Teresa Shteyngart, MD
Harry,
Short answer, no. The air recyc system isn’t made to deal with an airborne agent circulating throughout the ship. We could possibly rig up some kind of ionizing field over the CO2 scrubbers to filter out organic matter, but this isn’t going to stop carriers spreading the agent person to person, nor can I give any guarantee that the pathogen will be eliminated in the air we do recyc. This is EXACTLY why we have fucking quarantine protocols. An airborne biological agent loose inside a sealed metal can floating in space has nowhere to fucking go except back into us. As of writing this, I have nine of my crew down with the Shakes (as the locals are affectionately calling it).
You want to get pissed at someone, get pissed at the flight deck controller who let those pitdiggers out of the goddamn hangar bays and into general population.
K.
Captain,
We are attempting to determine timings now. Anecdotal evidence from the Kerenza attack indicates an incubation period of almost 24 hours, but we have data that conflicts with this.
The virus is airborne. Its debilitating effects vary widely—some people are catatonic for 3-4 days, others recover within 24 hours. Full recovery is almost universal, save in cases of the young or frail. However, there is no guarantee against re-infection. That people can be re-infected at all is something of a concern—logically, once the immune system fights off the incursion, antibodies should prevent re-infection by the same pathogen.
This would suggest the virus is mutagenic in nature.
I would hypothesize the bioweapon was in a prototypical state when the Kerenza population was exposed—perhaps this attack was a “live fire” exercise on the part of BeiTech forces.
Latest figures follow. Please note the virus is being referred to as “Phobos” (from the ancient Greek) by many of the technicians in their written reports—Dr. Salinger has a love of antiquity, and I’m afraid the nickname has stuck.
PS: I missed you last night. Do you think we can make time soon?
Teresa Shteyngart, MD
ARREST REPORT
INCEPT: 06/17/75
DNA RECOG ID: 771-1COP17
ARREST#: 78374jd
ARRESTING OFFICER: BLYTHE, RANDALL, Sgt
ARRESTEE: MORTON, MARK—Age 31,
Kerenza refugee ident KR-985cop
CONSUMED DRUGS/ALCOHOL? Yes/No
IF ARMED, TYPE OF WEAPON: pipe wrench, screwdriver
CHARGE: Murder, 1st degree (four counts)
NARRATIVE: At 23:45 (shipboard) myself and Corporal Adler were called to a disturbance in temporary domicile GREEN-12b. The habitat was sealed—residents of neighboring domiciles reported brief screaming from within some 15 minutes prior.
Utilizing all-access clearance, Cp Adler and myself entered the domicile, suppressors out and up. The body of the first victim (Maryanne Morton—Age 29, KR-986cop) was found near the front door. Zero lifesign on bioscan. Brief inspection revealed the victim’s head had been crushed by blunt force trauma. Spray patterns on walls suggested repeated blows.
Second victim (Stephanie Morton—Age 12, KR-987cop) and third victim (Oliver Morton—Age 8, KR-988cop) were also discovered in this room. Zero lifesign on bioscan. Brief inspection revealed similar repeated blunt-force trauma wounds to skull and chest. Second and third victim’s eyes had been removed.
Infrared bioscan revealed one lifesign in the domicile’s bedroom. Cp Adler announced our presence, asked the resident, later identified as Mark Morton, to exit the bedroom with hands raised. Resident replied that we were “with them” and demanded we “not look at him.” Resident became increasingly agitated (in my experience, displaying psychosis similar to desoxyephedrine addicts), finally exiting the bedroom, covered head to foot in blood, with weapon raised.
Cp Adler and I both discharged our suppressors, scoring four direct hits to resident’s torso region, all of which failed to subdue the resident. The resident closed to striking range, and I was forced to engage in hand-to-hand combat. With the aid of Cp Adler, I managed to subdue the resident—Cp Adler is still in critical condition due to injuries sustained during this altercation.
