Contamination Page 2

  “Yessir,” one of the men said. “The captain, sir? The captain is very busy.”

  “Or a representative.”

  “Yessir. Wait here, sir.” He disappeared inside the tube. He could, of course, have offered to take Jonathan to the captain’s representative, but he guessed that was out of the question. One thing he had learned so far was that the military were pretty precious about their ships.

  Jonathan waited, fiddling with his pad while eying the remaining soldier, who, in turn, glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

  According to the database, the Everbright was a logistics ship, strengthening the front line for an alien menace which the military said was coming closer into the solar system.

  A few years ago, military astronomers, mainly those stationed at Triton Base around Neptune, had identified several inbound objects moving towards the Sun. According to these military astronomers, the fact that these objects sent out radio waves of ever decreasing frequency meant that they were artificial. At first the Space Corps had been blasting communication at them, but there had been no reply. They had asked for massive increases in their funding in case the objects turned out to be hostile, and had gotten it.

  Some scientists were now starting to say that there were no approaching bogeys and that the incoming objects had been artefacts of a mistake in calibration. They said that the failure of Space Corps to provide objective proof of the existence of these bogeys was because the military wanted to ensure that their funding was maintained at the current level.

  Something was happening on the dock now. The single soldier at the tube entrance straightened, and the access tube to the Everbright moved with the rhythmic thuds of footsteps.

  A moment later, the soldier reappeared in the company of a woman in military uniform with more service decorations on her pocket than there was space for.

  Wow.

  Jonathan nodded. How did one greet military hotshots. “You’re Captain Farrell of the military vessel Everbright?” She was a stout woman, shorter than him with a round face and short, spiked-up hair.

  “Yes—what’s up?” She glanced at the board next to the door. “If our name on there gets any brighter, it’d be visible on the damn surface of the damn Earth.”

  Jonathan ignored her jibe. She hadn’t needed to come herself. She could have asked one of the staff to do this for her.

  “I need you to complete and authorise these forms.” He held the pad under her nose.

  She frowned. “What for?”

  “You need to make a quarantine declaration prior to entering Earth space, ma’am. Station regulations.”

  “Quarantine regulations, the fuck. We have on-board pathology.”

  “I know that ma’am.” He swallowed. “But I don’t have those results.”

  “Then ask the station management for the results. We sent them.”

  “Sure, ma’am. I still need you to complete and sign a declaration.”

  Her eyebrows bristled with a frown. “Declaration?”

  Behind him, a couple of tech crew walked along the dock, and they glanced at his pad and then at him. Raising their eyebrows. “This is a new regulation, you know, since that scare we had with native bacteria on Mars . . .” He was melting under her glare.

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “. . . the native micro-organisms contaminated the water source and caused the entire population to suffer gastro. I only have to ask you a few questions. It won’t take long.”

  “Well, it had better not. I don’t care about the bowels of the colonists on Mars.”

  She took the pad from his hands. A button on the screen said begin procedure so she pressed that, casually, with her thumb, flicking her eyebrows in a look-at-me-I’m-doing-your-stupid-questionnaire gesture.

  Jonathan did his best not to squirm. He didn’t think he was successful. She had to be twice his age, twice his width and with twice his experience.

  She was asked for ID and designation; she entered that. That brought up the first question, which she read aloud. “Have you or anyone in your vessel had contact with an alien body, including, but not limited to, a planet, an asteroid, or an artificial satellite not installed by your vessel on the current trip?”

  She snorted. “Hell, yeah. How about: made out for Europa to investigate a signal coming from under the ice, but were disturbed by an emergency beacon. Pushed on to Titan. Rescued locals from impending freezing to death by realigning their solar reflection mirrors. Stopped on the way out from Saturn to take in some ice from the rings? Young man, sometimes you people here seem to forget that something out there is trying to push into the solar system. They don’t listen to our communication, don’t reply to anything, and we won’t rest until the bastards are defeated.”

  Her eyes met Jonathan’s, and he felt like it was his father looking out through them. A military man who never had much truck with all this touchy-feely bacteria stuff.

  She pressed next. “Do you think I’ve wasted the past few months with silly questionnaires about the bowels of the Mars colonists?”

  She read out the next question, too. “Have you or any of your party been ill during the voyage? An illness includes anything more serious than a common cold.”

  Again, a snort.

  “Sheesh, what do you think? We’ve been away for months. We’ve been to Luna Base. You know how bad the military mess is at the Lunar Orbital? Food poisoning guaranteed. They don’t call it Shitsville for nothing.”

  She turned her attention back to the pad and read, “Have you or any of your party taken material from foreign bodies you visited?”

  A sigh of exasperation.

  “What do you people think we do when we go out on Logistics operations? Sit in the ship and look at things? ‘Oh, that’s a pretty moon going past. Let’s take a picture.’ Taking pictures is something NASA did a hundred years ago. Remember NASA? Never got anywhere just taking pictures. No, we actually do stuff. We salvage things. We attach things and launch things. And fix things, if needed. We’ve dug holes, attached cannons, installed laser-guided missiles. Of course we’ve taken back material. Who has ever come away from Titan without tholin crap all over their shuttles?”

