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Text File | 1992-12-30 | 52KB | 1,156 lines

               Copyright 1992 by Jim Vassilakos
                      All Rights Reserved

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---------------------------------------------------------------



                           Twenty-one



Hunter awoke in the infirmary, a swarm of stewards and part-time
medics darting frantically from null to null. They dressed the
patients with neurogram napkins and monitored pulse rates, such
was the extent of their training. She heard Feso's voice
somewhere in the back of the room, delivering instructions while
donning a white service coat over his red and pink striped
pajamas, the only calm voice in amidst a babble of cacophony.
   "Well look who's among the living." He quickly stepped over,
reaching for her arm as she tried to sit upright. "There, doctor.
Just let it pass."
   "The living?"
   "Don't worry. Everyone seems fine."
   "What happened?"
   "You tell me. I just got here."
   She glanced over his shoulder as the haze slowly dissipated
from her mind. Commodore Reece stood with the Captain and
Lieutenant Torin near the main desk, a first-class power-huddle
if she'd ever seen one.
   "You didn't tell me we had guests."
   "Doctor..."
   "C'mon."
   She tore the napkin from her forehead and began traversing the
distance with Feso's shoulder in tow, not a mean task considering
his reluctance. It wasn't that he minded substituting for a pair
of crutches. On the contrary, he'd do anything to help a patient.
His hesitation was founded in cowardice, the prospect of
interrupting an impromptu executive conference rating somewhere
between jamming his finger in an iris valve and taking a long
walk out a short airlock.
   "Doctor, this is not such a good idea. You should lay back
down and rest."
   "Steady, Feso. You drop me and it goes on your permanent
record."
   The Commodore was spitting out orders left and right, her
voice crisp and determined and more than a little peeved.
   "I want his image circulated among the crew. Also, post armed
stewards at the lifts and escalators. Shoot to maim."
   Shoot to maim?
   "Excuse me, sir. Might somebody tell me what's going on?"
   "Your patient has escaped, Doctor. What do you last remember?"
   Hunter took a deep breath and let go of Feso's shoulder.
   "I was trying to enter sickbay, and the door was locked for
some reason. I opened a channel to security. Then the door opened
and... everything went black."
   "Hypo darts. You took a double tap in the belly. Did you get a
look at him?"
   "I... remember a face mask."
   "We found this in your hand."
   Reece handed her a flimsi, glowing pink letters scrawled
across its face: "If you ever want to see me again, don't conduct
a search. It's tacky, and you'll only inconvenience the
passengers, particularly if you get too close to me."
   Erik broke in, "Commodore..."
   Reece put up a steady hand.
   "Do you have any idea why this was left in your hand, Doctor?"
   "I was the ranking officer."
   "Did anyone besides the medical staff and guard have access to
the prisoner?"
   "Lieutenant Torin."
   "Any passengers?"
   "No sir."
   Reece pressed her lips together, "One more question, Doctor.
Is he well enough to survive without medical attention?"
   "That depends, sir."
   "Give me an educated guess."
   "Assuming there are no complications, yes."
   "Complications?"
   "He's very weak. When the regen-compound wears off, his
condition will worsen. How badly, I can't say."
   "How soon?"
   Hunter glanced toward her thumbnail chronometer.
   "He's already past due, but there's a two to four hour grace
period on the compound."
   Reece nodded, "There will be a meeting in the executive
conference lounge in two hours. I want an account of inventory
losses."
   "Aye, sir."
   Hunter about-faced as well as her wobbly legs would allow
before the Commodore's words hit her.
   "Inventory losses?"
   The medicine cabinets hung open, boxes of various drugs and
chemicals scattered haphazardly on the floor. Feso pulled a chair
out of the mess, offering her a place to sit down. She ignored
the gesture, bending over to sort through the contents of some of
the emptied boxes.
   "What did they take?"
   "Haven't had time to check."
   She sat down in the middle of the floor, starting to pick up
and sort the miscellaneous bottles, jars, and canisters into
tight, alphabetical rows.
   "We'd better find out then, Feso. We've only got two hours."


