Proving True

We all have the internal diagrams for Gallagher on our forearm computers. The data will be uploaded to our visor navigational systems, but we’ve spent so much time tracing the taped out paths while in quarantine we should each be able to find our way to any compartment on this tub. But the slope is—absent. I look at Jerry. He’s standing upright, not leaning. “Guys, is the gravity field on?”

“I have an idea,” Beebles draws a stylus from a sleeve pocket and drops it. The implement falls to the floor at her feet. “It would seem we have artificial gravity, Boss.” She stoops to retrieve the stylus and returns it to its holder.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I muse. “Enough wool gathering, let’s go to the bridge and then the labs. But we treat the ship as occupied, not abandoned. So we’re moving in traveling overwatch, if we encounter resistance we’ll transition to bounding overwatch.” They all nod. We’re still standing in more or less a circle. I point at Jerry who is standing opposite of me. “Jerry is Team Bravo leader, I am Team Alpha leader. If you’re on my left you are with me on Team Alpha. The rest of you are with Jerry on Bravo. Got it? Good, let’s move out, Alpha has the lead.” Freddie would have given more thought to personal tactical abilities such as who has which weapon, balancing firepower between teams and such. I just want us moving because the clock is ticking. I want an equal number of people going in each direction. The corridor we are standing in has a sign pointing to the cargo bay, so we go the other way until we come to a closed iris valve. Alpha takes up position to cover whatever is behind the iris valve. Beebles moves up to the control panel, “Never hurts to try,” she mutters as her fingers move over the buttons. The iris valve dilates open. I give her a thumbs up, but I’m getting concerned. Heat, gravity and electricity are all functioning, how and why? The tactical situation—moving through a ship not knowing who’s here, their equipment or disposition—takes a higher priority, but those questions stay in my mind. For now.

When the infantry developed the technique of bounding overwatch, it was outdoors and usually dependent on some terrain feature or distance. If we have to use it, we’ll adapt the principle to our needs here. But instead of terrain features, we’ll use architectural features. A doorway, an intersection, whatever crops up. Traveling overwatch is faster in that the unit in front stays in front. But it still takes a while, especially as we don’t leave any closed doors unopened. We all want to see what’s on the other side. Eventually we do arrive at the bridge.

We make a controlled, tactical entry of the bridge. We don’t cowboy in, like I did topside, but we go in slowly and deliberately, prepared to kill anything we find. And caution pays off. As soon as Parker enters the bridge he is pounced on by a humanoid in ragged clothing. Beebles screams, the troopers push her to the rear and explode onto the bridge. The creature on Parker looks like it used to be human, but it isn’t anymore. Its skin has a greenish pallor. Its nails are black and conical. I’m happy we can’t smell it because I’m certain it reeks. It claws and bites at Parker’s armor but of course does nothing but make the big man angry. He throws the thing off of him and shoots it. Thankfully he keeps the presence of mind to use his pistol rather than his Squad Support Weapon. The large bore pistol sends a round into the thing’s head, which explodes like a melon hit with a sledgehammer. The model 945 would have sent several hundred rounds at the thing, turning it into several piles of what I can only call rotting meat. In the back of my mind, I know that the man the thing used to be has been gone for a very long time. The other troopers take up positions on the bridge behind Parker, eager for something to kill. But there’s nothing else moving. A few rounds are loosed into the shadows, a practice I learn later is called “recon by fire,” it’s essentially shooting at the shadows to see if the shadows scream or shoot back. The bridge is a mess. Dried blood is smeared on the walls and furniture. Gnawed bones and piles of what is probably fecal matter litter the floor. The computer panels and monitors all look like a Rison’s Beast was practicing Flamenco dancing on them.

“Beebles, you’re up. Access the computer and find the physical location of those drives we want, download any and all logs you can identify.” I point to the heavy weapons trooper. “Parker, you’ll stay here and cover her. Jerry, take Bravo to the laboratory level. Identify life signs and eliminate threats. Alpha minus Parker and Beebles, we’re going to Engineering. Everyone stay on the team net. Any questions?”

“What do we do when we’re finished here?” Parker asks.

Beebles isn’t listening. She pries up the cover of the computer panel, attaching a cable inside the unit. Gods bless those Golean manufacturers for their use of strong materials. The other end of the cable she attaches to her portable access unit.

“Call me,” I tell him. “I’m likely to tell you to stay put, but I may also tell you to meet us somewhere else. Anybody else?”

