I OPENED MY eyes in my own quarters to see Hirin bending over me, concern written large on his face.
“This is happening way too often lately,” I muttered, struggling to maintain my focus. The words sounded garbled and unclear, even to me. Hirin’s face blurred, sharpened, blurred again. I closed my eyes tight and reopened them.
Hirin blew out a long sigh. “She’s awake.”
In a fraction of a second Yuskeya was there, too. “How do you feel, Captain?”
I blinked experimentally a few times. “I think my head is okay,” I said, “and I’m not burning up anymore. So that’s an improvement.”
“And you’re coherent. That’s a big improvement,” Hirin said with a grin.
“What—oh,” I said, as memory trickled back in fragments. Much of it wasn’t clear and didn’t make sense, but what did—wasn’t pleasant. “Oh. Hirin, I—yelled at you, didn’t I? At everyone. And Yuskeya . . . I called you a bitch?”
She grinned lopsidedly. “Something like that. Seems you had a little side dish of paranoia to go along with your headache and fever.”
“You had me pretty confused,” Hirin admitted. “I didn’t know what was wrong with you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said simply. “To both of you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Apology accepted,” she said. “And I don’t think you can blame yourself too much.”
“What’s . . . what’s wrong with me?” I’d never had to ask that question before, and it sounded strange coming from my lips. Strange, and scary. Nerves stirred my stomach into an unpleasant nausea that had nothing to do with actually being sick; I felt like a wormhole explorer getting ready to skip into the terrors of the unknown. I struggled to sit up, and Hirin helped me, after glancing at Yuskeya to see if she approved.
She hovered briefly to see if I would be okay upright, then sat down at my desk, resting her elbows on it. “I could simply say I’m not sure, which would be true,” she said, “but I do have a guess. A guess that’s somewhat supported by some information I got with the datamed. I scanned you and took some blood samples through your implant while you were out. Hirin gave his okay,” she added.
I nodded. I was hardly worried about treatment protocols and consent.
“Since you’ve got some unusual additions hanging out in your bloodstream,” she continued, referring to my mother’s nanobioscavengers, “I wasn’t sure how I’d identify anything else out of the ordinary. But your mother gave me some special software for the datamed that can actually identify your bioscavs now.” She smiled. “All very hush-hush. Do not tell Baden I’ve got tech that he doesn’t.”
“Cross my heart,” I promised.
“She asked me if you’d had an infusion of new bioscavs from your Mother when we were on Kiando,” Hirin said, “when I got mine. But I told her I didn’t think so. Was that right?”
I nodded. “She wanted to make some tweaks before she updated mine—the ones she gave you were different, since you hadn’t had them as long as I had,” I said with a shrug. “It didn’t seem like a big deal since we were planning on seeing her again in a few months’ time.”
“Okay, that makes sense. But what really interested me came from something Maja said, when she was helping us get you down here. She said, ‘It’s just like Dad was when he first got the virus, years ago.”
I cast my thoughts back, sifting through memories. I nodded. “She’s right, it does seem similar, although I don’t remember any anger issues,” I said wryly. I turned to Hirin. “But you did find it so hot all the time, and you complained of headaches that never went away.”
He nodded, grim-faced at the memory, and turned to Yuskeya. “So what’s the connection?”
Yuskeya ran a hand over her dark hair. “You have to remember, Luta, I’m not a doctor. And this is complicated stuff. But it does seem like there’s a virus in your system, and your bioscavengers aren’t getting rid of it.”
“Chen keeps spiking a fever, too,” I said. “Could he have the same thing?”
She chewed her lower lip, thinking. “I don’t get any readings from the datamed that suggest that. I think his symptoms stem from something that happened to him inside the moon. Exposure to something, maybe.”
“And the datamed is telling you that I do have a virus?”
She nodded. “Yes, one your bioscavs can’t deal with. So either it’s not the same virus Hirin had, because your transfused bioscavs did help him with that—or else something’s gone wrong with your bioscavs.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Do you think that’s it?”
Yuskeya took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m afraid it might be. There could be virions—virus particles—in your system that your bioscavs have kept at bay—in a kind of quarantine—for years. But in the scan I did, some of your bioscavs seem to be breaking down, disassembling themselves.”
“So the virus is essentially getting free again.”
She sighed. “Something like that. This is mostly guesswork. I’m just trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.”
“Only some of them?” I was grasping for any good news here, I knew.