                          *     *     *


Johanes administered the injection with all the delicacy of a
marsh slog in heat.
   "Oops, missed the vein again."
   "Ow... you sure you know you're doing?"
   "Don't worry."
   If not for Cecil and his bottle of miruvor, Mike figured he'd
be heading back to sickbay on account of his health.
   "Told you you'd be out in no time."
   Mike shrugged as Johanes withdrew the hypo, placing the empty
plastic capsule in his pocket.
   "You're certain about Sule."
   "Positive."
   "You saw her dead."
   "To put it mildly."
   "And what about the body?"
   Mike accepted a highbowl by way of congratulations, pausing
before taking a sip.
   "The body?"
   "Anything on it?"
   "I don't know. She was wearing a vacc suit."
   Johanes shot Cecil a worried glance as he caught the next
highbowl, its course erratic as it teetered, languid, from side
to side. Spokes received the next, and Cecil finally sent his own
spinning on a collision course with the others until it clinked
gently against each in consecutive sequence.
   "To freedom."
   "To freedom," everyone concurred, everyone except the
Draconian.
   "I don't want to disappoint you all, but we're not out of the
asteroids yet. We have about enough time for one drink."
   "Two drinks," Spokes took another sip and started reattaching
his headgear.
   "One drink. If they decide to conduct a ship-wide search, I'd
like to know about it before it's too late."
   "That would be uncouth."
   "That never stopped ISIS before." Johanes gulped down the last
of his drink like a man stranded in the desert. Then he smiled.
"I hereby conclude this celebration. Cecil, you stay here and
monitor their communications. Michael, go to sleep. You've got
six hours until the next injection."
   "Terrific."
   "Don't bitch. Spokes, you're with me."
   "Okay, just a sec."
   Mike poured himself another highbowl.
   "Thanks. Everyone."
   "Save your gratitude until we're dirtside. C'mon Spokes, we
haven't got all millennium."
   "Okay... jeeze."
   Mike floated his half-drained highbowl toward the corner of
the room as the door closed behind the dynamic if ill-disciplined
duo. Cecil, meanwhile, leaned calmly beside his multi-wave radio,
sipping miruvor and warming a left-over chili pita in the
portable cooker. When it came out, the cheese oozed between the
cracks in the flat-bread like a wad of snot leaking out the folds
of an overused hanky.
   "Want some?"
   Mike winced, "I'll pass."
   "Suit yourself."
   "I'd rather stick to liquids for now."
   "As in miruvor?"
   "Whatever's being served."
   Cecil's single camera danced a bit, the cat taking notice and
pouncing on it with claws outstretched, "Your problem is you
don't know when to quit."
   "Untrue. I haven't gotten drunk for over a week... unless you
count being force-fed by psychopaths."
   "Well, congratulations," said almost like he meant it.
   "Give me a break, Cecil. I'm on my second highbowl which is
nowhere near my face."
   "Why the sudden fit of restraint?"
   Mike shrugged, "Maybe seeing that old weasel Gardansa slurping
it down..." he grunted, crawling into the null-tube, "I dunno. I
was shot recently, okay?"
   "Good excuse as any."
   "Besides, I want to keep clear-headed for a change. You check
this place for bugs?"
   "You calling Cecil a fool?"
   Mike sighed, "Just do me a favor. Check again."
   Setting the pita beside his multi-wave, Cecil dug a small box
out of his suitcase. It's antenna telescoped out, and he
proceeded to wave it around the room, switching off the light and
then his multiwave as he scanned.
   "Light on. You see. Nothing here but us chickens."
   "Meow?"
   "What's it key on?"
   "Electrostatic emissions. Do us a favor and switch off the
sleeper."
   Mike complied, and Cecil waved the antenna over the null tube.
   "Interesting," his friend commented, as though he'd found a
strange insect on the bottom of his shoe.
   "What? Something on the sleeper?"
   "No. On you."
   Cecil poked him with the antenna a few times, finally stopping
at the belt by which Mike's loose-fitting robe was held shut.
   "Johanes find this for you?"
   Mike untangled it from around his waist, inspecting the stiff
fabric until he found what he was looking for. The bug was flat
and circular, like one of those old coins he used to find in the
barrens, only a little thicker and without a stately, bearded
profile on the side.
   "One down."
   Cecil kept looking, this time even more diligently than
before, but the one was all they found. Cecil finally cracked it
open.
   "It's just a recorder. Looks like cheap crystal."
   He put it back together and dropped it into the portable
heater.
   "Cheap crystal fries easy."
   Mike smiled, "Now that we're alone, you can start by telling
me everything."
   Cecil sat down, his camera taking a thoughtful, sidelong pose
as it dumped Pooper-dumper back to the carpet in a fitful of
snarls and hairballs.
   "Not much to tell."
   "Humor me."
   Cecil sighed, leaning himself backward until the multiwave
became a makeshift pillow.
   "Spokes showed up at the Sintrivani after you left, and we
heard about the air strike over the three-vee. Assumed you were
somehow involved, knowing your aptitude for mischief."
   "I'm flattered."
   "You should be. One of the offworlders waiting for transport
must have sneaked near the landing platform with a camera,
because next thing we see is Tizar's favorite gatherer hanging
out the airlock of an orbit-bound vessel. Then some explosions in
the sky. Made for an amusing show."
   "I was on three-vee?"
   "More or less. The back of your head was, at least. We knew
who it was. Johanes dropped by a few hours later and basically
confirmed what we saw."
   "And so you guys decided to rescue me... just for kicks."
   Cecil thought about it before answering, as though he was
deciding whether to be polite or honest.
   "Johanes gave you less than even odds against Sule. He wanted
our help to finish her off."
   "Assassination. This is getting even better."
   "One might remind you that you're hardly virginal, Michael."
   "I wasn't in it for money."
   "Neither was I!"
   Cecil spat the words out, pronoun included, pausing briefly to
regain his composure. The cat darted to the corner of the room,
certain a voice of that volume could only be directed at four-
legged personages.
   "We agreed to aid him in what he wanted, provided that he aid
us in what we wanted."
   "Which was?"
   "Your rescue, given the unlikelihood that you would still be
kicking after a confrontation with Sule."
   Mike smiled meekly, a little embarrassed.
   "That's it?"
   The camera nodded, "In verbose totality."
   "If it was just you, I'd buy it. Why's Spokes here?"
   "Like Cecil said before, he seems to like you. We chipheads
stick together."
   Mike smirked, "That's pretty weak."
   "Then call Cecil a liar. It won't be a first."
   "What are you giving him? Free wedgies?"
   Cecil chomped another bite from his cheese pita as he pondered
the question. In the hackers lingo "free wedgies" equated to a
gratis apprenticeship, master to novice, wizard to user, or
between any other combination of disparate proficiencies: in
short, Cecil to just about anyone. Before, Spokes was just the
aspiring pupil. But now, given the risks involved, he was
encroaching to the point of earning his keep, making the so-
called "wedgies" not entirely free.
   "What's it to you, Michael?"
   "Well... I guess I'm just curious how this all came about.
I've never known you to team-up with people, much less take on a
long-term student."
   "Life brings newness."
   "Is that what you told Spokes?"
   "Not precisely."
   Mike laughed, then coughed.
   "Try me."
   "Get some RL." Real life, he meant.
   "C'mon Cecil. Just the main points. You can spare the
slogshit."
   Cecil smirked, "Courage as an aspect of knowledge. Necessity
of the will to seek. Proof of intents..."
   "You waste my time, I waste yours?"
   "Stop whining. It got you out, didn't it?"
   Mike shrugged defensively, "I'm not whining. I don't really
care that you're using him. It's merely a transaction as far as
he's concerned. I just wanted to know here everyone stands. For
some reason," Mike tried to laugh, "I just couldn't picture you
three guys coming all the way out here. You maybe. I mean, now
we're more or less even again. Right?"
   "More or less."
   "But Johanes and Spokes... I thought I was dreaming."
   "Maybe you are."
   "No... I've got other dreams. I guess we both do."
   Cecil was silent for a bit after that, finishing the pita and
sucking down the last of his miruvor. Maybe he didn't know what
to say. Mike tried closing his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.
   "Y'think we're gonna get out of here, Cecil?"
   He didn't answer. Mike wondered if he'd even heard the
question. With eyes glossed over, Cecil was already in the other
world.