Jerry raises his hand, “One question and one observation. First the observation: according to our scanners, the air in here is not the same as it is outside. You may be tempted to crack the seal and save the bottled air. Do not do that. Your armor is still contaminated and you will start turning green and shit. That’s bad for business. My question: Parker put the model 945 aside and used his pistol on the…I’m calling it a ‘zombie’ because I don’t know what else to call it. If we encounter any more, and we probably will, are bigger weapons authorized?”

“Of course,” I say. “Use whatever you have and whatever it takes.”

“That being the case, I’d rather Corinne stay here with Beebles. I want the 945 handy if we make contact. Corinne has an assault rifle and I’m pretty sure she can handle anything that comes this way.”

“No argument from me.” I say as the troopers change places while Beebles’ gloved fingers dance across the keyboard of the field computer she brought. “Anybody else? A side mission: When you get to the labs, I want you to get a sample container and get a sample of any zombie you kill. Should you not find anymore, we’ll come back here and cut off a chunk of this one. We’ll take it back to Star Chaser for analysis. Let’s get it done.”

We encounter two zombies on the way to Engineering. Rifle fire makes short work of them. We hear Bravo encounter four of them. Inside Engineering we kill another zombie. We all know they aren’t “undead” but are diseased humans, but calling them “zombies” makes killing them a lot easier. And anyway, I can’t help believing that they all would thank us if they were able. I know if that were my future, I’d welcome a bullet to my brain housing group.

Drake’s voice is in my headset, “Sergeant Major is calling you for a SITREP, Boss. I’m guessing you can’t hear him. What should I relay?” I give Drake my report to pass on to Freddie, one sentence at a time. I hear his side of the conversation with Freddie. “Stand by, SarMajor, I’ll ask her. Boss, he wants to know if you’re coming up with some cockamamie scheme for getting this wreck flying. His words, ma’am.”

They would be. “Tell him I’m going to see if the engines will start, I’d like to have it in a dry dock. But since that’s not an option I’ll settle for getting it into orbit. If we can get it off the surface, we can prop the doors open. The vacuum will take out any zombies we miss.”

He relays that to Freddie then tells me, “Only if it will move of its own power. The SDB doesn’t have the tackle to pull it out.”

“Fair enough,” I tell Drake. I then turn to the assistant engineer. “Our new secondary mission is to get the maneuver drive functional. If we can get this pig in orbit we can find and fix the rest of the leaks.”

“I beg your pardon, Chief,” my mechanic asks. “But how do you plan to do that? She’s surrounded by three meters of ice and these engines probably haven’t been warm to the touch since the crash.”

“One miracle at a time, Abrams, one miracle at a time. First, we’ll get power flowing the way it should then get the engines running. After that we’ll look at redirecting power to the hull to heat it or use some more of Drake’s demo to crack the ice around the ship. The good news is that with the gravity and heat on, the reactor is working. Or at least it was until very recently. I’m guessing some circuit breakers got popped.” I check the time, I should have heard from Jerry by now. “Team Bravo, Alpha actual. Say your status, please.”

I get another report before he can answer. “Sonia, this is Beebles, I’ve downloaded the logs, and so we don’t need the physical drives which are in the science labs. It’s probably no big deal to take them if it’s important to you though. Do you want us to stay here?”

“No, I want you two to get to Engineering so you can help Abrams get the engines purring. You’ll be passing him tools, not working independently. Once you’re here, Corinne and I are going to find out why Bravo decided to go quiet.”

I give Abrams and the other mechanics a list of instructions then supervise from the corridor until Corinne and Beebles arrive. As they approach we hear Abrams announces over the comnet, “Prepare for ship’s power.” The main lights flicker on. They are very dim, but they are on. The emergency lights pulse a bright red and then stop.

“Did you find out anything doing the data transfer?” I ask Beebles.

“Not much detail,” she replies, “I didn’t take the time to read all the log entries, as far as I can tell they had encountered a pretty nasty pathogen and were carrying some sort of telepathic animal.”

I start to begin a discussion when Corinne raises her hand, “Excuse me, ladies. But it’s been a while since we’ve heard from team Bravo. Can we maybe go find out why and play twenty questions later?”

A weak voice breaks squelch in our headsets. “This is Blake Daniels, I am the sole survivor of Team B. Do not go into the labs, something in here is killing everyone it sees. I have a sample of the virus. I’m in the corridor outside the bio lab.” That changes things.

