___________________________________________________________________________

The Harrison Chapters            His eyes snapped open but saw nothing
                                 save for a blue dot in the
Chapter 16                       distance... He closed his hand into a
                                 fist as a beeping noise rose
Jim Vassilakos                   somewhere in the distance. Then the
                                 lights came on, and he squinted,
                                 barely able to see at all.

                                 "Good morning."
___________________________________________________________________________


He liked the sound it made, twirling on the counter top, and the way it
made her hazel eyes open wide with glee.

"Lemme see."

Mike's first impulse was to clasp his hand into a tight fist. She tried
prying back his fingers one by one, but each time she got one where she
wanted it, she'd have to let it go to work on another. "Dummy," he thought,
as it would snap back down, and she'd scream and then laugh, frustrated and
easily amused.

"Mike... please. I'm gonna tell mom."

"Tell her what? I found it."

"I just want to look at it."

He held its edge between two fingers, its coppery color reflecting the late
afternoon sunlight. Some sort of profile lay etched on the side, a man with
a beard, all distinguished and stately. She squinted, trying to make out
the details as he jiggled it back and forth, forcing her eyes to constantly
refocus. Finally giving up, she tried to grab it. "Slowpoke," he thought as
he felt a snickering smile form on his lips.

"I have all. You have none."

"Mike..." she started to whine.

"Oh, don't cry, baby. You want it?"

"Yes."

"I bet you do."

She ended up chasing him around the flat, underneath tables, through the
shower, over their parents' bed, until she finally cornered him at the
balcony, hazel eyes deadly serious.

"Gimme it or else."

"If you insist."

He made as if to hand it forward, but just at her moment of triumph, he
flicked it backwards over his head. It was over twenty stories down.

"Mike... I'm telling."

She never did, of course. She never told about anything, while he would
tell about almost anything, even the stuff he made up.

"Mommy already knows you're a big fat liar."

"Does not... uh.... Am not."

He didn't know why she held her tongue. He never really thought about it.
He knew it was a good thing though. She'd certainly collected enough dirt
over the years to put him on life-long restriction.

"Where you going?"

He froze, his lower torso hanging out the ventilation shaft. It wasn't the
first time she'd pretended to be asleep. He looked down, uncertain.

"Nowhere."

"I'll tell."

"Go ahead."

He stopped once he reached the roof. She was at his heels, hazel eyes
shimmering faintly in the starlight. Mike scowled. A tag-along was just
what he needed.

"Where do you think you're going?" he queried in his most accusatory voice.

"Where are you going?" she chirped in reply.

"Nowhere."

"I'm going nowhere too."

He gritted his teeth, walking over to the old staircase. He'd busted the
lock on the door with his father's gun while nobody was home to hear the
noise. His dad never even noticed the bullet missing.

Mike told her to go back at least twenty times on the way to the ground
floor. It wasn't that she'd get him caught. Sneaking past the security-bot
wasn't a problem. The thing was stupid, and he'd learned long ago how to
distract it with a pebble. It was just the idea of her company which
irritated him.

She walked behind him once they were outside, picking up funny shaped
stones or bits of metal. She even found a coin, probably the one he'd
tossed over the balcony. They ended up going into one of the deserted
buildings at her insistence. She wanted to find something hard and flat to
spin it on. Mike suggested her head, which she didn't find funny.

They must have sat there for hours while she twirled it with glee and
wouldn't let him touch it for all the false promises in the world. He
watched her, his eyelids growing increasingly heavy as he reminded himself
that they couldn't fall asleep. Without her in the room, there would be
nobody to cover for him in the morning. Still, she seemed too happy to
budge. She finally looked up, waking him from his pseudo-slumber.

"Remember Dana?"

Mike looked at her and yawned, "Haven't seen her in awhile."

"Mom said her family must've moved, but I went over the other day, and her
older sister answered the door. Said she wasn't living there anymore."

"Maybe she got the bug."

That made her pause, but then she looked up again, "I don't see how she
could have. She hardly ever went out. Her dad wouldn't let her."