                          *     *     *


"See 'em? Self-replication detected. Zoom."
   Chief Tuto looked from one monitor window to the other, his
brown eyes narrowing on the detection pings as they appeared,
divided, and vanished in short order. It was just as before, only
quicker, as if they knew they'd been spotted.
   "Where are they coming from?"
   Dira shrugged, a tangle of amber hair falling over one eye.
   "Tracer says medical, but look at the entry log."
   "Could be stealthing. Run a CPU verify."
   One hand danced over the keyboard, "Yeah... no... well,
something was there. A difference of two percent detected for
about... half a second."
   "Run a full heads on exit channels, quick."
   It was a waste of time, of course, and by the time they got
around to checking out the entry logs, there were no entry logs.
Tuto studied the blank screen with an equally blank expression,
finally releasing an irritated grunt.
   "This is getting rude."
   "Maybe not."
   Her hand did another dance, "Port 129 shows simultaneous
closure."
   Tuto glanced toward the wall-chart. 129 was one of the public
aether ports. It could be accessed via wireless terminal, open to
virtually any person on board.
   "Entry logs?"
   "Nope."
   "He's not taking chances. And he's too fast to lock in place."
He chewed on the thought. Speed usually bred sloppiness. "Do a
frequency comparison on the ports."
   Dira tapped a few more keys, her dark blue eyes scanning the
row of frequencies as they scrolled off the monitor window. "Got
it. Here's the band they were using, and here it's being used on
Port 182. Same exact frequency."
   Tuto nodded, not terribly surprised at their trespasser's lack
of precautions. Too bad. The game had just been getting
interesting.
   "Feed in a command stop. We'll lock him in place and check the
entry logs."
   Her fingers complied, and the keyboard locked up as though
somebody had yanked it off the desk.
   "Huh?"
   Tuto went to another console. Same story. He slammed a fist on
the keyboard in frustration. Dira put a hand on his shoulder.
   "That won't help."
   "It makes me feel better."
   "Look at the port display."
   One-eight-two flashed all the way from the command console to
the security desk, as cruel a set-up as he'd ever witnessed. Dira
seemed to smile at their predicament.
   "We got re-routed, sir."
   Tuto pushed the air from his lungs and began pacing around the
room, re-booting each of the consoles in turn. It would be
several minutes before they were back online, and somebody out
there was making the most of the time, probably laughing
hysterically.
   "This is getting very rude."


                          *     *     *


It felt a little like free-ditching off the Aerial Palace, the
rush of adrenalin and anxiety clawing at the will's outer shell.
He could break a sweat just thinking about it, because every time
the possibility of fate catching up was both real and expected.
They had a place called "Gyron's Fall", named after some poor sap
whose grav-restrainer failed. Not his fault. It just suddenly
decided to up and quit in mid-air. Became the biggest joke
halfway across the Realm. Gyron ended up bouncing, and they dug a
little crater and buried him head-first, his feet sticking up
with a pair of boots that had foggers in their soles, such was
the Draconian sense of humor. Johanes remembered laughing out
loud at the time, wishing he could have been there.
   "It's locked."
   Spokes waved his hands in an apparently arcane gesture as the
door slid open. Johanes regarded his triumphant expression with
all the amusement it deserved.
   "We're on a schedule here, okay?"
   "Sorry."
   Spokes followed him inside with a casual waltz, a sharp
contrast to his crisp-collared maintenance uniform. That was
okay. It made him look like he knew what he was doing. Johanes
paced about the room, flipping a power screwdriver end over end.
   "There are fire sprinklers in here."
   "So there are."
   "Here, hold this."
   The chiphead still regarded the canister with a mixture of
curiosity and ambivalence. All he knew was that it held clear
liquid sandwiched between white powder and a fan, each separated
by a sheet of impacted polymer with radio-controlled shutters.
Enough information for the average ten-year-old, Johanes figured,
opening a vent.
   "There's a sensor in here also."
   "So?"
   "Tell Cecil we'll need to deactivate it just before this is
triggered. All of them. This has to work perfectly or we all get
caught. Understand?"
   "I still don't know what you're talking about."
   Johanes bit his tongue. Spokes knew, all right. He just didn't
want to admit it, the perfect conspirator, hedging all bets by
feigning ignorance.
   "Relay the message. Can you do that much?"
   The tall one sighed and finally nodded, soft blue eyes seeing
no ready alternative.