“All personnel, drop whatever you’re doing and make your way back to Drake at the entry point. Drake, relay to the SDB that we are ceasing efforts to recover this bucket, we have a sample of the pathogen and will return post haste.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I hear him begin the relay, “SDB, this is pinnace crew…”

Corinne has picked up the pace a little. Without being told she has holstered her pistol and readied her rifle, as have I. Since we’re not worried about recovery, we’re not worried about hull integrity either.

A few minutes later Drake says, “Ma’am, SarMajor said get your pretty ass back here, we gotta get that pathogen spun into a vaccine real frickin’ fast. People are going insane by the buttload. His words.” Either APE isn’t functional, or not everyone is staying suited up.

“Roger,” I say as we come to the corridor leading to the science labs. “Please be good enough to point out to the Sergeant Major that there is no way to guarantee the virus here is the same as the one aboard Star Chaser.” There’s a single trooper lying on his side on the deck plating, his head lolling downward.

“Hey, Danny Boy,” Corinne says, “the cavalry is here. You want the window seat for the ride back to the ship?”

Daniels holds up his hand, palm toward us. “Stay there, I’ll come to you. I don’t know what it is, but I think it can see you through the window there.” He rolls to his front and begins a slow crawl towards us, blood smears the deck plating behind him. That is very bad. If his armor is breached he is exposed to all of the toxins. Not only those in the air of the ship but any that are still on his armor as well. Corinne slings her weapon across her back and drops to her belly. She crawls towards her friend. Once she reaches him, she grasps the handle built into his armor for just such an occasion and drags him back to safety.

“Blake,” Corinne asks, “what happened?” All of the bravado is gone from her voice. It’s been replaced by concern. She rapidly but properly places field dressings on Daniels’ armor. In historical fashion, she empties Blake’s first aid pouch first. When it is empty, she uses her own. But we all know if she could reach those of any of the fallen she’d use theirs before her own.

“I don’t know, chick. We walked in and within a minute or two Jerry was shooting us. It was weird, man. He held his shotgun at the hip, spun in a circle blasting us with slugs and flechettes. Praise Isis by the time he got to me he was empty. He dropped the shotgun and drew his pistol while I was going for cover. I was prone, peeked around the corner and shot him. I thought I killed him, when I went to check he shot me in the gut. And he did it without looking at me. He’s on his belly, reaches behind him and shoots me. I got him with my next round, though.” Blake turns to me and reaches into an ammo pouch. “Boss, this looked like it might be important.” He holds forth a vial of a purple liquid. The label on the vial reads “unidentified pathogen.”

This is of course a catastrophe, but I can’t help thinking how much worse things would be if it had been Parker with the 945 instead of Jerry with a shotgun. But that’s an observation for a later time. Speaking of which, “Daniels, was Parker in there?” I ask as I take the vial from him and tuck it into my own ammo pouch.

“Negative, Boss,” Parker’s voice is in my earphones. “I’m to your rear. We gave the room a visual from here. Jerry wanted me to recon past the lab. I started working my way back here when he started shooting.” He has the 945 at the low ready. Other members of the team are behind him. They all made their way here, rather than at the entrance as directed.

I point at Corinne, “You take the lead. Parker, you follow her. I’ll bring Daniels.” I see Corinne’s eyebrows go up, before she can argue I say, “I added strength enhancing motors to the wraith armor just like those in the marauder suit. I can carry him.” They aren’t as strong as the ones in Corinne’s marauder suit, but for no farther than we’re going I can handle him. And the troopers are better with their weapons than I am, and there may still be some zombies roaming the halls. My preference would be to carry him across my shoulders in a wounded buddy carry, but his belly injuries makes that impractical. It would be a great form of torture if that were my goal. Instead, I hoist him like I’m prepared to carry him across the threshold.

“No, this isn’t emasculating at all,” Blake mutters. He’s worried about his macho image? He’ll be fine!

“If it makes you feel any better,” I answer, “nobody will hear about it from me, and when we get closer to the hatch, you’ll walk or hobble the rest of the way.”

“I appreciate that, Boss,” he replies, “but it isn’t you that is going to publish this tale on Star Chaser’s casCom page.”

“That will be me,” Parker says. “And Danny boy, you need to thank your lucky stars that I’m only taking a few pictures and not video. Black and white just captures the moment, don’t you think?”

“Remind me to kick your ass later.”