With the resident restrained, I called for backup and proceeded into the bedroom, where I discovered the remains of the fourth victim (Julian Morton—Age 4, KR-989cop).
Victim’s eyes had also been removed.
In answer to your first question, yes, it’s mutating. You’re talking about a closed loop with recycled air supplies, a thousand more people than are supposed to be on board, all breathing each other’s air and contaminating each other’s space—the Copernicus has essentially become a giant petri dish.
Second question—no, we can’t. I can only presume BeiTech intended it to be an urban pacification device—the virus originally attacked the fear centers of the brain, inducing catatonia. So, you hit an urban population with it, everyone falls over paralyzed for 24-48 hours, and the troops roll in with zero resistance. But now the virus appears to be attacking the synaptic gap, along with serotonin re-uptake mechanisms, doing damage similar to what you’re going to see in long-term dust addicts. It’s essentially psychosis in a bottle. The damage is permanent—anyone who goes down is not coming back.
Third—I don’t think I can. I really want to, but I just can’t get away. Maybe tomorrow.
I miss you too.
Teresa
LABORATORY REPORT
Science Officer: Tobias Salinger, MD Assisting:
Teresa Shteyngart, MD
INCEPT: 07/12/75
Hour 14
Subject 72 displaying behavior patterns typical with early Phobos Alpha victims:
Increased adrenaline levels
Heart palpitations/hyperventilation
Tremors
General unease/nameless dread
Symptoms typically manifest 12–24 hours after initial infection with Alpha strain. Symptoms of mutated strain (which we have named Phobos Beta) appear to be more rapid in onset—the latest batch of lab rats Dr. Shteyngart infected displayed psychotic tendencies within 8 hours.
I theorize Phobos Alpha was designed to be spread by initially encouraging minor fear responses, and only debilitates its carrier with time. Initially (and insidiously), victims will seek out other human contact—particularly that of loved ones—in attempts to deal with the dread (like a frightened infant might seek its mother). The victim often seeks physical comfort (hand holding, embraces), ultimately increasing the chances of spreading infection.
It’s genius, really. Awful, horrifying genius.
Hour 22
Subject 72 has entered a state of full catatonia. Symptoms include
Muscle rictus
Lowered heart rate and core temperature
Limited pupillary response
Lack of proper equipment and trained personnel make this theory difficult to confirm, but I suspect infection initially targets the sensory cortex and not the thalamus as Dr. Shteyngart suggested. However, we both agree the effect on the amygdala (decodes emotions; determines possible threats) is profound—afflicted people will often convince themselves they are not afflicted, or actively avoid treatment, for fear of punishment/persecution/the isolation of quarantine.
I had intended to begin comparing the cellular resistances of Alpha and Beta, however, one of the assistants (Jane, lovely girl) dropped an entire batch of Beta infected bloodwork on the floor. Glass everywhere.
Not her fault, really—there’s too many of us crowded in here. I was considering sending them all off to get some sleep, but if we don’t crack this, nobody will.
Besides, it’s good to be around people. The thought of being alone right now is terribly disconcerting.
Hour 27
Subject 72 still in state of paralysis. BPM and breathing below half of human norms.
&nb
sp; I have reviewed Dr. Shteyngart’s work on the damage the virus inflicts on synaptic vessels and found several errors.
I swear that woman wouldn’t know a hippocampus from a hippopotamus. One would think since she’s co-authoring this report she’d spend more time helping with it, instead of enjoying our good captain’s company. Someone more prone to paranoia might suspect she’s simply looking to steal my work and publish it herself.
Presuming we ever make it to a bloody jump gate.
Presuming they want us to make it to a jump gate.
Hour 28
Subject 72 showing minor muscle movement. Heart rate increased 12 percent in the last 30 minutes. Body’s immune system is fighting the pathogen—as previously surmised, Alpha strain was never intended to permanently disable victims. Still, Subject 72 is displaying remarkable resilience for something so inherently weak.
Twenty-three of us packed in this tiny lab. Forty-six eyes. Sweating away in these flimsy hazmat suits. So thin. So feeble. So little between it and us and us and it.