“Yes. But—” she glanced at Hirin, then to me, “there are others that are behaving differently again. They’re breaking down, too, but these are—I’m not sure how to explain it—rebuilding themselves before the breakdown is complete. And they’re incorporating some of the virus cells into the new version of themselves.”
“Kristos,” I breathed. “That really doesn’t sound good.”
Yuskeya shrugged. “It might be the best thing ever, I don’t know. Your mother would be the person to ask. But my instinct is the same as yours. It doesn’t sound good.”
Hirin spoke, for the first time since Yuskeya and I had started this part of the conversation. “Well, what can you do about it? And shouldn’t it be happening to me?”
“I’m sorry, Hirin. I simply don’t know.”
“Wait, wait. We just said it,” I said slowly. “You have newer bioscavs. You got the newest ones from Mother on Kiando.”
He paled. “But you waited.”
Yuskeya frowned and crossed her arms. “Luta, when did you first feel . . . not right?”
I considered. “After everything happened at the wormhole.”
“When we got caught in—whatever it was—that the Chron ship shot at the artifact moon?”
I nodded slowly. “It affected a lot of things on the ship. Drives, boards—”
She pointed to my hand. “Your datapad.”
Instinctively I rubbed my thumb over the still-rippled flesh where my fingers had been burned. In the past, there would have been no trace of that burn damage now. “You think whatever that was affected my bioscavs.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You were the last one of us to regain consciousness, which seemed odd to me at the time. I honestly don’t know, but it’s a theory, and the only one we have.”
“What can you do?” Hirin asked. I already knew the answer to that question. There was only one person who could do much, and she was currently beyond reach. I only hoped she was still safe.
Yuskeya confirmed it. “Unfortunately, not much. I’ve got the datamed working on something that might let me block the virus chemically, but I don’t know how effective it will be. For all I know, the bioscavs will break it down, too. Aside from that, I can try to alleviate symptoms as they arise. We need your mother,” she said simply.
I’d been sitting upright without feeling lightheaded, so I took a chance, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. Nothing bad seemed to happen.
“Well, she’s not here, and I feel all right now.” Not normal—I felt far from normal—but I thought I could function.
“I gave you a dose of something to block the symptoms, but I don’t know how long it will last. I gave Chen something similar, and it seemed to help with the fever and the pain. But we’ve got to get you to Nearspace and get in touch with Emmage. She’s the only one I’d trust with this.”
“Like we needed another reason to get back to Nearspace,” I said, patting her arm. As an afterthought, I added, “How is Chen now?”
I caught the look that passed between her and Hirin.
“Not very well, I’m afraid,” she said. “That fever he spiked when we transited the wormhole was a bad one. He was sleeping the last time I checked in on him. It seems to be an awfully deep sleep, and his brain activity has dropped off some.”
“So you’re saying he’s slipped into a coma,” I said.
She pressed her lips together, obviously uncomfortable with the word. “Maybe. He could come out of it.”
“Keep me posted.” There was little else to say about it. “Well, I guess if you think it’s all right, I’ll get to the bridge. I have another round of apologies to make.”
“If you feel up to it,” Yuskeya said. “That’s all we have to judge by.”
“Are you certain?” Hirin asked. “If you’re still tired—”
“I’m okay. And it’s not because I think you’re trying to take over the ship,” I said with a smile, and patted his cheek.
“Okay then. Let’s see what’s happening—”
He didn’t get to finish, because Baden’s voice came over the ship’s comm.
“Hirin, Yuskeya? Hate to bother you, but three ships just came through one of those other wormholes. Ran the asteroids like they knew the way and coming fast. You’d better get in here.”
The three of us ran for the door, and I wasn’t so sick that I didn’t get there first.
MAJA, WHO’D PROGRESSED enough in her navigation studies that she could take over the nav board in a pinch, jumped up to make way for Yuskeya as we entered the bridge. “I have a fix on them,” she said breathlessly. “I think they’re Chron ships.”
I slid into the big chair. “Rei, we’re probably going to need that burst drive.”
“Nice to see you, Captain. It’s online and ready to go. Gerazan went down to engineering with Viss.”
“Good idea. Viss? What about weapons?”
“Online, Captain. Ready when needed.”
“Bona. Maja, where are they headed? Us, or the station?”
She shrugged. “Hard to say. This general direction, that’s all. They’re still too far out.”
“Any chance we can hide?”