  She pressed the next button.

  The screen flashed with the text return to supervisor.

  With a smirk, she gave the notepad back to Jonathan. “Was that all?”

  He looked at the screen. Failed all three questions, miserably. His heart was thudding. What had gone from a boring job had suddenly become an unenviable job. He gathered the courage to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t allow you to leave this station. Your staff need to report for testing and cannot be allowed in the station until they have been cleared.”

  She stared at him. Her glare was like burning coals. “Come again?”

  His cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but anyone who answers positive to any two questions—”

  The smile disappeared from her face. “Listen, Mister,” she said. “This is not some bureaucratic game. I have a thousand soldiers aboard my ship. We’ve been away defending Earth’s safety for a year and five months. We have an urgent medical case aboard. A man is suffering multiple fractures to his leg and we need to get home.”

  Jonathan looked at his pad as if that would change the damning replies.

  It didn’t.

  He straightened his back. “Those are regulations, ma’am. We don’t want exobacteria reaching Earth.”

  “Then stick us into a decontamination room. But whatever you do, do it quickly.” The captain looked displeased. Very displeased in fact.

  “It’s not that simple, ma’am. The scientists have discovered—”

  “Scientists, hell. We’re the reason you’re still here and you’re still breathing. We are going home.”

  “You can’t, I’m sorry. Your ship’s socket will be locked, and refuelling procedures won’t work. You need to decontaminate your entire crew and ship, and s
tay here for a minimum of twelve weeks—”

  “You’re fucking kidding. There’s no way our crewmember is going to wait that long for treatment.”

  “I’m not kidding. I’m sorry.”

  She said, softly, “Who is your supervisor?”

  Chapter Four

  FEELING AS IF a huge thundercloud hung over him, about to start raining, Jonathan led Captain Farrell through the passage to Danna White’s office.

  They walked along the dockside walkway, where tech crew and station supply crew mingled with ship crew, both military and civilian. Most of the umbilical tubes on both sides of the passage were in use, with names of ships blazing from the displays.

  Jonathan spotted a couple of other people from the Quarantine Authority with pads at ship’s entrances.

  A rotund man with a moustache like a walrus shouted at a terrified young woman, “Twelve weeks? You cannot be serious!” He spoke in a heavy Russian accent. The panel next to the tube said that the vessel on the other side was a Mars runner. Yes, with that origin, he would be out of luck.

  To get to the office, Jonathan had to bypass a queue of five or six people seated on a hard metal bench along the wall in the narrow passage that led to her door. They glanced at Jonathan and the Quarantine Authority patch on his shirt with hope in their eyes, faces weary and resigned to waiting here.

  Jonathan knocked on Danna White’s door and opened it when she said, “Come in.”

  She seemed surprised to see him.

  Jonathan said, “Captain Farrell of the military vessel Everbright to see you.”

  Danna White’s eyebrows rose.

  The captain said, “This man has told us that we need to stay here for three months.”

  “This ship has failed all three questions.” Jonathan’s voice sounded in his own ears like one of those dog toys that squeaked when chewed by the dog.

  Danna glanced from Jonathan to the captain. “Sit down, ma’am.”

  The captain sat.

  “Sorry,” Danna said, as if that explained the entire situation. “He’s very . . . keen.” She cast a glance at Jonathan.

  The captain said, “Have quarantine regulations changed that much since we left?”

  “They have. Unfortunately, the Orbital Transit Authority had to isolate Mars until the local population dealt with the native bacteria in their water supply. Nasty critters adapted to any disinfectant we throw at them. They even multiply like crazy under massive radiation. There is no way we want something like that to spread.”

  The captain nodded. “This is one of the reasons why we keep pathology records on board.”

  “I know. If you make them available to us, I think we can sort something out that will allow you to leave soon.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Danna glanced at Jonathan again. “You may wait outside, Bartell.” There was no smile now.

  Jonathan went into the corridor where he sat on the hard metal bench next to the other people and waited.

  Those people were all filling out quarantine forms on their pads. As far as he could see, they were all crew from private vessels, dressed in a variety of outfits. He received a couple of curious glances, but no one said anything.

  He fiddled with the buttons on his uniform, wondering what he had done wrong. Exobacteria were serious business. The one strain at Mars might not have been very potent, but the danger out there was huge. During his course on Earth, Professor Ames showed him the work that the Martian scientists had done. It was an interesting pathogen, not unlike Earth bacteria, but with the ability to lie dormant and survive harsh conditions—such as temperatures close to absolute zero and a hard vacuum—for millions of years until a suitable host came along.

  His own work had been on tardigrades and multicellular organisms. Once people knew where to look, the abundance of organisms in space was astounding, and their similarity to some of those on Earth even more so.

  The door to Danna White’s office opened and Captain Farrell appeared in the doorway.

  Jonathan scrambled to his feet.

  “Thank you,” she said in a cool manner, and strode off.

  “Jonathan, come in.” Danna’s face looked like thunder.