Fortunately, we don’t meet up with any of Gallagher’s former crew on our way to the exit point. I put Daniels down and let him walk as best he’s able, just like I said I would. Corinne takes the 945 from Parker to provide overwatch as the big man hands Daniels up to the others, I check my leaders wrist unit. All survivors of this ill-fated mission are here. The artificial gravity makes handing Daniels up difficult, but not impossible. Soon Parker hands me up then using the stronger exoskeleton in his armor, he jumps up to be grabbed by the rest of us. Again, traversing the sloping hull back to the ice is tricky, but not impossible. Soon we are all on our way back to the pinnace. Daniels is walking between two troopers, an arm over each of them, his rifle slung across his back.

“Athena,” I call ahead, “we have a sample of the pathogen. Is there something aboard the pinnace we can transport it in other than my pocket?”

“I will set a hazardous materials container in the airlock,” she answers. “Am I correct that those not with you are presumed dead?”

“You are correct,” I say. Fortunately, she doesn’t ask for details. I suppose she realizes that dead is dead, and the how and why will be addressed by other people in other places. True to her word, when we arrive at the pinnace there’s a red and yellow HAZMAT transport container in the airlock. I’d like to cycle Daniels in first. But he’ll require a bit more decon than the rest of us. He’ll be next to last, right before me. Corinne goes in first. I pass the pathogen vial to her once she gets situated. She places it in the HAZMAT box and clamps the lid shut. The outer door closes and the airlock sprays her with a hasty decon fluid then pressurizes to allow her entry to the pinnace. In turn, we all go through the same process. The troopers, as is their habit, keep their weapons and attention focused outwards until the rest are all aboard. Parker balks at going into the pinnace before Daniels.

“Boss,” he says. “You’ll play hell trying to stuff him into the airlock by yourself. And you’ll be out here by yourself during his lengthy decon. If anything happens to you, SarMajor Call will have my ass. I’m too close to retirement for that noise.”

I get ready to puff up and argue with him. Then I realize he’s right. I’m not a soldier. I’m an engineer. “Fine, you and I go in after Daniels, but I’m last.”

“Same argument, ma’am. I’m last. I’d rather not have to relieve you of any command authority.”

I know when I’m beaten. I yield. I’m the next to last to enter the airlock. The good news is that the return flight to the SDB is uneventful as our stomachs are still empty.

Under Athena’s skilled hands the pinnace enters its cradle aboard the SDB. Following a more thorough decontamination routine of the vessel, we all transfer back into the comparatively roomy excursion yacht. We get Daniels locked into a stretcher for the flight back to Star Chaser. Now that we’re out in the relative calm of open space we go back to the galley for snacks and such. Parker takes a sandwich to Daniels in the medical closet. Freddie busies himself viewing the recorded video from all of our helmet cams. If he has any questions he’s holding them for later.

Much like the survivors of the away team, I eat less than a meal, but more than a snack and, reclining in my seat, sleep for several hours. The bumps made by the system defense boat settling into its berth aboard Star Chaser wake me, as well as the others who were asleep. We all gather our effects and prepare to move into the mother ship. I have to admit, it’s good to be back aboard. The Systems Defense Boats were built for extended use, but the word “luxurious” doesn’t appear in the catalog. The star farers of centuries ago would thumb their noses at Star Chaser, but I have to confess, some of its “creature comforts” are very appealing. At the top of the list is oxygen generated by photosynthesis rather than simply scrubbed from existing air. When I was aboard Night Searcher I always marveled at how every cubic centimeter served a purpose. There was no unused space and there was no passage that didn’t have conduits running along the ceiling. That’s not the case on Star Chaser. There are cubic decameters that serve no visible purpose other than decoration. So we are all happy to trade the confines of the SDB for the wide-open spaces of Star Chaser. Even if we do have to be in APE suits. Our armor is too contaminated and none of us is willing to wait for it. Besides, all the armor has to go for examination to quantify its resistance to the corrosive environment.

Everyone we see is wearing a respirator or in some self-contained breathing system. There’s a team from the Biosciences department to receive the pathogen specimen container. I hope they can find a vaccine if not a cure. Another team collects our armor to measure the decay from the toxic atmosphere. I am more than happy for Freddie to surrender it to them. The Captain is also on hand to greet us. After he shakes all of our hands he motions for us to huddle around him. Which is unfortunately easier now that the team is not as large as it was when we left. We left four of our team behind. “You have achieved your objective,” he tells us. “You took your losses, I have reviewed the initial reports and will study them in detail later, but you kept your heads in place and on track. For that, I commend you. You all now have the next 48 hours down. Your departments have been functioning without you, so you are relieved of all duty for the next two ship days. Are there any questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Freddie raises his hand. “We left some good people below. They need to come home.”