My foot hurts. My skin itches. Jane asked if I was well. Nosy little slip. None of her business. Couldn’t tell her, though, no. Smile and nod, smile and nodnodnodnod.
One of the assistants (can’t remember his name—Roberts? Robins?) talks to himself beneath his breath as he works. Thinks no one can hear him but I can.
I hear.
I see.
Oh, god.
Hour 29
Shteyngart finally back in the lab.
I wonder if she had time to shower.
Wonder if I peeled that suit open if I’d smell the captain’s stink.
She’s off dining in Ryker’s quarters and whispering her lies about me and meanwhile I’m stuck down here with these ignorant monkeys muttering to themselves and fucking each other with their eyes and all the while things are getting worse and no one is doing anything to stop it but me.
Jane is looking at me again. With those pretty green things floating in her head.
Stop looking at me.
Hour 30
STOPLOOKINGATME
STOPLOOKINGATME
STOPLOOKINGATME
STOPLOOKINGATME
STOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMESTOPLOOKINGATMEYOUFILTHYFUCKINGBITCH
ByteMe: read it?
CitB: fuck
CitB: fuck
CitB: fuck
ByteMe: well said
CitB: this is why they cut civi comms a few weeks back. the shutdown date lines up with when it mutated
ByteMe: we never really thought that was for maintenance
CitB: this is why AIDAN blasted Copernicus
ByteMe: we have a bigger problem
CitB: bigger than the AI killing a third of the fleet? bigger than it HAVING to?
ByteMe: the Copernicus shuttle survivors made it to the Alexander
CitB: you get survivors’ names?
ByteMe: Looked everywhere I could—NO documentation listing names on the Alexander servers
CitB: makes sense. They took AIDAN offline as soon as it X-ed out Copernicus
ByteMe: I found more stuff. I was so sure she was in there. Now I’m praying she isn’t. Can’t stop shaking.
CitB: wish i could say more than i’m sorry
ByteMe: nobody can. I have to tell Ezra what I found. And those survivors are all just penned up in the airlock
ByteMe: with each other
CitB: …
ByteMe: for now
CitB: fuck
ByteMe: yeah
ByteMe: fuck
ByteMe: Ez, I got something.
Mason, E, LT 2nd: on jimmy?
ByteMe: ya. it’s not conclusive, though, i think we should wait for more before you read
Mason, E, LT 2nd: Hell no, send now. Is he ok?
ByteMe: look, i didn’t want to lie to you and say I didn’t find anything, but don’t think you should read, honest
Mason, E, LT 2nd: why not what happened
Mason, E, LT 2nd: Kades?
ByteMe: look, it’s not good, but it’s—it’s too soon to know, can you just trust me?
Mason, E, LT 2nd: why what’s wrong?
Mason, E, LT 2nd: JESUS, TALK TO ME
ByteMe: i’m not trying to make this worse. there was a lot of stuff in those files.
Mason, E, LT 2nd: do you know something or not? This is my FRIEND dammit
Mason, E, LT 2nd: he was there when I was losing my shit over you. he was there looking out for me when my dad died and I had no one else. I OWE him, Kady
ByteMe: he was there when i wasn’t, is what you’re saying
Mason, E, LT 2nd: jesus, this is NOT about you and me. TELL ME WHAT U KNOW
ByteMe: promise me u won’t do anything stupid. promise me u understand it won’t help him to have u in trouble
ByteMe: Ezra?
Mason, E, LT 2nd: fine i promise
ByteMe: i mean really promise. not say whatever you have to say to get what you need. i can’t lose you, Ez. you’re all i have.
Mason, E, LT 2nd: god, it’s really bad isn’t it?
ByteMe: u could make it worse if you do something stupid. put us both in danger.
Mason, E, LT 2nd: I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.
