Onboard the Eos

Personal ship of Team Leader Michael A. Sorenson

He’d searched her name in every database he had access to—military and public—and he hadn’t found a trace of her. Not on the infected lists, not on the deceased lists, not anywhere.

Teal Rose Sorenson.

His little sister. She’d been at her boarding school on Iolanthe when the invasion hit, and as far as he knew, she was still there. Obviously, the military hadn’t picked her up, or she’d be on one of the lists that had been created since the start of the war: Relocated, Infected, or Deceased. He knew he should accept that she was lost. That she’d gotten stuck on Iolanthe during the invasion and had been infected by the enemy a long time ago. He should, and yet somehow, he couldn’t. This was Teal. She was tougher than anyone he knew, hands down, and he’d known some pretty tough people. He just couldn’t believe it was over. Not like this. Not without proof.

Queuing up his chit, he searched her name again. Nothing. He stared at his chit, willing it to cough up something, anything! An idea occurred to him. Logging into the naval database, he searched, not for her, but for her colony. Iolanthe. There was only one file.

*Invasion Report for Planetary Colony Iolanthe*

It was the official report for the invasion and quarantine of Iolanthe. He scrolled through the file. There wasn’t much there; the report was only a paragraph long.

At approximately 0343 on 17/09/344, the NEAS picked up a signal from Iolanthe indicating that multiple force fences had tripped across the planet. Per protocol, the closest R&E unit, CE Naval Strike Force Zeta Three, was dispatched to the planet. They arrived at approximately 0721 on 19/09/344, at which time they attempted to communicate with the local population. No viable evacuees were located, and the Strike Force began laying the planetary net at 0923, with full quarantine completed by 1054. Interplanetary communications were severed at 1103. Per protocol, the Strike Force remained for one week to monitor the net before leaving at 1234 on 26/09/344. No survivors were evacuated.

It was all laid out in black and white. The ghouls had hit unexpectedly, and by the time the Navy had arrived, it was too late. The planet had fallen, and there was nothing left to do but lay the net and leave the planet to its fate. It was just as Mittag had told him, and yet something about the report didn’t sit quite right with him. Iolanthe wasn’t well populated compared to most colonies, but this report seemed unusually short even for one of its size. Even Oceania had rated a good three paragraphs, and she’d had half Iolanthe’s population.

He skimmed the report again, suddenly stopping on a section in the middle:

 . . . at which time they attempted to communicate with the local population. No viable evacuees were located . . .

He reread the lines again. Something about those sentences was nagging at him, holding his attention fast, but what?

Realization struck in a heartbeat. The report implied that they’d attempted to communicate with the locals, with no success—only that wasn’t what the report actually said. Just that they were unable to locate any viable evacuees. Maybe it was just an innocent omission, the kind made by an overworked officer who’d been on the front lines too long, or maybe . . .

They’d left out the record of their communications with the planet on purpose.

A chill went through him as he considered the possibility. On one hand, it seemed hard to believe that not a single citizen, even an infected one, had tried to reach out to the Navy. On the other, what reason would they have to hide it? He shook his head. He didn’t know. Only someone who was there that day could know.

He set his jaw. Maybe it was a long shot, but it was the only lead he had. Quickly, he scrolled down to the bottom of the page. A surge of grim determination bloomed in his stomach as he found what he was looking for:

Signed & Submitted at 1732 on 26/09/344 by Cmdr. Milo Gupta