“That’s true,” the Captain says, “and their retrieval is being planned in coordination with the recovery of Gallagher. I presume you wish to accompany those who will be going?” We all nod our heads. “I suspected that would be the case. The mission planners will, of course, review the helmet videos and the after action reports you will file if you’ve not done so already, for incorporation into the retrieval operation. Their launch window is coincidentally three days from now. So if you want to go, be standing here in 72 hours. Once all our lost are back aboard Star Chaser we will schedule their memorial services. Any other questions?”

“More an opinion, sir,” I say. “It may not be my place, but I’d like to see the ‘resting place’ of Gallagher turned into a radioactive wasteland if the ship can’t be recovered. As you will see from the video we brought back, it will be a pocketknife fighting against a machete to free her. She has power and could probably make it to orbit, but if it costs us more people, I have to say I don’t think it’s worth it. Sir.”

He looks at me pensively, “I agree in that I don’t wish to lose any more lives, but I want that ship flying again. It can still be a valuable tool for scientific exploration and research, if we can move it to a more stable location. And it is ultimately, a very expensive piece of hardware waiting to be salvaged. Once we know more about what happened to Team Bravo, we will discuss more. One last thing, you’ve certainly noted that everyone is wearing respirators or APE, as will you. As of right now, the quarantine restriction is still in place. Dismissed.” I guess he doesn’t want to hear any more questions. Which suits me. While I know that I was in fact insulated, I feel like a weeklong bleach bath would still leave me funky. But a bubble bath in my quarters—there is a procedure for that—should dull that feeling just a bit. I have two days to rest and refresh myself. I intend to use them. Shawna and I make eye contact as the team is breaking up.

She speaks first. “Yummy girl, you know I love you. But right this moment, I don’t even want to share an elevator ride with you. But you still have a special place in my heart. We’re still friends, right?”

“The closest and I couldn’t agree more. I’ll see you in two days.”

“Unless you bump into me in the chow hall, which is always a possibility.” That reminds me, I need to brush up on the calorie upload in a contaminated environment procedures. And I will, right after looking up the bathing procedure. I know I saw it in a manual somewhere.

The staffers planning the recovery mission schedule the operations order briefing. I don’t know the man issuing the order, but all of the troopers defer to him so he must be someone of importance. “Take your seats, please. Then shut the hell up. Our time frame is that we depart for Dubus III in three weeks. The Captain has stated his desire to take Gallagher with us. That means we have to get it into space and ideally Transit capable. For that part we have budgeted one week. That means we have two weeks to get it out of the ice and flying.

“We also have fallen comrades to reclaim. We’ve reviewed the video footage that Sergeant Major Call’s expeditionary platoon took. I warn you, it’s a little disturbing.” He takes a seat and a holoCom viewer replays the helmet cam footage from Jerry’s viewpoint.

We hear Jerry reporting his entry into the med lab to the rest of his squad. We also hear his instructions to Parker and some others to do a nearby recon as there are no threats in the lab. Famous last words I can’t help thinking. To his left front we see what I can only describe as a field expedient marine containment tank. It looks to be a regular box about three meters high, five wide and maybe ten meters long, but I can’t see what it’s holding. Whatever it is, it’s big. We see a swirl in the water then Jerry mumbles something unintelligible before he turns around to face his squad. Without a word, he begins firing at them. Jerry’s cam isn’t jumping, aside from the recoil of his weapon. He appears to be quite calm as he mows down his teammates. It makes no sense, but Jerry has changed from squad leader to executioner. Many of them yell, “What the hells are you doing?” and phrases expressing the same, but he doesn’t answer. He drops the empty shotgun and begins firing with his pistol until the slide locks to the rear on the empty magazine. As that happens, he redirects his vision to his weapon. It’s like he doesn’t know how to operate it anymore. He pushes the magazine release and we see the empty magazine fall to the deck plating. Before he can fumble a fresh magazine into the weapon, four slugs tear into his chest. The view of the camera pans to the ceiling. A few more shots are recorded, but there is no other video to be seen.

The briefer has begun to speak again. “It shouldn’t surprise anyone that we will not be taking that creature, whatever it is, into orbit. So our first goal will be to kill it, that being the easiest solution. Then we will get the ship space worthy and flying. We need great ideas in a short period of time. SarMajor Call, I appreciate your sentiments, but I don’t think sending a horde of shooters aboard is the right answer. Oh, and by the way, the ship is anchored in an ice collar between two and three meters thick. So we’ll need a way to break it out of there doing minimal—preferably no—structural damage. Okay, cards are on the table. What’s in your heads?”

