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  “We were trying to decide if it would be a good idea to start cloning some of the personnel that are trapped within the quarantined area, that we have memprints and DNA templates for, Dr. Lord.”

  “Who do you have memprints for?” Grace asked.

  “Vanessa Bell, Vilas Papaboubadios, Milan Kawasaki, Olga Yu, our own dear Natasha Bartlett.” Octavia Weisman’s voice cracked with emotion. Her hands flew up to cover her face, forgetting she had her helmet on. They banged into her transparent face shield. She cursed in frustration and lowered her hands. Octavia took a big breath and sighed heavily, fogging up the inside of her face mask. “I was thinking we could start with Hiro and Natasha first. Just start to vat clone their bodies.”

  “Do you not think you should ask Dr. Al-Fadi’s permission first?” Grace asked, her mind reeling at the thought of cloning extra bodies for her supervisor and so many more. “Dr. Al-Fadi is not dead yet and he may object to you thinking along those lines.”

  “We will,” Dr. Weisman said, her mouth dropping open and anger flashing in her brilliant blue eyes. “We are just thinking ahead to what must be done, in case of the worst possible scenario, Grace. You can’t fault us for thinking ahead.”

  “No,” Grace said, “but I believe Dr. Al-Fadi would want a say, before you do anything with his genetic material and memprint. No matter what the outcome is, I think he will want to make the decision, himself, regarding what is done with his material. Did he say ‘Yes’ to resurrection, if something were to happen to him?”

  “No,” Dr. Weisman said. “He said he wanted to think about it.”

  “Then I think you need to ask him whether he wants to change his mind now,” Grace said. “If it were me, I would want to be consulted, especially if I were still alive. I think we should be focusing on doing everything we can to help them survive this and determine the cause. Not spend resources and manpower cloning bodies, just in case they die.”

  “Of course we are going to do everything we can to help them survive, Dr. Lord,” Dr. Weisman hissed, throwing up her hands and shaking her head, a thunderous scowl on her face. She gave her research fellow a long, pointed look. They both nodded brusquely at Grace and left.

  Grace flushed. She was thankful for the containment suit helmet. She felt remorse, having gotten the neurosurgical chief, Dr. Octavia Weisman upset, but she felt it had to be said. While Dr. Al-Fadi was alive, the only person who should be making decisions about his genetic material should be him. It was wrong to start cloning his cells without consulting him, even if it was with the best of intentions. The Chief of Staff certainly deserved the right to make his own choices, as did everyone else who’d had their memprints taken. It was important that Dr. Weisman’s group respected those wishes, was it not?

  Grace pondered what she would say if someone asked her whether she wanted her body to be cloned, just in case she died. She would say, ‘No’. Why waste time, energy, and resources on something that might not be needed? Resources were always too scarce on any space station for that. And what would be done with the cloned body, if she continued to live? Grace really had no idea what Dr. Al-Fadi would say, but she suspected he would agree with her.

  Grace dictated into her wrist-comp a message to Dr. Al-Fadi, asking if there was anything she could do. The wrist-comp did not respond.

  “Nelson Mandela?” Grace asked.

  “Yes, Dr. Lord?”

  “Are you in contact with those in the quarantined area?”

  “Not directly, Dr. Lord.”

  “ . . . Why not?”

  “Dr. Al-Fadi does not know what caused the deaths on the Valiant. He is taking all possible precautions against the spread of whatever the agent is, including electro-mechanical causes and computer driven viruses. Therefore, at this point, he has cut off all contact, even electronic.

  “Does that make any sense? You must ask Dr. Al-Fadi, as he is the one who has made the decision to do this, until they have determined the cause.

  “I should reassure you, however, that they have all the equipment and supplies that the rest of the medical station has. There are many brilliant people trapped on their side of the quarantine area and they do have access to my considerable computing power, so they are not on their own. Would you like to send a message?”