                          *     *     *


"First of all, we're going to find the escapee. There are no
alternatives. There will be no excuses for failure."
   Reece stared around the chamber, slowly taking in all their
expressions. Every officer in the room knew that organizing a
shi-wide search on a ship the size of the Crimson Queen was no
mean task. The deadline only increased the challenge.
   "As you all know, we'll be dropping back into normal space in
about nine hours. The traffic situation at Tyber will be enough
of a problem without an fugitive to worry about, so it would seem
that time is of the essence. Keep that fact in mind while you
make your reports. Captain?"
   Dunham leaned forward, nodding to the Commodore as his broad
mass shifted. With the press of a button, Mike's image
materialized over the conference table in three dimensions.
   "This is the man we're looking for. Pictures have already been
distributed to the crew, several of whom have noticed a likeness
with this man."
   He pressed the button again, and the jacks were replaced by an
unkept mane of long brown hair.
   "His real name is Michael Harrison. He's a gatherer with the
Tizarian division of Galactic Press. We believe he has two allies
on board. They used hypo guns with a short-duration sedative in
order to incapacitate the guard stationed at the cage. They also
tranquilized Dr. Hunter and two specialists."
   Reece interrupted, "Has the hypo compound been identified?"
   Hunter nodded, "Senthinol-3. It's a consumer product made at a
number of systems in this sector. Been in circulation for the
past three centuries."
   The Captain looked around slowly, drawing presence from the
silence before continuing.
   "Harrison is wanted for homicide on Calanna. He is also
suspected of impersonating an ISIS operative in order to get
aboard, a felony under interstellar law."
   "He's wanted for homicide?"
   Dunham nodded, "Apparently, but we don't have any details."
   It made sense. The Calannans were generally private about such
things. But that didn't explain why he wasn't caught.
   "They must of sent us his image recognition code."
   "Yes, but because of the unusual way he attained passage, he
was never checked out."
   Reece bit her lip.
   "Any idea on how his associates got the cell combination?"
   "We have a theory. Security ran a level two diagnostic of the
ship's computer after the break-in. They found a number of recon-
worms. We've been attempting to trace their source, but so far,
no luck."
   "You're saying they broke into the system and just read the
combination?"
   "So it would seem."
   Reece bit her lip again.
   "Those combinations are well protected. Why wasn't an alarm
activated?"
   "We don't know."
   "How are they avoiding our trace?"
   Dunham turned toward a petty officer at his right, "Chief
Tuto?"
   "They're using a variety of means. Stealth, entry-log
erasures, misdirection tactics. They've also found out how to
slip into unused frequencies unobserved."
   "I thought all unused frequencies were observed continuously."
   "They've managed to draw out our observation routines and are
sending data packets between the check points. We also believe
they're using above-board frequencies for voice transmissions."
   "Have you conferred with communications about this?"
   "Actually sir, they were already aware of it." He nodded
across the table to another officer. Tabor shifted in his seat,
realizing he was suddenly on-stage.
   "Uh... six hours ago..."
   "Who are you."
   "Tabor. Ensign. First Class. Communications Officer, sir."
   He looked raw, like a typical navy recruit, the coppery-orange
hair cropped so close to his head that his appearance reminded
her of a turnup. She guessed that his problem had more to do with
nerves than hair. He seemed so scared it made her jitter just to
look at him.
   "Go ahead, Ensign."
   "Six hours ago, one of our engineers noticed some very
interesting readings from an instrument which measures fractures
in the normal-space bubble around the ship. The device operates
by bouncing a short-wave signal along the bubble's area
perimeter."
   "Excuse me, Ensign," Reece waved from the other side of the
table. "Is this going to take a while to explain? We don't have
time for a lecture in astrophysics."
   "Umm... I'll be brief, sir."
   "Very brief."
   "Yes sir. The gist of it is that this radio frequency is being
used continuously while we are in hyperspace, but to someone
unfamiliar with engineering, it looks like normal line noise
between usable bands, thus qualifying it for exploitation by a
tight frequency transmission."
   "You're telling me that they're using a voice frequency which
is already in use?"
   "Anyone sufficiently skilled in communications can compress
transmissions into data packets, fire each one off several times,
then decompress the packets, check for inconsistencies caused by
the line noise, correct, and presto; they're using a frequency
which also happens to be in use by a non-sentient system, and
their transmission goes through entirely undetected. But in this
case, it didn't."
   "I think you just confused me more. Try the gist again."
   Tabor took a deep breath, "Okay. Prior to jump, they must have
been looking for an above-board frequency with residual noise.
Something that wasn't being used, but that had enough random
noise on it that it wouldn't be scanned like a clean frequency
where their transmission would be picked up in an instant. This
frequency qualified perfectly. The computer was running tests on
it by generating random noise, transmitting it externally to the
sensor, and making comparisons to see whether or not the sensor
was operating within its safety parameters."
   "So you're saying this particular band was ideal for their
purposes?"
   "Very much so. If this had been an older craft where the comm
system isn't as tight and clean as it is on this ship, they would
have had a lot more to choose from, but on this vessel we don't
really have any junkie above-board frequencies, so their choice
was very limited."
   "And our engineers caught them when their transmissions
interfered with the operation of the sensors."
   "Correct."
   Reece nodded, "I understand, but why wasn't this reported
immediately?"
   Tabor took a deep breath, "I didn't learn about it until I
came on shift about three hours ago, and at that point I didn't
believe it. By the time the second transmission rolled around, I
was convinced, but..."
   "There were two?"
   "Three, sir. The first six hours ago which lasted for a minute
or two. The second, a little over two and a half hours ago, which
lasted only few seconds. And the third began a little over two
hours ago and has been continuous since then?"
   Reece bit her lip yet again, this time hard enough to make her
reconsider the action.
   "Let me get this straight. Harrison has been using a
restricted frequency for the past six hours, the past two hours
continuously, and this is the first I hear of it?"
   "Sir, we didn't even know what we were dealing with until news
of the prisoner escape started to circulate. For all we knew, it
was some sort of localized hyperspace phenomenon or even a
prank."
   "A prank?"
   "Yes sir."
   Reece regarded Dunham with a sinister stare, and the Captain's
dark cheeks grew rosy under her scrutiny.
   "Well, it's a relief that the crew has grown proficient at
entertaining themselves. We wouldn't want morale to suffer.
Ensign, can we pinpoint the signal source?"
   "Not with the equipment on board."
   "Can you at least tell us what it's saying?"
   "The instrument's readings are used and removed from computer
memory in a continuous cycle, so we lost the first transmission
entirely. That's gone forever. The second one lasted only for a
few seconds, and I've already tried around a thousand standard
decryption routines, none of which has worked. I wouldn't put too
much hope on us ever deciphering its contents, at least not any
time soon, and certainly not without very powerful computer