A young woman I don’t know raises her hand, “Sir, I know what we all saw and I heard your desire to kill the creature, but if it was that dangerous, how did it get aboard initially? If that creature is responsible for what appears to have been a psionic attack, there’s no way the crew of Gallagher could have gotten it aboard against its will in the first place. Sir, I would argue that is an intelligent creature that Gallagher found interesting enough to contain and transport, and I would respectfully request that we attempt to communicate with it before killing it. I believe the retrieved logs will verify that.”

“And you are?” he asks.

“Science Officer’s Mate third class Leka Ulfdottir, sir. Xeno marine biology.”

“And you want to communicate with a fish?” the briefing officer asks.

“It’s not a fish, sir,” she gestures to the screen. “I saw the respiratory plumes. It’s most likely a mammal. It breathes air not water. There is a remote possibility of it being some sort of amphibious reptile, but I find that unlikely. I believe it to be a mammal.”

He looks at the ceiling, “For the moment and the sake of argument, I accept your premise, I leave it to you to find a psionic aboard who is willing to make the attempt. The clock is decrementing people. Ulfdottir, was it? Can you have a preliminary plan to me within an hour? No more than two.”

“Yes sir, I can.”

“Very well, anybody else have anything they want to share at this time?”

“Sir,” Freddie raises his hand, “Half of Team Bravo is dead because they violated entry protocols. The long-term solution will be addressed through the training schedule. Short-term, I can put together a good demo team to handle the ice. Not to speak ill of the dead, but some wiser, more experienced troopers will go on the next trip. I want to go aboard Gallagher and I want Landers flying the SDB again. If we can rig a robot to try to talk to it, or drop a hydrophone into the tank that would be a bonus.”

Freddie is shying away from killing? Did I miss something? “Sir,” I raise my hand. I can hear Freddie’s eyes rolling. “Ordinarily I’m also in favor of preserving life. But this thing has already demonstrated it has not only the ability, but also the willingness—if not in fact the desire—to kill humans. To my mind, that’s an automatic death sentence. I don’t care about its friendship. I want it dead. I’ll rig a robot to waddle in there and blast that tank open. If the blast doesn’t kill it maybe its lungs will be crushed by its own weight. In the unlikely event it survives, we’ll rig another robot to enter the lab with either another charge or some way to electrocute the thing or the floor of the lab. Then we can pick up the pieces of it as we prepare to get Gallagher into orbit.”

Leka jumps to her feet and shouts, “If that’s your plan, I insist you find another biologist. I will not take part in destroying intelligent life without making an attempt to communicate with it first.”

The briefing officer motions for quiet. “At ease! Calm down, both of you. No plan has been adopted, no order issued yet. You all have your instructions, marching orders, etc. Ladies,” he points to the biologist and me, “work up your plans, name names, intramail your digital versions to me, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Hogan, Operations Officer Gallagher, within two hours. SarMajor Call and Chief MacTaggert, for the robot, be prepared to rig it to carry hydrophones and explosives. Dismissed.”

I stop the biologist outside the briefing room. She’s not a fan of mine but I really don’t care. I’m not here to win any popularity contests. I’m here to do what needs doing; whether it’s for my shipmates or me. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sonia MacTaggert, Engineering. How do you propose to communicate with that…whatever it is?”

“Leka Ulfdottir, xenobiology. I plan to program an automated translator. It can speak thousands of languages. If the creature is similar to what I think, there is a species off the coast of Atlantis that I can use as a model. If it responds to something we put out, maybe we can make some headway. Perhaps we can find out what it wants or what is frightening it. I think you’re going to find it’s a pleasant enough animal and was scared so it defended itself.”

“But there’s no way to know that for sure,” I point out.

“Not at this time, no,” she begrudgingly agrees. “And if we can’t find any common ground, then—given the Captain’s directive—we’ll have no choice but to kill it.” I nod. “As stupid and short sighted as that idea is. Oh, crap, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t hear it.” I have enough careless ramblings of my own. “I’ll catch up with you later, I have to get a robot prepared and you have to find a psychic. I’d start with Arnold Kreq. He’s a logistics handler for the kitchens. He also teaches Shra Kuhn in his copious spare time.”