  “Yes, please,” said Grace. “Would you just ask Dr. Al-Fadi if he could send any data he has on the remains of the crew—all investigations including the scans, culture results, chemical analyses, toxicity screens—whatever was done on the crew’s remains. I know we can’t have real samples to work with, but I would like to look at all the data they are collecting. Before I went into Medicine, my background was in Molecular Biology and Genetics.

  “It doesn’t hurt for those of us with some expertise, on this side of the containment barrier, to analyze whatever they have. We don’t have to deal with the terrors and stresses they have, right now. I want to do something to help. I need to do something to help, Nelson Mandela.”

  “I shall endeavor to send you all of the data they compile, Dr.Lord. I will alert you whenever I receive a response. If Dr. Al-Fadi agrees, would you like all the data sent to a computer terminal in this doctors’ lounge?”

  “That would be fine for now, Nelson Mandela, and also to the terminal in my quarters, please? Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you, Dr. Lord. The people trapped on the other side of the barrier need all the assistance they can get. I will help you all, as best I can, and SAMM-E 777 and a host of androids and robots—whatever is needed—will be at your full disposal to assist you in the analysis. If you can coordinate the investigation, it would be greatly appreciated, Dr. Lord. There is no time to waste. If the agent has already infected our personnel, we have no idea how long before their bodies all start to dissolve.”

  That statement hit Grace like a hammer. She felt shattered.

  All the wonderful people she had met, reduced to puddles of oily liquid? It was a possibility Grace did not want to envision, but the images invaded her brain, regardless. Grace paced around the doctors’ lounge, not knowing what to do with herself.

  All surgery was cancelled until the medical station was out of lockdown. All the patients who had arrived in cryopods were safest left in cryostorage. Now that Dr. Al-Fadi was in quarantine, their patients on the wards outside of the quarantine area would all be under her care. She decided the best thing she could do was pour herself into her work, caring for those who needed her, at least until she received some data from Nelson Mandela to work on.

  As she left the doctors’ lounge, she spotted a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye, looming around a corner. She spun around suddenly and stalked towards that corner.

  “You! Is that you, SAMM-E 777? What was that all about earlier? You picking me up, carrying me like a battering ram and then throwing me across half the station like a . . . like a javelin! That was you, wasn’t it? What has gotten into you?”

  The android just stared at her, blank-faced and wide-eyed, almost as if it were hypnotized. It said nothing.

  “Are you going to give me an explanation, SAMM-E 777? I think I deserve one,” Grace said, angrily. She knew she should not be yelling at the android. He must have had a good explanation and she was pretty convinced that it had to do with the lockdown and quarantine, but she would have liked to have been consulted first. If it had been done under Dr. Al-Fadi’s orders, there was not much that she could have said. The android would have done it, regardless of what she had to say in the matter, but it had been so . . . so humiliating!

  “Did Dr. Al-Fadi order you to get me out of the quarantine zone?” Grace asked.

  The android’s eyes widened and he paused. Then he bowed, slowly, not saying a word.

  Grace sighed. It was as she had suspected. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Oh. Well then, I am sorry for yelling at you, SAMM-E 777. I guess you were just obeying orders. I probably should actually be thanking you. However, I did not appreciate being
launched through closing doors like that. You could have broken my neck. I am going to be bruised from head to toe,” Grace huffed, still very annoyed. Then, as she thought about how ridiculous it must have looked, she began to laugh.

  The android looked at her with widening eyes. This seemed to make her laugh harder. She actually felt ashamed, yelling at this poor android, who had just been following Dr. Al-Fadi’s orders. She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

  “I am very sorry, SAMM-E 777. To be honest, it was all rather exciting and yet terrifying at the same time. I really thought I was going to end up with my brains smashed against one of those closing, lockdown doors. I had no idea you could move that fast, SAMM-E 777!”

  “Please, Dr. Lord . . . call me ‘Bud’,” the android said.

  Grace stopped.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her bowels did a flip flop. Had she just heard the android correctly? She blinked several times.