ByteMe: just cross your heart
Mason, E, LT 2nd: k
ByteMe: sent
INCEPT: 07/26/75 (11:17 shipboard time)
LOCATION: United Terran Navy Battlecarrier: Alexander (Hangar Bay 4)
OFFICER IDENT: Winifred McCall (UTN-961-641id)
RANK: First Lieutenant
_________________________________
At 19:06 (shipboard) on 07/25/75, Sigma Squad and I were scrambled to a Code Blue alert issued by Alexander command. Squad mustered in a timely fashion to deck 146, where we were briefed by Executive Officer Lia Myles on behalf of General Torrence.
Sit-rep: The Copernicus refugees quarantined in Hangar Bay 4 had engaged in some kind of riot in protest over their conditions—violence was ongoing. Sigma Squad was ordered to enter the bay and restore order. Video surveillance rigs within the bay had been disabled/destroyed, and bioscanners wouldn’t penetrate the bay walls, so we’d be proceeding blind. We were issued hot ballistics and authorized for lethal force. We were also equipped with Hazardous Materials kits, including fully-sealed Type-A envirosuits.
“Why the hazmat gear?” I asked.
I already knew the answer—scuttlebutt about the sickness on the Copernicus had been rife for months. Everyone knew odds were good at least a few of those refugees were carriers. I just wanted someone in command to acknowledge it.
XO Myles glared with those pretty eyes for a good long while before she answered. Myles doesn’t like me, see. She’s academy trained, and a politician born. She looks at the battlefield commission on my chest and presumes I think I’m better than her.
She’s a clever one.
“Excellent question, Lieutenant,” she finally answered. “We suspect a mutated strain of the Phobos virus—now a Class Alpha Zero pathogen—is loose in Bay 4. It’s possible none of the refugees are afflicted, however, we’re taking no chances. I re-iterate, the use of lethal force is authorized. No one without a sealed hazmat suit gets out of that bay alive.”
“You want us to shoot civilians.”
“I want you to protect the six thousand plus people in this fleet, Lieutenant. I want you to stop, by any means necessary, an afflicted body getting into the Alexander’s general population and spreading that pathogen aboard this ship.”
Hands on hips.
“I want you to do your job.”
&n
bsp; A few of my rookies conscripted from the Kerenza refugees looked a little panicked at that notion. They might know people in the Hanger Bay 4 crowd, after all. They had no training with chemical agents or bio-weapons—after six months, most barely knew the business end of a VK-85 burst rifle or how to lace their boots right. As ranking officer, I had to toe the company line, but my 2IC, Sgt James McNulty, stepped up to ask the obvious questions I couldn’t.
“So if these civis are infected, why don’t we just leave them locked in the bay?”
“They have Copernicus engineering staff among them,” XO Myles replied. “They’re trying to break through the airlocks. Given the tools available, they’ll succeed in time.”
“Why don’t we just open the outer doors and space them?”
That was Sykes, one of my surlier corporals. Word around the barracks was he’d got a vidcall from his wife three days before the Kerenza attack, telling him she was running off with her psychoanalyst. She even took their dog. She hated dogs, apparently.
“Slam a lid on that noise right now, Corporal,” I ordered.
“It’s a valid question,” Myles said.
My eyebrows hit the ceiling at that one. Cold as the belly of the void, little Lia Myles.
She turned to Sykes. “The refugees have disabled the locking mechanism on the outer bay doors. We can no longer operate them from the bridge. They must have suspected flushing them was an option.”
“Wonder what gave them that idea,” McNulty muttered.
“Further questions?” she asked, looking at me.
Silence.
“Right. Good hunting.”
We suited up. No banter among my boys. No jokes. Bad sign. I was watching my Kerenza rooks close, wondering if they were going to hold nerve when ordered to open fire on people they knew. If the concept of the “greater good” was going to sink through to those trigger fingers, past notions like loyalty and friendship and love.
In the end, I made the call to bench them—keep them in reserve outside the second airlock. It meant Sigma was going in short-handed, but there wasn’t a soul among them who didn’t look relieved.
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