support. The current transmission is still being saved, but I
expect that we'll find the same problem we're having with the
second."
   Reece took a deep breath, "So in other words, no."
   Tabor just sat there looking pale.
   "In the future, Ensign, when I ask you a question, don't give
me a speech. A yes or no will suffice."
   "Aye sir."
   "Can you jam the frequency?"
   "Yes sir."
   "Do it. Immediately. You're dismissed."
   "Aye sir."
   He saluted and exited.
   "Chief Tuto, I want all passenger access to the computer
stopped and aether port access restricted to pre-verified
frequencies. You're dismissed."
   "Aye sir."
   Reece waited for him to leave as she studied the stony
expression on Dunham's face. He seemed to be waiting for some
comment, or perhaps a pat on the head. She might have obliged him
had she a sturdy club.
   "Pranks?"
   "They do happen, sir."
   "We could have spotted this hacker hours in advance if there
hadn't been such leniency. Now that they've had hours to feel out
our system..."
   "It makes them all the more dangerous," he took the luxury of
completing her thought.
   "I want one of your people to run through the passenger lists
and see who looks like they might qualify. Unless those have
already been erased."
   "Will do, sir."
   "Also, see if any of the passengers are mentioned in our
library records as being associated with this Mr. Harrison."
   "Of course."
   Reece leaned back, seemingly examining the ceiling.
   "I'd like to order a re-boot as well."
   Dunham smiled, "Not a good idea, sir."
   "No, not while we're in hyperspace," the Commodore reluctantly
agreed. "Lieutenant."
   Erik snapped to attention, "Yes sir."
   "Give me a scenario."
   He took a breath, "Gatherer in search of a story. He learns
more than is wise; breaks some planetary laws. He decides to turn
tail but gets cornered at the starport. He calls us, pretends
that he's an ISIS agent, and we obligingly offer him a ride. His
friends figure out what happened easily enough. They rescue him."
   "A great deal of risk on their part. And what about Erestyl?
What about the information we so ardently desire?"
   Erik bit his lip, "More than likely it is gone, blown to bits
by Clay. Perhaps he wasn't lying except about his own role."
   "If he is simply a gatherer, then how did he happen upon
Draconian fleximesh?
   "Bought it at a Calannic yard sale?"
   "Right," Reece smiled, then frowned again, looking back across
the table at nobody in particular. "It seems to me this whole
thing reeks of the DSS, and who more willing to take such a risk,
provided the pay-off is right? Which would suggest that Harrison
is important to them alive. All the more reason for us to take
him alive. Commander Simms?"
   "Sir."
   He had broad-shoulders and a square jaw, the sort that made
her wonder if he spent his free time doing push-ups in three-gee
while chewing down carrots and ironweed.
   "Are we prepared for a top to bottom?"
   "Yes sir."
   "Word to the troops?"
   "Shoot to maim, sir."
   "I don't want him dead."
   "Aye sir."
   She began to wonder if there was a half a brain in there. Then
she noticed the look on Hunter's face, half way between fear and
urgency.
   "Doctor, you look like you have something itching up your
backside."
   "Yes sir."
   "Spit it out."
   "Well, first of all, I think this Mr. Harrison is in
trouble... to put things mildly, sir."
   The Commodore's eyebrows arched playfully.
   "Enlighten me."
   "We found several vials of Torogon-66 missing from our stores.
It's a wide-spectrum regen-formula common to the outer worlds.
We've kept it in stock for patients who are unsuited or prove
allergic to the in-house compound."
   "So?"
   "The Torogon formula is never injected directly following use
of our in-house compound without an intervening stabilizer and a
twelve hour waiting period. If this isn't done, the interaction
of the formula and our compound will cause a high-potential for
misreads of the patient's DNA."
   "What, he mutates?" said with a smirk.
   "I doubt he'll live long enough for that. It'll begin by
wiping out the delicate systems, two critical ones being the
immune and nervous systems. He'll lose control of his lungs in a
day or two, and he'll have invent and new way of fending off
opportunistic viruses sooner than that."
   "Did they take any stabilizers?"
   "I haven't found any missing."
   Reece nodded, "We can only assume that our thieves are
pharmaceutically inept. They have probably already injected him.
Is there any treatment?"
   "Yes, there's a compound called Anamesa."
   "Go ahead."
   "It'll stop the interaction between the regens and boost the
immune system so the body has time to restore itself, but if it
isn't applied within the first six to twelve hours, you can
forget it. It'll be too late to do anything without extensive
medical resources, much greater than we have on-board."
   Dunham sat upright, "How soon until he gets sick?"
   "Like I said, it varies, though usually by the time the
patient is seriously ill, it's too late to apply the Anamesa. You
can still artificially boost their immunity to specific diseases,
however, the damage to their system, per se, is already there."
   "And restoring it is not easy."
   Hunter shook her head, "Some might say impossible."
   The Commodore grinned from ear to ear, "I hate to be
celebrating another person's misfortune, but all in all, that's
excellent news. I want our supply of Anamesa destroyed, and I
want our mind-scanner readied for use."
   "Sir?"
   "You have moral reservations, Doctor?"
   Hunter averted her eyes, "Sir, we have never used the mind-
scanner."
   "You don't have trained staff?"
   "No, it's not that. I just... it's over ten years old. I don't
even know if it'll work. And as for destroying the Anamesa, if
you do capture this Mr. Harrison, that may be the only thing you
have to bargain with."
   "Oh, don't worry Doctor. We'll capture him. I just have no
intentions of serving him the opportunity to live, and besides,
this way it isn't anyone's fault." She smiled, then frowned.
   "What is it, Doctor?"
   "They took more than the Torogon-66."
   "Such as?"
   "Hydrochloric acid and potassium cyanide."
   "Enough to pose a threat?"
   "Not to the entire ship, but to a small section, yes. I would
like poison filters circulated to the crew and passengers."
   Reece shook her head, "We don't have enough except for the
senior officers. I wouldn't worry about it too much Doctor. It's
a lame threat. He's asking us what its worth to catch him. The
answer is yes... it's worth a few lives."
   "I am prepared to declare quarantine."
   "That won't be necessary." Reece shrugged, "They probably
won't use it. They would have nothing to gain and everything to
lose. I could see them smuggling it to Tyber, but..."
   "And that sits well with you?"
   "The Tyber corporation is just barely Imperial aligned as it
is. We owe them no favors."
   "Sir, the Tyberian population is extremely impacted. In such
an environment..."
   "I know doctor. Look, cyanide gas is easy to make; its
components are easy to come by. Nobody will trace it to us, and
even if they do, we can simply deny involvement."
   "Commodore..."
   "Don't argue with me, Doctor. There's more at stake than you
may realize."
   "Sir... with all due respect, human life is at stake."
   Reece felt her cheeks flush red with anger. What did she think
this was? A playground?!
   "Doctor, I can see that you've been under a great deal of
stress lately. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but
I'm relieving you of your post until we leave the Tyber system. I
want to you get some rest, and under no circumstances are you
permitted to discuss any of this with anyone. Understood?"
   "You're relieving me of duty?"
   "Affirmative."
   "Sir..."
   "Don't argue with me, Doctor. I'm made up my mind. Now go to
your quarters and get some rest."
   "But sir..."
   "That's an order."
   Hunter took a deep breath, "Yes sir."