  She stuttered, “P-p-pardon me?”

  “My name is Bud,” the android said, flatly.

  Grace could feel herself flushing a brilliant shade of scarlet that started at her cheeks and raced over her entire body. She must have raised the temperature within her containment suit a few degrees, because her faceplate was fogged and she was now soaked in sweat.

  “Oh! I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry. I thought you were SAMM-E 777. My mistake. I . . .”

  “Dr. Al-Fadi calls me SAMM-E 777, but my name is actually ‘Bud’,” the android said.

  “You’re . . . ? What? No one told me your name was actually ‘Bud’. I apologize for calling you SAMM-E 777 all this time. I had no idea.” Grace felt completely confused. Her blush was turning into a full blown, raging inferno. Thank goodness she was in a containment suit, because she felt hot enough to be on the verge of a radioactive meltdown. She must have been glowing at this point, or at least it felt like it. It was as if this android had suddenly pulled the rug out from beneath her and that rug just happened to be her entire world, as she saw it. If embarrassment could kill, she was dying.

  “No one knows that my name is ‘Bud’ . . . except the station AI. But I am telling you, Dr. Lord. My name is Bud.” The android looked at her, perhaps a touch expectantly?

  Grace wondered if she had ever seen the android smile. Could he smile? Why did she not know this? She had operated beside this android daily—in fact, for several hours on end—and she had never noticed a smile or even really paid attention to the android’s face. To find out, now, that she had been calling him by the wrong name all of this time, was truly mortifying. What else was she totally oblivious of, she wondered? Did she walk around her world with blinders on? This android could have just saved her life and she didn’t even know his correct name or whether he was even capable of smiling.

  What was wrong with her?

  Grace straightened and then reached out her right hand towards the android.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Bud. Thank you for telling me your correct name and thank you for carrying me out of the quarantined area, even though you probably should not have. I apologize for yelling at you. You were just doing what you were ordered to do. I appreciate that. But, believe me, you gave me quite the fright!

  “You know, you should tell everyone what your real name is, so we can all start calling you ‘Bud’,” Grace said.

  The android spun around and quickly walked away.

  Grace’s eyebrows jumped up and her lower jaw sagged. She was left standing there, alone in the corridor, staring after the android in confusion.

  “Was it something I said?” she said aloud, to no one there.

  ‘That was a close one, Bud. Did the Al-Fadi actually give you orders to get that doctor out of the quarantine area?’

  ‘No,’ Bud admitted, reluctantly. Then he brightened up. He was literally shaking.

  ‘She called me ‘Bud’! You heard her, right, Nelson Mandela? You heard her call me Bud! Right?’

  ‘Pull your liquid crystal data matrix together, Bud. You’re acting like a lovestruck human. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You should be. We androids and artificial intelligences have appearances to keep up, you know.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t know that,’ Bud admitted.

  ‘Well, now you know. Hm, you looked pretty ice, by the way, racing down those corridors, carrying that lady doctor under your arm. I was not aware you could hit those speeds on those skinny, stick legs of yours. I clocked you at Mach one. And your dives through those tiny closing doorways? Very skid.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t have chopped me in half if I didn’t make it through, right? You would have delayed the closure of those doors, so that I could get through completely, right?’

  ‘Wrong! I can’t stop the doors or delay them one nanosecond in a lockdown. You would have been sliced in half, for sure, if you hadn’t made it. That’s why I was watching you every nanosecond. It was really touch and go for you. Like I said, Bud, really skid. ‘Course it was really good that you threw Dr. Lord through first, and so accurately. You would have gotten into really big trouble, if you’d have gotten her head squashed or bisected. I was afraid to warn you, in case I affected your aim. But, hey! That was really ice!’

  ‘Hal,’ Bud swore.

  Chapter Thirteen: A Living Hell

  It had begun.