“Not if they’re hunting for us,” Baden said. “We’ve been sitting here in plain sight—”
“Since my little meltdown, right. Sorry about that, folks. I’ll explain—as much as I can—later. Rei, engage the burst drive.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Let’s try to keep the station between us and them. If we can do that, maybe we can get even further away, but I don’t want to attract their attention.”
“Got it,” she said, her hands already moving over the pilot’s board. The Tane Ikai shuddered and lurched as the burst drive kicked in, and then we moved away from the station at an appreciable speed. I glanced up at the screen showing the spiky, alien shape of the station. Nothing about it had changed, no indication that there was anyone on it or that they’d noticed our presence, beyond that one scan.
Until several hatchways irised open on the near side of the central torus, and four of the spidery ships burst out, one after the other.
“Mother!” Maja had seen them, too.
“I see them. Rei, prepare to take evasive action.”
But they didn’t move in our direction. They flew toward the ships that had only moments ago made their incursion through the wormhole.
Now we had a new dilemma. Get as far away as possible while no-one paid much attention to us, or stick around and see what happened. Prudence versus curiosity.
Curiosity won.
“Rei, I’m changing my mind again.”
“Captain’s prerogative,” she said, and I heard the grin in her voice.
“It might be useful to know what’s going to happen here. Try to stay within visual range, but keep the station between us and the action, whatever it turns out to be.”
“Hola, Captain, that’s not much trouble,” she said. “Anything else you’d like me to do? Clean out the intakes? Bake you some pano?”
“When I want sarcasm from you I’ll ask for it, thanks,” I retorted. “Baden, did we ever send a comm to the station?”
“We did, before you . . . er . . . got sick,” he said delicately. “No response.”
“Forget them for now, then. If they want us, they know we’re here.”
“Incoming ships are in visual range,” Yuskeya reported. “I’m putting them on the screen.”
Cerevare’s sharp intake of breath confirmed what Maja had already suggested. More Chron ships. The configuration was very similar to the one that had activated the operant moon.
“Where are they headed? Can you tell?” The Lobor historian’s ears had swivelled forward, signalling her excitement as it must have done for her ancestors millennia before. Her golden earrings tinkled together.
“It’s not clear. They seem to be mostly trying to avoid the ships from the station,” Yuskeya said.
The Chron ships were indeed running evasively. They had changed course as soon as the dark ships emerged from the station; so quickly, in fact, that they must have been expecting the response. Now they made for one of the other asteroid fields.
“They must have something like our burst drive,” Viss said from engineering. “The signature is similar enough. That’s technology that didn’t exist at the time of the Chron War, so they’ve advanced since then.”
Cerevare shook her head, then must have realized that Viss couldn’t see her. “No, Viss. Even during the Chron War, they had a very fast in-system drive. For a while it seemed that was the secret to their seeming ability to appear out of nowhere, but someone realized there had to be more to it than that.”
“Huh,” Viss said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know that. If they were this fast in-system, the ships we had then wouldn’t have had much of a chance.”
“That’s one reason we were losing the war,” Cerevare said.
“I didn’t realize that either,” Yuskeya said.
“Back to business, folks,” Rei interjected. “We can debate the failings of the historical record later. Here comes trouble.”
The Chron ships changed course again, coming up behind one of the wormholes and dipping low under the tumbling asteroid field. Their spidery pursuers didn’t seem fooled by the maneuver, following as smoothly as they seemed to do everything.
“Well, this is interesting,” Baden said.
“What?”
“There’s communication between the ships—the Chron and the others. I can’t decrypt it, but the comm scan is picking up data bursts between them.”
“If you could figure it out—even what they’re doing, not necessarily what they’re saying—then we might be able to communicate with the station,” I said. “Do what you can.”
Baden grinned. “And if I could figure out the content, too, we might be a whole lot closer to knowing what’s going on here.”
“That might be considered unethical,” I said. “So I’m definitely not telling you to do that.”
His fingers were already stuttering over the console. “Well, I’ll just tell you if I pick up on anything by accident.”
“You do that.”
“Sit tight, folks,” Rei said suddenly.
I glanced up at the screen and saw something I’d been hoping I wouldn’t. The energy weapons in the front ends of some of the dark ships had begun to glow. Golden sparks vibrated between the protrusions, swelling to a globe of crackling energy.
Despite Rei’s warning, Cerevare leapt to her feet. “No!” she gasped. “Don’t destroy another one!”