                          *     *     *


The bridge seemed emersed in slumber as Tabor exited the lift.
The reason was fairly apparent. Most of the officers took their
sleep shift during the ship's final hours in hyperspace. It was a
common practice. Everyone wanted to wake up and be ready for
sightseeing. That was the real attraction to working on board a
liner.
   Of course, somebody had to stick around. The Captain didn't
want people calling the bridge to end up talking to a computer.
It would leave a bad impression, and people would start wondering
if anybody was ever up there in the proverbial nerve center. It
was such a joke. The computer was in charge while in hyperspace,
and everyone knew it. They just refused to accept it.
   So while everyone else was dozing, he and Lish often had the
whole place to themselves. A communications officer had to be
there. Communication still went on, hyperspace or normal space,
it didn't matter. But she was a sensor operator. She could go to
sleep, though she seemed to prefer the solitude, fiddling with
the equipment during the wee hours, programming new image
recognition routines, skimming library files, and generally being
a nuisance or a quiet companion as the mood suited her.
   "How'd it go?"
   "Oh... not so well."
   She grinned, turning back to her work station.
   "Lots of questions?"
   "Yeah. A few too many. Oh, terrific. What are they doing now?"
   She turned around again.
   "What is it?"
   "These bastards. I don't believe this. Just when I'm about to
jam their frequency..."
   Lish studied the monitor from over his shoulder, "Why is
everything blinking?"
   "They using the clean bands, must be switching continuously.
They're not even trying to disguise it anymore."
   He hit a switch, listening for the familiar pop signaling a
channel opening.
   "Bernie?"
   "Huh? Oh, hi."
   "Bernie, have you been watching the free lanes lately?"
   "Yeah. Did you just freak the system? I think it's space
sick."
   "It's working fine. Look, I'm gonna need you to hook up our
wide-band transmitter."
   "The shouter?"
   "Yeah. We need to jam all the free lanes."
   "All of 'em? What's up?"
   "Freeloaders."
   "Ah... so we've got a little war on our hands, do we? Just
gimme a minute or two to get it online, and we'll have 'em
sending smoke signals."


                          *     *     *


"Okay, open sesame."
   The door complied, and Johanes peeked inside, spraying a
canister of air-freshener from ceiling to floor. The Lieutenant's
cabin was decked out more nicely that he probably deserved.
Queen-sized null tube, a full length wall monitor, and the sort
of fluffy red carpet that suggested Imperial royalty.
   "Hmmm... cozy. A trifle insecure but very cozy."
   "Don't you think you're over-doing it?"
   Johanes turned around, "One can never over-do it."
   *Beep*
   "Attention all personnel and passengers. By order of the
commodore, all radio frequencies are to be restricted for the
remainder of this voyage. Obtain clearance for all vital
transmissions through channel two. This order takes effect in one
minute."
   Johanes breathed a sigh of relief, "Important corollary. One
may always count on the enemy to over-do it. Contact Cecil for
me. Tell him that's his cue. Also have him jam channels one and
two."
   Spokes leaned against the wall, his long, lanky arms dropping
to his sides, head tricks gleaming in the steady, white light as
he seemed to concentrate on nothing in particular. Then in a
hollow voice, "He says we have to get something for Mike."
   "What now?!"
   "Anamesa. Difference between life and death."
   "This is getting tiresome."
   "It's in sickbay."
   "Later. Tell him we're busy."
   "Now or no deal."
   Johanes grunted and kicked the wall, "We don't have time to
discuss it."
   "He says this is a dead end. It was never mentioned. They
don't seem to know it exists. What's he talking about, Jo?"
   "They must!"
   "He says it probably got trashed in the air strike. Or they
left it on the Louise."
   "I don't believe this. Look, just tell him to activate the
canister or it'll be too late. We'll get this Anamesa now. Tell
him... ummm... tell him to change the computer records on it...
make it a lust-potion... but he has to activate the canister
now."
   Spokes shook his head, "Everything's jammed. He was saying
okay, but I don't know if he had time."
   Johanes smirked, "If he said yes... he had time."


