One jump, two hundred lightyears, and Ariadne was a bad dream.
The VR sync was hosted on a decent EFFECT substrate, now that they were half a sector closer to the Fleet Comms Array. Rather than the plain, slightly shaky meeting room in which he’d spoken with Chadwick the day before, here they were in what looked like a ruined medieval hill fort, overlooking a vista of green fields and grey cloud. A light breeze sighed through the old arched windows, rustling the ferns and weeds there. As a “meeting room” it was typical of the organisation, where agents who spent many subjective weeks and months operating in these substrates tried to outdo one another for the zaniest or most impressive space.
‘Captain, Ariadne has gone completely dark, what’s going on?’ Chadwick asked without preamble.
He could have punched her. He might have, if it would have made a difference. But their briefings were being recorded not only by a host of VIs, but almost certainly other human operatives too. Even punching a holographic representation of someone was an insubordination too far for most commanders.
‘Sector Command has told me the last broadcasts to make it offworld were of Yashego losing his fucking mind,’ Chadwick pressed. ‘Care to elaborate?’
Vasco took a breath. The enormity of what he was about to report gave him pause. The consequences would be profound. Biological warfare was not a new concept, but on this scale it was breathtaking.
‘Captain?’
He bit the bullet. ‘Ariadne is gone. Everyone is dead. Cobs must have hit it with viral loads before we even landed, judging by the speed and spread of the infection.’
Chadwick’s eyes widened. ‘Oh shit,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ Vasco replied. He felt like he needed to sleep for a thousand years.
Chadwick went motionless, and her eyes took on a glassy, vacant look. She was communicating with others—presumably passing the word up the chain of command.
Vasco looked around, relishing in the fake breeze. The effect of the environment was calming, which was precisely what it was supposed to be.
There was a brief surge of data chatter interference in his ears as FTL missives slingshotted across the galaxy, then Chadwick directed her attentions back to him.
‘OK, first thing’s first: what’s the mission status?’
‘A success,’ Vasco said, with a sardonic snort. ‘We’ve extracted all targets. However, all targets save Sarbin have contracted the virus and will need extensive medical attention. They’re in storage now. It was the only thing that would stop the spread.’
‘What about VIPER personnel?’
‘Kgosi is CI: he took a knife to the neck and will need medical attention. Some other minor injuries. Otherwise fine. We were all dosed up on the latest countervirals.’
‘OK. Captain I’m not one to doubt your competence in any way, shape or form, but you understand that I need details for the record, so this will sound a little patronising. Why do you say that Ariadne has been virus bombed?’
Without her preamble, Vasco would have lost his temper. Even so, he felt his choler rise. ‘Because, Special Agent Chadwick, every man, woman and child in Theseus and Minos were either dead—and I mean just dying in the streets, lying where they fell, dead—or in the very fucked-up process of hacking their lungs up. It was a highly contagious, highly virulent respiratory disease that was killing—’
‘All right,’ Chadwick interrupted, unimpressed by his anger. ‘The VIs have gone through your mission logs. You told all on-world UNAF forces that you thought it was Jago 541b. What made you say that?’
‘Because I didn’t care who they were or what they wanted to do to me, I didn’t want to see thousands of people die!’
‘No, Captain,’ Chadwick said, patiently, ‘why did you think it was Jago 541b?’
Vasco shrugged. ‘Because you told me that SPECTRECOM had lost en’Jago in the Vadian Spiral. Makes sense that he would be cutting through the Gull Crest and plague-bombing every ungarrisoned world he came across.’
‘But you don’t know it was Jago 541b?’
Vasco threw his hands up. ‘No! Call it an inspired guess. How many weaponised viral strains do you know of?’
‘More than you could imagine,’ Chadwick muttered, and her eyes went vacant again
Vasco sat back, feeling numb. Whole colonies, planets of people were at risk. He understood, then; Chadwick wasn’t trying to be annoying. She was trying to find something, anything, to tell her what strain of virus it was. Any little piece of intel. Because if they knew that, they could do something about it. But if they sent a fleet of warships with a thousand gallons of manufactured countervirals, and it was the wrong one, they’d kill more people than they’d save.
She turned back to him, clasping her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t—’
‘It doesn’t matter. From the symptoms you’ve described, we’d be way too late anyway. The nearest UN ships even remotely capable of a planetwide medical response are ten hours away.’
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
‘What happens now?’ Vasco asked.
‘I need you to reroute to the Fleet Medical Station on Roma Vega asap,’ Chadwick said, all business. He knew then that he would never be able to do her job. He had spent too much time down in it, among the blood and guts and high emotion. To someone like Chadwick, her AO extended across the entire United Nations, a thousand thousand colonies on hundreds of worlds. For her, Ariadne was just this morning’s bad news.
‘OK,’ he said. He was bone-tired.
‘You’ll be quarantined. They’ll be expecting you.’
‘What about Ariadne?’
‘SOC has a liaison on Roma Vega. Her name is Jackie Sindowe. She’ll take Sarbin back to Vargonroth for debrief. She’ll be waiting for you at the Fleet Medical Station.’
‘What about Ariadne?’ Vasco pressed.
‘Do you want to know, Captain? Do you really want to know?’
Vasco pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. When had this become OK? When had these unspeakable horrors become white noise?
‘Goddamn it,’ he muttered. ‘No.’
‘All right. We’ll talk again when you’re planetside. Any more for me?’
Vasco shook his head.
The feed terminated.
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