A blast of yellow light flashed out from the long arms of one dark ship, but petered out short of a Chron vessel. It leapt forward in a renewed burst of speed.
“Cerevare, sit down,” I ordered. “If we have to move fast, you could get thrown around.”
The Lobor nodded and sat down, but her lupine face was taut with dismay. She balled her furred hands in her lap, never taking her eyes from the screen.
Baden flashed her a grin over his shoulder. “Hang in there, Cerevare. I’m beginning to think Chron ships are not as rare as we thought they were.”
Her ears twitched, and she took a deep breath. “You may be right about that.”
“I think we’re in trouble here,” Rei said. “They’re coming straight at us.”
Maybe sticking around hadn’t been my best idea ever. “Get around to the other side of the station. We definitely want to avoid any crossfire.”
The Tane Ikai wheeled suddenly under Rei’s guidance and shot back the way we had come, making for the relative shelter of the other side of the station.
“Merde!” Rei hissed. “I can’t do this. They’re changing course again.”
The alien ships were engaged in a wild dance of bursts and thrusters, the Chron apparently trying to shake their pursuers, who likewise jockeyed for position to take more shots with the energy weapons.
“Try to keep us out of their way,” I said. “It’s getting too dangerous. They’re coming too close. Forget everything except keeping us clear.”
“Easier said than done,” she muttered.
Their trajectory had brought them gradually closer to the dark station. It was impossible to anticipate which way they’d veer next.
“I think their real target must be the station,” Hirin said. “The Chron ships. It can’t be coincidence that they’re coming this close. They’ve got a whole system to escape into if they wanted to.”
One of the dark ships fired again, missing by a narrow margin as the Chron veered up and around one of the nine large spikes pointing to the wormholes like crazed weather vanes. Its two pursuers split up, one staying on the Chron’s tail while the other tried to circle around and catch the intruder between them.
“Sure is interesting to watch someone else’s battle strategy, isn’t it?” Baden said lightly, and Maja shot him a disapproving frown. She plainly didn’t think it was the time for humour. He subsided, chastened. I was amazed.
“Luta,” Rei said, and I knew instantly that it was serious, because she never, ever called me anything but “Captain” when we were on duty, “Luta, we’d better be ready with defenses if necessary. We can’t outrun them now because I can’t predict when we might suddenly be right in their path.”
“Good idea,” I said. “Yuskeya, give us full shields. Hirin, be ready on the weapons system and share control with my board. Viss, priorities for power are shields, burst drive and maneuvering jets, and then weapons.”
Rei had called it not a moment too soon, because several things happened in far less time than it takes to tell it.
One of the Chron ships pulled a sharp, unexpected turn that must have left anyone inside it lightheaded, and made straight for the main torus of the station. The defenders, apparently taken by surprise, moved to follow, the energy weapons glowing brighter as they powered up again. The Chron ship gained a little distance on them.
It fired two torpedo-like missiles straight at the torus that formed the heart of the station. These weren’t little flash-pack torps like Jahelia Sord had lobbed at us. These were heavy weapons, and they hurtled straight at their target.
“Kristos!” someone said. We were all probably thinking it. If the station blew up now, we were so close that we’d be pummelled by a shockwave of debris that could rip straight through us.
Two of the dark pursuers fired on the attacking Chron. Both missed again as their target spun and dived. The Chron torpedoes reached the torus, and I tensed, nails digging into the armrests of the chair, preparing for the impact, the explosion. And whatever would happen to us, caught like a fly in a spiderweb.
“Captain Paixon, what the hell is going on up there? Are we in a dogfight?” Jahelia Sord’s voice demanded over the comm. I felt a brief flash of guilt—I should have told her to secure herself somehow. She could have been thrown around with all our maneuvering. But I had honestly forgotten all about her.
“Sord, brace for impact!” was all I had time for.
The torps slid, smooth as a knife into butero, into the dark, gelatinous skin of the station. Simply disappeared. No impact, no detonation, nothing. I looked up at the screen in time to see that Chron ship making for the nearest wormhole, the two spidery ships in close pursuit.
“That was—” I started, but I didn’t get to finish.
His comrades both fired on the station in quick succession.
Someone, maybe Maja, shouted—a brief, inarticulate cry of alarm. Movement on one of the screens caught my eye. I turned just in time to see one of the shorter black spikes of the station snake out toward the Tane Ikai like an enormous, outstretched tentacle, and envelop us in its shadowy grasp.