Mike sat upright on the floor, crossing his legs.

"Sounds almost like Jason."

Lei twirled the coin again.

"Yeah. Before his parents moved, he said they were leaving because of him
and that I should go too. Because we were both second-born."

"Second-born?"

"I know. I asked mom what he meant. She said they were really leaving
because his parents couldn't face their chores."

A goo-spitter crept beside her leg while she was talking. Mike flicked a
string of pebbles at it until it got the hint and crawled away. She didn't
seem to notice and just kept twirling the coin.

"Mom said some people just hide from real life. Isn't that weird?"

"I guess."

She was quiet for a while after that, and Mike closed his eyes wondering
what the big people were up to.

                           ____________________

"Mike. Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open but saw nothing save for a blue dot in the distance,
jumping like the beat to a really slow song. His mouth felt strange, almost
swollen, and his body felt warm and numb, as though he'd melted into the
concrete. It took about a minute before he realized there was something in
his mouth. He spat it out gently, feeling it brush by his arm several
moments later. With considerable concentration, his hand found it somewhere
in the darkness. It was about the size of a walnut, cold and metallic. He
closed his hand into a fist as a beeping noise rose somewhere in the
distance. Then the lights came on, and he squinted, barely able to see at
all.

"Good morning."

It was a woman's voice, detached yet strangely familiar. She sounded a
little tired as her face blurred in and out of focus.

"How are you feeling?"

She wiped his eyes with some sort of sticky, gauze pad, and Mike could see
her short, dark hair as she leaned forward again, looking into his eyes
with an elongated, metal instrument.

"Do you know where you are?"

Mike thought about it.

"No."

"You're on the Crimson Queen... Royal Fleet passenger liner. You're safe."

She put something on his head and then pressed a few buttons. A twisted red
line appeared on the display, sparking to mind images of floating bubbles,
crimson and boiling. Mike blinked as she turned back around.

"Do you remember anything?"

"Umm..."

For some reason, he found himself imagining her with long, white hair. Her
eyes were light brown, like a tiger's. Not silver, like Sule's. He blinked
again as the memories came rushing with neither heed nor invitation.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Mi..." he bit his tongue. "My head feels... kinda woozy."

"It's okay. Just rest. If you need anything," she tapped a red button
beside his fist. "Lights dim," she commanded.

They obeyed, and she seemed to have to play with the door, making it beep
several times before it would open. A man wearing a holster stood on the
other side, smiling and sneaking a peek. Then the door closed again, and
Mike saw a small number pad nested into the wall beside it.

The object in his hand was metallic with two small holes set into one face.
A moon-shaped etching lay beneath them, making a smiling face of the trio,
and the words "try me" were carefully etched along the adjoining side.
Frowning, Mike raised it carefully to his head, using his fingers to find
the appropriate jacks. His arm felt strangely disconnected, as though half
the nerves were deadened, and it took considerable fumbling before the
device agreed click into its proper place. The lights seemed to stutter for
a moment, and sitting somewhere within one wall, he could see the pair of
dancing yellow lanterns.

"Cecil, what's going on?"

"Speak with your mind, my friend. You are in the gravest danger yet."

Mike tried to shrug, but his shoulders barely responded, so he just sat
still as the lanterns continued to swirl, beckoning attention.

"The Imps believe you are working with ISIS. They think it is you who
summoned them to Sule's rescue. It is only a matter of time before they
learn the truth."

"Where am I?"

"The cage, the Crimson Queen's high security section of sickbay."

"Are we in hyperspace?"

"En route to Tyber."

Mike took a deep breath, "No wonder I'm having weird dreams."

The lanterns halted their dance, mid-stride.

"Dreams?"

"Realistic, actually. Ever hear of delayed action re-play?"

"Ah... understood."

Mike sighed. Cecil knew him too well.

"What's our ETA?"

"Fifteen hours."

"Anybody with you?"

The lanterns danced again, "The whole team, Pooper-dumper included."

"Does anyone have any ideas for getting me out of here?"

"Brain cells be burning over it. Trust in that."