                          *     *     *


"...and at that point, Harrison's only alternative will be to
turn himself in. We'll have a mind-scanner readied for when he
arrives at sickb... what's that sm..."
   The odor was overpowering, like a strong whiff of almond
extract. She'd breathed several gulps before the bubbling noise
and the gentle hum of the fan even registered, and then her head
throbbed as though a vice were pushing on both sides. When she
looked back up, Dunham was busying himself by body-slamming the
door. His heavy mass finally crumpled to the ground, limbs still
thrashing spastically as gunfire ricocheted against its metal
frame and into the locking mechanism. Simms was already at the
IC, hitting his fist against the audio pick-up and switching
channels wildly. Presently, the room began swirling, and she felt
herself drop from the chair, her communicator miraculously in one
hand. She switched it to channel one.
   "Anybody..." Static.
   "Help..." Channel two. More static.
   "Need help..."


                          *     *     *


Hunter didn't know which peeved her more, getting force-fed an
unsolicited sedative or being relieved from duty, by the
Commodore herself, no less. The perverse politics they were
playing was only upstaged by their thoughtless endangerment of
human life. Hunter shook her head, disgusted with the whole mess.
At least there was a bright side. She was no longer responsible.
Whatever happened would be on their heads, and as soon as she was
back in bed, this awful day would be over.
   She let a yawn escape as she glanced at her thumbnail
chronometer, ignoring the minor sparks of pain her bruised nose
loved so much to scream about. It was already the middle of her
sleep shift, and her body was aching from a recent workout which
bordered somewhere between spirited and raging. Sickbay was just
around the corner. She decided she could stay up for a few more
minutes, squinting her eyes shut as another yawn muscled its way
down her throat. After all, what more could happen in a few lousy
minutes?
   Boxes were everywhere, reds, blues, yellows, all falling in
different directions, their long, curly ribbons waving gleefully
from the impact. She picked herself slowly off the floor, looking
amidst all the colorful, geometric shapes as a red, sticky liquid
dripped to the white, hexagonal tile. The culprit's head tricks
had to take the prize for conspicuousness. They rose from his
head like long, thin, needles, clearly illegal on many worlds not
only for their self-destructive properties but also for their
ability to skewer innocent bystanders should he suddenly flip-out
and go on a bloody, head-butting rampage. He looked up slowly,
the soft blue eyes strangely familiar as she helped his long,
lanky body back to its feet.
   "I'm terribly sorry." She mouthed the words, obedient to the
ship's policy code. It was his fault, of course, but he was just
another stupid passenger, oblivious to the world around him. She
felt like telling him that in so many words, but his blue eyes
and gentle hands, still shaky from the impact, helped stay her
tongue.
   "No," he smiled as she helped him up. "It was my fault. Are
you okay?" Then he dropped his look of shame. "Alice?!"
   Hunter nodded, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of
her sleeve.
   "Do I know you?"
   "What, you don't remember me?"
   "Umm..."
   "IASM, class of '43."
   "I'm sorry, I don't..."
   "Hanson's microbiotics."
   "Umm," she stared back into his eyes, soft blue pinwheels
coasting vaguely in her head. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"