  Jonathan went into the office and shut the door. He met Danna White’s eyes. He shrugged. “She failed the questions.”

  “The Everbright is a deep space military vessel. Of course they will fail the questions.”

  “I didn’t know. You said when a ship failed the questions to come to you.” And when she didn’t reply, he added, “I had no idea that the military gets special consideration.”

  “They have on-board pathology,” she repeated as if that solved all problems. “Their results should be in your files, approved and all.”

  “Sorry. I looked, but I didn’t see it.”

  She snorted. She pushed her PCD across her desk and turned it so that the screen faced him. “There.” She pointed. “The button says ‘attached files’.”

  It did, too. How could he have missed that? Jonathan’s ears glowed.

  “This will go up to Major Kitchener.” The boss of the Space Force unit at the station. “Major Kitchener is not a patient man and he doesn’t suffer fools.”

  “Sorry. I truly didn’t know.” He didn’t think he’d been a fool. Overzealous and green, certainly, but not a fool. “But the system will clear that up, surely?”

  Clearly, it was not that simple, but she wouldn’t tell him why not.

  She only told him to check his fucking instructions and not to let it happen again.

  Jonathan wanted to ask her why the questionnaire existed then, if it was so clear that many ships would fail it, but she had only this to say, “Remember this, Bartell, these guys put their lives on the line for us. If they didn’t, I bet that we’d have our sorry arses busted out of here in no time. No matter what authorities down there on Earth say, we, at the station, exist to help the Space Force, not the other way around. Now I’ll give you a very quick lesson in self-preservation up here. You do not behave like an arsehole. I don’t care what else you do, but do not be an arsehole. You understand that? No arseholery.”

  Chapter Five

  DINNER AT NIGHT was in the large station canteen. The rotational movement of the station made for a distinct lack of appetite, but Jonathan went there anyway, because he’d become sick of the rehashing of news on the in-house entertainment channel while sitting in the glorified cupboard that passed for a room. The news was all from Earth—several channels of it.

  Later in the afternoon, Jonathan had met some colleagues and when they heard that he was a recent arrival, they kept asking him for news. Why, if they got all the Earth news in the world?

  It was busy in the canteen, but the station’s population was small enough that he already knew some faces. Closest to the serving counter was that group of military people who had come up on the shuttle with him, including that self-assured and obnoxious lout Cresswell, who had said we got space-fucking-biologists coming out of our ears. Jonathan had learned that the bars on Cresswell’s breast pocket meant that he was in officer training. Obviously he thought very highly of himself.

  While he walked across the room carrying his tray and looked for a place to sit, people glanced at him from the corners of their eyes. A rogue, new, green, impressionable Quarantine Officer. He felt like a kitten at a dog-training session.

  Then someone called, “Hey.”

  It was a young woman he’d seen on the shuttle. To be honest, the one who had been handing him barf bags. She was quite short, had short brown hair, clear brown eyes and a determined face. She wore a military uniform with two stripes on her shoulders. He determined to not let that cloud his judgement of her.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “You look lost.”

  He shrugged. He had met some colleagues, and he had hoped to see some of them here so that he could introduce himself properly, but hadn’t spotted them yet in the sea of military.

  She
patted the empty seat next to her.

  “You’re not waiting for anyone?”

  “No.” And after a small pause, “My colleagues are on duty.”

  Jonathan sat, feeling awkward. A few people at surrounding tables gave them sideways glances.

  “I’m Gaby,” she said. Her badge said, “Lieutenant Larsen.”

  “Jonathan Bartell.”

  “You work for the Quarantine Authority?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, unsure if working there was a good thing or a bad thing in her eyes. White’s arsehole lecture was still burning in his mind.

  “Feel a bit better than yesterday?” She grinned.

  “Much better, thanks.”

  They ate for a bit.

  She said, “Heard you created a bit of a stir by stopping the Everbright being processed quickly.”

  “I was only doing my job according to the instructions I was given. No one said anything about—” He stopped, noticing that a few people around them were listening. It was probably not such a good idea to talk about this in the middle of the canteen. “Surely they’ll clear things up soon. It was only a misunderstanding.” He still didn’t see what he had done wrong and how it could be a major problem.

  “That misunderstanding will have been flagged to the authorities on Earth,” Gaby said, her voice low. “Every arrival to Earth goes through the shuttle port where we also left to come here. Quarantine is meant to pre-vet the Earth-bound crew and flag any for special attention. The bureaucrats there will expect extensive documentation with each flagged case. They’ll have to hand in a detailed log of what the ship has done since leaving Earth. They’ll have to detail localities. The Corps has no love for bureaucracy and never wants to make their localities public. That’s more than a thousand records that have just been created with a little mistake. A thousand records that will take weeks to process, and some of the information is sensitive, so the Everbright is not going to want to part with it. Meanwhile, we got these angry people hanging around here having initiated a process that no one can stop. Quarantine isn’t military, so the Quarantine Authority on Earth will want to do their job properly. They have no love for the military way of bypassing their checks anyway.”