"Could you be more specific?"

"Locks on doors, for starters. Codes to enter, unknown."

Mike smirked, "Unknown? To the ultimate hack?"

"Hack Cecil could, but not quietly. Not on this boat, and certainly not
concerning their prize jewel."

Their prize jewel. Mike savored the sound of it as his smirk decomposed
itself into a sullen stare.

"I'll get the combo. You guys figure out how to use it. Okay?"

"Agreed."

Mike disengaged the radio from his jacks, using several minutes debating
where to hide it. Precious little was sacred in a hospital null,
particularly one in which your every bodily function was monitored by
various medical gadgetry. Even a woman doctor would have to get intimate
from time to time. He finally settled on wedging it beneath the upper-torso
sheath between his armpit and the castfoam, pressing the red button almost
as a after-thought. A young man entered the room a minute later. He wore a
white coat with snake insignia and had a soft, friendly face.

"Ah... Lieutenant Feso Sosrodjojo at your service."

Mike tried to grin, "Lieutenant, I can barely move."

"That's just the regen compound doing its work. It contains a mild
paralytic."

"Take me off it."

"Ah... I can't do that."

"Lieutenant, don't make me pull rank here. Can you at least take me off the
paralytic?"

He sighed, "If you don't mind pain, sure."

Mike nodded, "I'd also like to see myself. If you have a mirror
somewhere..."

"No problem. I'll be right back."

A minute later, Mike discovered the nurse true to his word.

"Why are you being so nice to me, Feso?"

"Ah... you're Mr. Important, right? I see Lieutenant Torin always asking
about you. He's very tight with the Commodore, I hear." He grinned
knowingly, his eyebrows arching as if to say "nudge nudge... wink wink."
Then he smiled, sort of shyly. "No, I'm always nice to the patients. It
helps people heal, and you need all the healing you can get."

"What I need is to be able to move."

"Ah... you can move your arm and head."

"I want to be able to move my body. I want to be able to do my own
digestion and defecation instead of these machines. Can you take me out of
the body sheath?"

"Ah... I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"Please?"

                           ____________________


Erik knew he'd overslept even before he was moderately conscious. He'd
woken at his usual time several hours earlier, and recalling the previous
night's excitement, promptly closed his eyes. It was a nice change, he
decided, though a little too habit forming.

"Computer. Reinstate program wake-me."

"Done. You have messages waiting."

"Say messages, list."

"Commodore's quarters. Medical department, check-in desk. Custodial
department, laundry section. Done."

"Laundry?"

"Illegal command ignored."

"Say messages, all."

"Lieutenant, I am eagerly awaiting a report concerning you-know-who. Make
sure I am fully briefed by the time we arrive at Tyber."

He groaned.

Blip

"Hi. Lieutenant Torin, this is Sosrodjojo over at sickbay. In case you
haven't gotten word yet, I figured I should let you know before my shift
ends. That patient of yours has woken up, and he seems completely cognizant
as far as I can determine. You know, because the first thing they do
usually is to start complaining. Anyway, I just thought you'd want to know
as soon as possible. Bye now."

Blip

"Hello. This is Chief Ater. We had an interesting time removing those
seal-it patches off the fleximesh you sent us. I just wanted to let you
know, Lieutenant, that there was a Draconian service insignia underneath.
Showed up on the computer as external intelligence branch. I took the
liberty of forwarding a memo up the chain of command, but I figured I
should at least clue you in as well. Oh, and by the way, we figured out
that we can't repair it on-board, but I'd like to shuttle it down to Tyber
when we arrive and see what we can do with it on planet."

Blip "There are no more messages."

"Erase messages, all."

Erik crawled out of the null tube and showered, whipping out his clearance
badge as he entered the cage's guard room scarce minutes later.

"Hold it there, Mister."

Hunter's hair was slicked back from perspiration, and Erik guessed that she
probably just finished her mid-morning workout. Rumor had it she kept a
pair of grav-weights in her desk, and though he'd never confirmed it one
way or the other, he'd read that some of the new-school, hands-on surgeons
were taking up martial arts for their nerves. Either way, she looked
pumped-up enough to belt him one.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He put on his best smile, "Where's it look like I'm going?"

