure we’re prepared for stealth mode.”
“Acknowledged.”
The next morning, Tom learned that a group of armed men had entered the hospital and had taken King Syan from his room. The signal had stopped moving about four kilometers outside the city limits. It remained stationary for the next three days.
“King Syan is being moved,” Orion finally reported while Tom was eating lunch. “I should point out that a cargo ship arrived less than an hour ago. It’s registered to a Terran firm.”
“That was quick,” Tom said.
“According to the Copenhagen, the Knothole has been making regular runs between Earth and Gwon-Go for some time. It’s registered to Allied Cargo, a reputable shipping company that has been in business for many years. They’ve received clearance to land a shuttle at the Namruit clean-site.”
The Copenhagen was a Terran heavy cruiser assigned to keep unauthorized ships from landing on the planet. It also acted as the system’s point of contact for all ships entering or leaving the system.
Tom finished his sandwich, then went to the Orion’s control center. As he was sitting down, the ship said, “King Syan’s tracking signal shows him to be at the Namruit landing field. The signal strength has dropped by about 25 percent.”
“I wonder how they’re going to get around the quarantine?” Tom said. “Anyone coming into the clean-zone will have to be decontaminated.”
For 30 minutes, the weakened tracking signal remained at the landing field. One of Tom’s mo
nitors displayed the King’s location as well as a countdown timer until the next signal was due to be received. The timer hit zero, then continued past, showing a negative count. After a few seconds, the ship announced, “We’ve lost contact with King Syan’s tracking signal.”
“Can we pick up the tracker from the inside of a shuttle?” Tom asked.
“Standby while I confer with the Churva.” There was a moment of silence then, “The signal will be greatly attenuated but it will be able to be received from a distance of about 20 kilometers.”
“Damn, I should have thought of this beforehand!” Tom said. “The Purists could have guessed we’d put a tracker on him and are making us believe he’s being moved off-planet. We need to be certain King Syan is actually aboard that ship.”
Tom’s hands flew over his controls, reconfiguring most of his monitors for tactical analysis. Scanning the displays, he noticed something. Touching the object on the screen brought up the details. It was one of the Churva’s mapping drones making a pass along the southern edge of the city. Tom stared at the screen, desperately trying to figure out how he could use the drone.
“Open a secure channel to the Churva,” Tom ordered.
Thirty seconds later, the face of Captain Orflen appeared on one of Tom’s monitors. Before he had a chance to say anything, Tom said, “Captain, you have a mapping drone passing over the southern edge of Namruit—crash it!”
“I’m not sure- - -”
“I’ll explain later,” Tom interrupted again. “I want that drone to look like it suffered a malfunction. Put it on the ground. Now!”
“Understood! Standby…”
The Captain turned away from the camera and issued a rapid series of orders. A moment later, Tom saw the drone rapidly descend to the ground. Captain Orflen turned back to face the camera and said, “The drone has been rapidly grounded.”
Tom was relieved. The drone was still close enough to the city for his plan to work. “Thank you captain. There’s a shuttle on the surface right now delivering supplies. I believe King Syan will be brought aboard. If that happens, his tracking signal will become even weaker than it already is. I need to confirm he’s aboard. Put a request through to the shuttle for them to pick up your downed drone and have them deliver it to your ship. They’ll be close enough for you to verify that King Syan is aboard.”
Captain Orflen smiled. “Brilliant! Would you like to listen in?”
“I would appreciate that,” Tom replied.
An icon appeared on Tom’s monitor indicating he was now a hidden member of the connection. About a minute later, the screen split with Captain Orflen’s face on one side and a Terran face on the other.
“This is Herald Tuskins, how can I help you?”
“Sorry to bother you,” Captain Orflen replied. “One of our mapping drones has malfunctioned and crashed near your shuttle. Would you be so kind as to pick it up and bring it back to us?”
“I can’t risk contaminating my shuttle,” Herald said. “Can’t you retrieve it?”
“All of our shuttles are currently unavailable and I would like to get to the drone before the Mowry take an interest in it and get hurt or killed trying to examine it. Use your cargo TR to tow it back,” the Captain suggested. “As long as you don’t let it touch your ship, you’ll be free to leave.”
“We’re almost done here,” Herald replied. “Send me the coordinates of your drone and I’ll see what we can do.”
“Coordinates sent,” Captain Orflen replied after a moment. “Just drop it in front of our hangar bay and we’ll take it from there.”
“Will do. Knothole shuttle two out.”
Tom kept a close eye on his tactical as the shuttle lifted off a few minutes later and moved over to the downed drone. A moment later, his screens showed that a low-power tractor/repulsor had been activated. After a few seconds, the ship slowly began to ascend. Ten minutes later, the shuttle approached the Churva and maneuvered until it was a few kilometers from the open hangar.
“Churva, Knothole shuttle two: Copy?”
“Knothole shuttle two, Churva: We copy.”
“Ready to release your drone. It looks pretty banged up.”
“Standby shuttle two. We have a TR operator on the way.”