                          *     *     *


"Well well... if it isn't Mr. Smyth."
   Johanes grinned shyly as he walked into sickbay. Feso was with
a patient, one of the food service workers probably. The crew had
their uniforms color coded according to section, the only problem
with the system being that there didn't seem to be enough
distinguishable colors to go around. Feso, of course, had found
the perfect solution.
   "You always wear your pajamas to work?"
   Feso laughed, "I've been getting comments on this all day. No,
we had a little bit of a... how shall one put it..."
   "A busy morning?"
   "Very busy."
   The patient looked very frigid, but whatever Feso had given
him seemed to be warming the blood. Johanes followed the nurse
back the main desk, looking over his shoulder as they passed the
office. Several boxes were still scattered about.
   "What's with the mess?"
   "Ah... just been taking inventory."
   "I love your system."
   "Yeah. Well, we're sort of disorganized at the moment. So what
can I do for you? That drug been giving you a bad aftertaste?"
   "I just wanted to say thanks. I don't know what would have
happened to me if you hadn't been here."
   "Awww..." Feso grinned, "you just got to beware Calannans
bearing gifts. Oh... what's this?"
   "A tip. "
   "Five hundred credits? I didn't know they printed
denominations this high. This is very nice of you, but I
couldn't."
   "Please. I made a mess. I feel bad. Please take it." He looked
like he was on the verge of being mortally wounded.
   "Okay. You twist my arm, how can I refuse?" Feso pocketed the
waxy bill with a grin. "This is a very big tip. You sure that
drug isn't affecting your brain or something?"
   Johanes laughed, "I think that's what she had in mind."
   "She?"
   "The woman who spiked my punch. Actually, she's part of the
reason I'm dropping by."
   "Oh?"
   "I didn't really know who else to ask, but I need something."
   "What?"
   "Anamesa. Just a few grams."
   "Anamesa? I've heard of that somewhere."
   "Can you... you know..." Johanes motioned his glance toward
the boxes in the office.
   Feso shook his head, "Not a chance. I don't even think you can
get Anamesa without a prescription. What's she need it for? Isn't
it some sort of immunity enhancer?"
   Johanes laughed, "You call yourself a nurse."
   "What? It is, isn't it?"
   Johanes leaned over the counter, lowering his voice to a bare
whisper. "It's an aphrodisiac."
   "No..."
   "Would I lie?"
   Feso turned to the medical console, bringing up a description
from computer records. He blinked at least twice when he saw the
classification. Johanes just smiled.
   "See. What'd I tell you?"
   "Wow. Learn something new every day."
   "So can you?"
   Feso looked back towards the boxes. The A's were long since
reorganized. Finding it would be a snap. Still, he didn't like
the idea.
   "You know, it says it's non-restricted. You can probably get
it from the pharmacy."
   "Already tried. They're out. I guess a lot of people have been
partying."
   Feso smiled, "Guess so. Wait... what's this for? You're not
thinking of getting that Calannan back, are you?"
   "Hey, she drugged me. She said I could drug her back."
   He laughed, "That's immoral."
   "I'm going to propose."
   "Then it's extremely immoral."
   "Please?"
   Feso smiled, "Just because I'm wearing pajamas doesn't mean
I'm a push-over."
   "Look... the proposal is sincere. We've been talking about
marriage for the past five years."
   "Five years?"
   Johanes nodded, making his best honest face. Feso pondered the
request for a moment. The Captain always did say to bend over
backwards for the passengers.
   "I never did this for you. Okay?"
   "Thanks. I knew I could count on you."
   "Yeah yeah... sheesh."
   Feso watched him leave, trophy in fist, and not a moment too
soon. Hunter came through the door two seconds later, holding her
nose and looking mildly irate.
   "Wasn't that our resident stoner?"
   "Naw... you mean Mr. Smyth?"
   "Yeah. What are you so happy about? He give you a roach to go
with the jammies?"
   Feso smiled, "I take it the meeting didn't go as well as
planned."
   "It was horrible."
   "What's wrong with your nose? The Commodore smack you one?"
   "In a manner of speaking. She relieved me of duty."
   Feso's jaw dropped, "Why?"
   "Various reasons."
   "Ah..."
   She forced a smirk. Feso had long since learned when to keep
his mouth shut, even when it looked like his boss was defying a
direct order.
   "I'm just getting a bandage, Feso."
   "I didn't ask."
   The infirmary had all the good ones, not like the flimsy
retail bandages that held just long enough to soak through with
blood. She taped one under her nose, giving herself the little-
moustache look. It suited her, Feso decided, going back to check
on the food service worker who still sat wrapped in a warm
blanket, a layer of frost melting along his eyebrows. Hunter came
in, maybe to ask a question or give an order. He could never tell
which was coming. Then she looked at Mr. Frosty, whatever was on
her mind apparently stolen by the spectacle.
   "What happened to you?"
   "Huh?"
   "Anyone tell you that you resemble an ice cube?"
   The man looked up, a slow sort of smile crossing his face.
   "Accidentally locked myself in a meat locker."
   "How come?"
   "Just happened."
   Hunter smiled, heading back to the office with her nurse in
tow. Feso felt somewhat confused.
   "What now?"
   "I thought that since I'm dishonorably relieved, you'd like to
know that you're hereby conferred the honorable title of boss
until I'm back on the job."
   "Me? What about Dr. Pendelton?"
   "He's a techie, Feso. He doesn't know anything about running
the shop. You do. Besides, you know how he is when he gets a gram
of power."
   "Yeah. He likes to take charge."
   "He'll be in charge... of the mind scanner."
   "Mind scanner?"
   "Better not to ask questions."
   "Yeah, but I don't think he'll like..."
   *Beep*
   "Attention all passengers. By order of the commodore, public
access to the computer is disallowed until we reach Tizar.
Requests for waivers must be made in person at the computer
security center on deck four."
   The line popped shut, and Feso shot her an incredulous look,
"Jeeze... this is getting ridiculous. First the comm-system. Now
the computers. What's going on?"
   "Politics. Go get Pendelton and tell him we need the scanner."
   She went to the office and shuffled through the stacks until
she found the carton of Anamesa. The tiny, yellow bottles were
the size of her thumb, and one by one, she opened them over the
sink, washing their syrupy contents down the drain. Her joints
felt grainy and brittle, her skin growing increasingly coarse
with every new bottle. As she reached in for the last one, her
fingers met only vacant air. Feso was coming back in, a dismayed
expression now transforming to the epitome of innocence.
   "Feso, I'm not sure, but I think we're missing a bottle here."
   "A bottle?"
   "Yeah, of the Anamesa. When I counted them this morning, I'm
sure there were six. There are only five here."
   "Ah... that's interesting. What you want with Anamesa?"
   "I'm trying to get rid of it."
   She tapped a few keys on the medical console, and the
database's query prompt popped into view at the bottom of the
screen. For a moment, Feso's blood froze cold. Hunter finally
looked up at him, her eyes sullen and tired.
   "I guess I was mistaken. It says five."
   "It does?"
   "Feso... is something the matter?"
   "Yes... I mean no... I'm fine. What's all the concern with
Anamesa. People getting too horny or something?"
   "What?"
   Feso gulped, "Why was the Captain ordering you to destroy an
aphrodisiac?"
   She laughed, "Anamesa is not an aphrodisiac. Where'd you get
that idea?"
   "I thought it was."
   "Well, it's not."
   Feso looked her over like she was crazy, and she imagined she
was staring back the same way.
   "You don't believe me?"
   Feso shrugged, "With all due respect, sir, I just happen to
know for a fact that you're wrong."
   "You do, do you?"
   "Yes. I'll put five-hundred on it right now."
   "You're on."
   He hit a few keys on the medical console, staring dumbfounded
at the screen when he saw the result. Hunter regarded him with a
cheerful smirk.
   "Pay up, buddy."
   He figured that either he was going nuts or he was being toyed
with, and luckily, the latter was the more likely of the two.
   "This is a prank, right? You and Mr. Smyth. Very clever. Okay,
here you are." He didn't care. He was tired and just as rich as
when the whole thing started.
   "What's this about Mr. Smyth?"
   "Oh... nothing I'm sure the two of you can't figure out. Tell
him thanks for the tip when you see him. It provided me with so
much joy and happiness."
   "What?"
   "I'm going to sleep. It's the middle of my sleep shift."
   "Feso, what's the matter?"
   But he was gone, leaving her alone with a half-frozen patient
in the other room. Two security guards emerged at the entry
portal a minute later, both puffing anxiously.
   "Dr. Hunter?"
   "Yeah."
   "Need you at the EC-lounge. Medical emergency."


           _   /|
           \`o_O'          Jim Vassilakos
             ( )     <---  [e-mail]
              U            [e-mail]
           Aachk!

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