"It looks like you're trying, rather foolishly I might add, to sneak into
the cage."

"How observant of you."

"Don't even think it. I have a patient in there who needs his sleep."

"Doctor, this will only take a moment. Open the door."

"Don't open it. Lieutenant, the answer is emphatically no."

The guard looked between them, obviously befuddled. Erik knew she
out-ranked him, but he also knew that he had the power of God to call upon
for all the guard was concerned. He pulled the writ from his shin pocket.

"You see this?"

"Yes sir."

"You see the seal?"

"Yessir."

"You recognize it?"

"Yessir!"

"Open the door."

Dr. Hunter stood behind, her mouth gaping open with a string of saliva
ready to spill to the floor.

"Nobody ever told me that ISIS was involved!"

"You never asked, and keep your voice down."

The guard began punching in the access number once they reached the cell.

"The door can only be opened from this side. The number is
two-four-one-five-three. You key it in from the other side, and it'll tell
me that you've entered it correctly. Then I key it on this side, and the
door opens."

"Keep it open until I say otherwise."

"Yessir."

The cell door slid into the wall, and Erik entered, followed by a pair of
irate footsteps. Her patient was reclining diagonally in the gravitic null,
his body sheath laying along the wall behind him. A short, folded chair
rested against the near corner, a mirror propped against one of its legs,
and another chair, unfolded, sat facing him directly as though he were
fully expecting the intrusion. He smiled, his head jacks gleamed in the
eerie, turquoise light.

"Lieutenant Torin, I take it."

Erik sat down, Hunter preferring to stand and look threatening.

"Why are you out of your body sheath?"

The patient shrugged, a pained wince traveling the length of his face, "I
no longer required it."

"I'll be the judge of that. I can't believe Feso didn't tell me he did
this. Has he been administering the regen compound?"

"More or less."

"More or less?"

She examined the playback for all of two seconds.

"What happened to the paralytic?"

"I needed to move."

"Moving is exactly what you don't need. Mister... Mister Doe, you have been
shot several times."

"Twice. Only two got through."

"Only two?! Look Mister... whoever the hell you are! If you saw yourself
yesterday dripping in blood..."

Erik broke in, "Doctor! Please."

"Lieutenant..."

"Doctor, this is a very unusual patient. Please allow him a moment or two
of insanity. I can assure you, it comes with the territory."

"I will not put up with..."

"Due to security matters, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What?!"

"I am asking, Doctor. Please, don't force me to go further."

Tiger-eyes glared down on him, "I don't care what kind of connections you
have, Torin. This is coming around. You hear me?"

"Fine. Get her out of here."

She left before the guard could muster the courage, and Erik made a toothy
grin, the sort he used to practice in front of a mirror just to break up
his buddies during oral exams.

"Guard, you can close the door now. So..."

"So..."

"How was Calanna?"

Mike frowned, "Difficult."

"Really. I would never have guessed."

"Lieutenant, why am I being locked up?"

"Precautions. For your own safety, mainly. After all, how often do we get a
genuine ISIS operative on board? And that's not even considering the
valuable information which you carry... yes?"

Mike nodded, "Yes, but you may be under a misconception. I'm not an
operative."

"Who are you?"

He took a deep breath, hoping his scratchy, wounded voice sounded
convincing.

"The name's Mikaelis Caiton. I was originally one of John Clay's men."

"DSS?"

"No. Far from it. I was working only for John. He brought me over from
Tizar to keep an eye on Ambassador Kato, but somehow one of your
operatives, her name was Sule... no last name, I guess... somehow she found
out about me and basically made an offer I couldn't refuse."

"What sort of an offer?"

"Initiation into ISIS."

"She doesn't have that authority, Mr. Caiton."

"Call me Mikaelis."

"She lied to you."

"I'm not surprised. Do you want to hear the rest or not?"

"Please."