There was a delay of about two minutes, then, “Knothole shuttle two, you can release the drone.”
A monitor on Tom’s right indicated he had an incoming call from the Churva. He touched the accept icon and found himself looking at Captain Orflen’s smiling face.
“We had to delay the shuttle until the tracker’s next transmission,” the Captain explained. “We have confirmed that King Syan is aboard the shuttle.”
“Thank you Captain,” Tom replied.
“You’re welcome, Churva out.”
Tom remained in the control center until the Knothole was far enough away for him to begin safely following the ship. Twenty minutes later, the Knothole engaged its stardrive. Tom waited until the cargo ship was near the outer edge of his sensor range before engaging his own stardrive. For the moment, it looked like they were on course for Earth—the Knothole’s registered destination. Tom was sure they would remain on the correct course for only a few hours before heading off towards the location of the hidden facility.
Confident in the Orion’s ability to follow the Knothole, Tom left the command center and made himself a light lunch. After satisfying his hunger, he went to his stateroom, picked up his carving knife, and went back to work on the project he’d been working on for the past six months. Although he’d only been carving for the past couple of years, he’d gotten quite good and had decided to challenge himself by carving a bust of Lashpa. The project was roughly half-way done. It didn’t take long for him to become immersed in the joy of carving.
Several hours later, he set the knife down. “Any change in the Knothole’s course?” Tom asked the ship.
“None. The Knothole continues on a direct course to Earth.”
Hours passed. Tom carved, played chess, ate, watched a few of his favorite vintage movies, and slept. Five-days later, they were now past the half-way point in the journey to Earth and the Knothole continued on course without deviation.
“Do you think they’re actually heading for Earth?” Tom wondered aloud as he pulled his Reuben out of the microwave.
“It’s a possibility,” the ship replied. “If the Purist research facility were on Earth, it would make it a lot easier for them to release the pathogen to the population.”
“I never thought about that,” Tom admitted. “Where’s the ship home-ported?”
“The main transfer point is the Cleveland, Ohio spaceport.”
Tom took a bite and set the sandwich down on his plate. “Cleveland … Cleveland,” Tom thought, his hand automatically going to the back of his neck. “Why does that make sense to me?”
“Cleveland, Ohio is home to one of Earth’s most prestigious hospitals—The Cleveland Clinic.”
“You don’t suppose they’ve set up shop there do you?”
“If the Purists have managed to do so, it would give them access to some of Earth’s most powerful medical diagnostic tools. The Cleveland Clinic is known for its innovations in medical science. They were one of the first hospitals to establish a branch office on Om so they could learn from the Omel.”
“This could change all our plans,” Tom said through a mouthful of sandwich. “I was hoping they’d built the facility on a rock out in the middle of nowhere. If it’s in the middle of a city, we’re going to have to be very careful.”
“The Knothole might also be keeping to their schedule to avoid arousing suspicion,” Orion pointed out. “There’s also the possibility that the crew of the cargo ship is completely unaware of who they are transporting. We must plan for the possibility that King Syan could be transferred to another ship and moved again.”
“Let’s assume that’s where they’re heading,” Tom replied. “As long as they don’t change course, fire off a message
to Sorbith when we’re one day out from Earth and alert him of our situation. Ask him to set up surveillance sufficient to track King Syan’s signal. Make sure you stress that he’s not to interfere.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Crazy Purists,” Tom muttered to himself. “Why would they pick the center of a busy city to research the deadliest pathogen the Alliance has ever encountered.”
“Because nobody in their right mind would dare to openly attack them,” the ship pointed out.
“Damn Purists,” Tom said, stuffing his sandwich in his mouth.
Chapter 22
To avoid arousing suspicion, Tom turned the surveillance of the Knothole over to Sorbith and altered course as he approached the Terran star system. An hour later, the Orion’s AI said, “I have obtained the Knothole’s cargo manifest that was filed with the Cleveland port authority. There’s one item that might interest you—a sealed container holding a mornita, a relatively rare animal native to Gwon-Go. It’s destined for the Cleveland Zoo and is being accompanied by two handlers.”
“That must be King Syan,” Tom said. “How did they get around the quarantine?”
“According to the transfer document,” the ship explained. “the mornita was decontaminated as best as possible on Gwon-Go. A second check for any pathogens will be done at a testing facility chosen by the company hired by the zoo to obtain the animal. Arrangements have been made for Allied Cargo to transfer the container to the facility upon arrival.”
“Where?”
“A genetics testing lab named Gen-Perfect located in a suburb of Cleveland called Euclid. They have a clean record and do a lot of sub-contracting work for the Cleveland Clinic.”
“Let me guess,” Tom said, “Gen-Perfect showed up not long after the Purists discovered Gwon-Go?”
“Nineteen months later to be exact.”
“Sounds like we might have found the Purist research facility.”
“I would not be so hasty,” the ship disagreed. “The company’s employment roster does not include anyone suspected of having been involved with the Purists.”
“What about the owners?”