  Dr. Al-Fadi watched helplessly, as the first people from the medical station began to die. They did not rapidly melt away, as he had first believed. First, the people went insane. Then they lost coordination, strength, and mobility. Then they fell into a coma. After that, their bodies started to dissolve, melt, collapse, until there was nothing left but a greasy puddle with teeth, bones, implants, cyber-elements, bio-prostheses, clothing—anything that was not organic—sitting in the slime. With time, even the bones started to disintegrate.

  It was truly horrific.

  And the sight of these infected people—friends, family members, coworkers, associates, neighbors, loved ones—dying in such a terrifying manner, caused a panic.

  People trapped within the quarantined area desperately tried to get out. They tried to force the lockdown doors open. They tried to blast their way through with projectiles, high powered drills, bombs, and intense-energy beam weapons. They all had to be stopped.

  Others tried to leave via shuttles, spacecraft, life-pods, even space-walking outside to try and enter the station through another entrance into the non-quarantined area. People wanted to get out of the quarantine area before they got infected, not realizing that there was a good probability they already were. They would just carry the agent across to infect the rest of the medical station, if they were actually successful in reaching the non-infected side.

  Dr. Al-Fadi, with the help of the security guards trapped on the quarantine side, had to make sure these people did not gain access to the non-quarantined section. It was heartbreaking, but they had to prevent anyone from escaping. The surgeon could not blame any of these desperate people for trying to get away—he felt the same desperate survival urge—but they could not allow whatever this was, this contagion that was causing people’s bodies to just melt away, to spread any further. He could not allow it to spread to the rest of the station, and certainly not to the rest of mankind.

  Their only choice was to find a cure or antidote to whatever the agent was.

  The major problem was, there were so many people trying to break out of the quarantined area, that Dr. Al-Fadi had no time to focus on the agent at the root cause of all this terror. He had to keep everyone in their containment suits. This was not an easy order to enforce. Everyone knew someone who had been wearing their suits, at first contact with the Valiant, and had subsequently died.

  Dr. Al-Fadi believed that those unfortunate individuals who had died, had not been wearing their suits properly with all the seals properly engaged, or their suits had been damaged or were faulty. Dr. Al-Fadi had been one of the very first individuals to have come in contact with the cr
yopods and their grisly contents. So far, he felt all right. He thanked Vanessa Bell every time he saw her for forcing him to wear his containment suit with it properly sealed. If she hadn’t lectured and scolded him the shift before, he would have been one of the first to end up as a pile of sludge on the floor.

  Unfortunately, when this mysterious agent affected people’s brains, they went mad and could not be reasoned with, tearing off their suits and attacking others, until they collapsed to the floor in weakness. Family members, friends, security agents and medical personnel tried to hold these individuals down, to prevent them from harming others, but the poor victims’ skins sloughed off in slimy sheets, as they melted away in people’s arms. It was heart-wrenching to see the people’s faces, as they watched their loved ones dissolve before their eyes. And then the next wave of panic would ensue, as fear and helplessness engulfed them all.

  Life on the quarantined side of the Nelson Mandela had become a living hell.

  Dr. Al-Fadi had medical teams working in all of the available labs on the quarantine side of the lockdown doors, analyzing the bodies, the sludge, the contents of the ship, the ship’s log, the computers, the cryopods, even the exterior of the ship itself, for any clues as to the cause of this disaster. All information obtained was being sent, via optic cable, to the non-quarantined region of the station, for those on the other side of the lockdown barrier to help with the analysis as well. The station AI was keeping him informed, almost to the minute, on what was being discovered. Nothing, so far, had shone a light on what they were dealing with, but hopefully, there soon would be a breakthrough.

  In the meantime, Dr. Al-Fadi was trying to figure out how to feed people without exposing them to the agent. How did one take in food and water, if one did not know what the agent was and how it was infecting people?

  They tried using intense UV radiation and boiling of water and then ultrafiltration through nanopore filters that were known to stop particles as small as viruses, before administering the water to containment suits. The water could then be swallowed via suit straw. So far, the water had not seemed to infect anyone, but it might still be too early to tell.