"First, what are you willing to offer me?" Mike grinned, his question a
little too direct. Erik grinned back.

"Look, Mikaelis. If I wanted to, I could just burn the information from
your brain."

Mike dropped his grin, "Well, if you put it that way... I started working
as a liaison between Clay and your people and managed to escape when things
eventually went down on Calanna."

"What happened?"

"Clay turned triple agent on us. He sacrificed his own life in that nuclear
incident you no doubt heard about and managed to kill Erestyl and destroy
the ISIS headquarters in a single, calculated strike."

Erik sat back, utterly befuddled.

"How did you escape?"

"Luck. Sule dumped a copy of our mind scanner readings to crystal. I then
accompanied her to the starport to deposit them into an interstellar postal
envelope. She doesn't like to take chances; that's one thing I liked about
her."

"How did you get wounded?"

"Two of Clay's goons tried to make short work of us at the starport. They
were locals. Real temporary hires. They didn't even know their source of
income had already reduced himself to a jumble of sub-molecular particles.
Really tacky way to go, if you ask me."

"And what about Sule?"

"She was wounded also. We managed to get to a starship, but its occupants
weren't too crazy to have us there. She fought well, but..."

Erik took a deep breath, trying to digest the story as quickly as Mike had
made it up.

"Where's the envelope addressed to?"

"If I tell you that, what keeps you from just killing me?"

Erik shrugged, "Nothing. You're going to have to trust me."

"I don't think so."

"Perhaps you should. It could be your last opportunity... to think I mean."

Mike nodded, "I'll take you to it, but not until I have a chance to at
least introduce myself to your superiors. If you find that unreasonable,
then take your chances with the mind scanner, and I'll take mine."

Blue light shifted along the Lieutenant's features as he considered the
offer. He finally stood up.

"I should warn you that insolence is not tolerated in ISIS."

"Neither is stupidity," Mike countered, "at least according to Sule."

Erik keyed in the combination as he reached the door, oblivious to the
shift in his prisoner's gaze. After the door closed again, Mike stumbled
over to the folded chair, taking the mirror and placing it flat against the
metal deck. Amidst all the gleaming silver, it had either gone unnoticed or
been disregarded as trivial. He took a deep breath and re-attached the
radio. It took a minute before Cecil's dancing, yellow lanterns returned.

"Greetings."

"Greetings yourself. I got it. It's two-four-one-five-three."

"Copy that. You'll be out in no time."

The lanterns disappeared, and Mike disengaged the radio from his jacks,
hiding it again while wondering how long "no time" would take.

                           ____________________


It was just a little blinker. To anyone else on the bridge, it would have
been beneath notice, but Tabor knew what it meant. He'd just barely
finished re-configuring his display for that one little light. His personal
message board began scrawling letters almost immediately. "There. See
that?"

He opened a channel to engineering. Nakaguchi was talking on the other end
even before the line opened.

"...just like I said. Did you catch it?"

Tabor smiled, "I see it," though he had to admit to himself that he could
scarcely believe it. "What do you think is causing it?"

"You're the communications genius. You tell me."

Tabor imported the section of hyperfield fractometer readings which his
configuration had obligingly saved narrow seconds before they would have
been consigned to electronic oblivion with the rest of the computer's
standard erasures. With a few key strokes, he converted the data to a
graph, and his eyes grew wide at the puzzling image. Nakaguchi was right.
It was pure chaos, except for those few seconds where a series of peaks and
troughs appeared with perfectly equidistant delays.

"You see it?"

"Yeah. I see it, alright. I just don't know what it is."

"I do."

"What?"

Nakaguchi laughed, "It's the slogs of space."

"You're doing this, aren't you? This is a joke."

"A sick and dangerous joke."

"Well, somebody's doing it. This does not happen naturally."

"That's what I've been telling you. You should have seen it last time. It
went on for more than a minute. I wish I was ready for it. I would have
saved it."

Tabor nodded, "I wish you had. A few seconds isn't much to go on. I'll get
back to you if I figure anything out."

"You do that."

The line closed with a fitful pop, and Tabor began running the standard
code-cracker routines. Lish looked up, yawning contagiously. They'd both
got on duty less than an hour ago, and her sleepiness had been infectious
until now.

"What's up?"

"Got a little mystery."

                           ____________________

"Well, it's no mystery to me. I know how men are. Oooh, you think you're
tough, don't you?"

Carla retaliated with a full round kick, knocking Hunter back at least four
feet. The doctor didn't even seem fazed.

"I'm telling you, it was infuriating."

"Well, don't take it out on me, sister."

"Why not?!"

Carla had to duck and then some, finally retreating to her safe corner.

"Alice, you bitch, you are in a bad mood."

"Don't call me that."

"Hey, it's okay. I'm one too. I freely admit it. Now if only we could get
all men to admit they're assholes, the universe might be an honest place to
live."

"No... I mean don't call me Alice."

"It's your name, ain't it?"

"Stop gabbing and fight."

Carla kept to the defensive. She could tell her favorite karate student was
out for bloody, no-holds-barred aggression, and it was a beautiful sight.

"You keep on like this, and I'm gonna have you in the tournament. Talk
about focus. The only problem is that you're so pissed, you aren't
thinking."

She dished back just what the doctor ordered, except that Hunter didn't
know it until she was already on the floor, dazed, Carla's foot scrunching
down on her nose.

"Damn."

"Ha! And you thought you had me. Didn't you?"

Hunter stood up, rubbing the leg which took the brunt of the take-down.

"For maybe half a second."

"Longer than that. You were getting wicked, woman."

"I have good reason to be wicked."

"Yeah, well... you have to think and be wicked at the same time. Once you
have that down, all men better run and hide."

Hunter smiled. It had taken a while, but Carla was finally getting to her.
She always knew the doctor's weak spots.

"I didn't say all men."

"No, but that is what you mean. C'mon girl. You don't have to pretend
different. I know."

Hunter shrugged, picking up a towel, "It's just that they're so stupid."

"Ain't that the truth."

"They refuse to listen to reason. They're pig-headed."

"I heard that right. Hey, where's that come from, anyway?"

"What?"

"Pig-headed."

"You never heard of pigs?"

"No."

Hunter started to laugh, except that she was too angry and couldn't sustain
it, so it just came out like all wrong, like a pig's snort. Carla watched
her, a hurt scowl crossing her brow.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm stupid or something? Listen girl, just
because not everybody goes to college for ten years..."

"No... I didn't mean it like that. Pigs are proto-slogs. That's just the
sound they make."

Carla looked at her again, that strange sort of smile forming along her
lips like she figured she was being lied to for the fun of it.

"I can do that. Listen..." snort "Hey, this is great." snort snort

"You're a real natural."

"I've always been able to make that noise. That's a pig noise?"

Hunter nodded, "I friend of mine was doing her dissertation on some of the
old DNA samples. They were supposedly brainy animals for their time."

snort snort

"You should have been a science major, Carla."

"I'll pass on that. The closest I ever got to science was a psychology
class they made me take. It was real cheesy. For the final project, we had
to find some sort of phenomena and explain it, okay?"

"Uh oh..."

"So, this guy in our co-op, he was my subject, except he didn't know it.
See? Every time he got hungry, he would go over to the cold food locker,
open it up, and just sort of stare inside like some meal was going to jump
out at him all of a sudden and make itself. You ever see men do this?"

"Not really."

"Well, they do. If you ever bothered to just watch people, you will notice
a lot of men exhibiting this sort of behavior. And it wasn't like it wasn't
his food. It was everybody's food."

"Okay. So what was your explanation?"

"The cold."

"Huh?"

"The cold air hitting his stomach caused it to shrink, and so by standing
in front of the thing while it was open, he actually reduced the amount of
free space in his stomach. How ya like it?"

Hunter smiled sympathetically, "What grade did you get?"

"It went down as an incomplete. The professor advised me to forget about
the sciences and take some trig to cover the slot. Can't say I'm sorry. I'm
pretty damn good at what I do."

"When do you use trig?"

"When is your friend ever gonna meet a pig?"

Hunter pondered Carla's eccentric sort of logic on the way back to sickbay.
It was already an hour into her sleep shift, but she felt determined to
immobilize her patient even if it meant chaining him to the wall and
whipping him with warm squash, and ditto for Lieutenant Torin if he was
unfortunate enough to still be loitering in the general vicinity. Her
thoughts were cut short by the door, however, or more specifically, by it's
remaining closed as she tried to walk through it. She picked herself off
the floor, holding her bruised nose in one hand as she looked around to see
if anybody had witnessed her comedic display of dexterity.

Sickbay was never locked. She slid her ID through the scanner slot, but the
door refused to budge, defiant and imposing as never before. She considered
kicking it, but buried the notion in her list of unspent aggressions.

She finally hit the white comm-switch on the right.

"Can somebody open the door, please?"

The security button beckoned. She hit the white switch again, closing the
line and hit the red switch with an angry jab of her thumb.

"Security?"

The door slid compliantly into the wall, and a tall, lanky figure stood
before her. Behind the black face mask, soft blue eyes seemed to rotate
within their sockets. She didn't even feel the two darts hitting her
stomach until a pair of gloved hands caught her fall and carried her gently
inside.

"Who... what..."

The doorway began to spin and blur, and as the walls closed quietly upon
her, she heard a grainy voice reverberate somewhere in the hazy distance.

"This is security.... Please identify yourself. Hello?"

                           ____________________


The Commodore leaned back, seemingly impressed with the story, and Erik
hoped she wouldn't ask about specifics. He was still fuzzy on the details,
himself.

"Let me get this straight. He wants an interview?"

Erik shrugged, "He wants into ISIS... or so he purports."

She frowned, glancing at the wall image of Roxanne's Palace on Tyber.
Computer generated banks of orange, acid smog blew past the structure's
summit, somehow clouding her eyes with memories of the sunrise on Calanna.

"Commodore?"

"Even had I the clout, I wouldn't use it. It's not like the Navy. ISIS
doesn't take applications. Besides, he's too attached to Clay, who already
proved himself a traitor after we had trusted him."

"According to Caiton."

"The more I think about it, the more difficult I find it to believe this
Mikaelis Caiton. Why did Clay expose his entire network on Tizar if he was
never with us? As a sacrifice?"

Erik nodded, "Perhaps."

"No. Even were they all discards, what did he have to gain by risking
Erestyl?"

"He managed to destroy the operation of Calanna."

"A minuscule victory entirely beneath mention. He won nothing. This
prisoner would have us believe that he sacrificed his life and risked
Erestyl for nothing. Preposterous."

"Maybe Clay had second thoughts. That's the only explanation."

Reece cast him a cool stare, "There is another. He could be making the
whole thing up."

"Too many pieces fit. He knows a great deal. He must have been on the
inside."

She nodded, "That is all he has told us. Nothing more."

"Still, given the possibility that he's telling us the truth, shouldn't we
at least humor him?"

"Yes. We should. Regardless, I do want to meet him. If nothing else, a more
thorough questioning might serve to reveal who he really is."

Beep

"Reece here."

"This is Dunham. There's been an incident at sickbay. Your John Doe has
escaped."

Reece looked up, eyes cold as ice.

"On my way."

                           ____________________


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 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, 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," Cecil 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 bytheir trespasser's lack of
precautions. Too bad. The game had just started 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 ship-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 a
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 have 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 turnip. 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 to invent a
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 on."

"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
onboard."

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 imersed 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 personnel and 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 do 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."

___________________________________________________________________________

Jim Vassilakos (jimv@ucrengr.ucr.edu) works part-time as a programmer at a
place so cheesy that he declined to mention the name. He says that if
anybody has any job prospects for a semi-computer-literate MBA who likes to
write, he's ready, willing, and able to scoot his butt for decent buckage
and good experience.

"The Harrison Chapters" will be continued in the next issue.
___________________________________________________________________________