Four Alexander Security gorillas step out into the corridor ahead, and our astro-ninja just about shits himself … I mean, uh, shows signs of extreme anxiety. He ducks into a nearby storage room sweating like a pitdigger after a twelve-hour stint. His tee is damp with it. Big trembling breaths. He’s no doubt wondering what’d happen if his hidey hole is the same place those Sec boys were headed.

They march past, he pokes his head out to check the coast is clear, then does some kind of half-baked kung-fu kick at the gorillas’ backs as if promising them an ass-whooping next time he sees them. He blunders along, narrowly missing a TechEng group, then rounds a corner literally three feet from that same sec team he almost hit five minutes ago, all of whom happen to be looking the other way. I swear to god he crept away on fucking tip-toes.

He makes his way to a tertiary node (redundancy system for the ship-wide security feeds). He’s whispering to himself but we get no tone. I’m guessing he’s saying “ohmigodohmigodohmigod” a lot. Inside the node room, he boots up the backup processor, inserts a mem-chit and starts some kind of Trojan routine running. It’s obvious he’s got no fucking idea what he’s about … I mean “is inexperienced in matters of computer espionage,” (shut up, I’m being professional), taking instruction through his datapad and bashing away on the keyboard. It takes thirty minutes, but finally, he plants the infection and packs up his shit.

Here’s where the magic happens.

Whatever Ultra-Agent Zerooooo seeded in the redundancy network kicks off a fire alarm on deck 231. The fire alarm not only diverts the Sec Squad standing three corridors away, but also sees Deck 230 evac’ed as per standard safety protocols. In five minutes, the entire floor is cleared of personnel.

At a signal from his guardian angel, dipshit is out the door like his ass is on fire. He runs to the service elevators—which should be locked down when a fire alarm kicks off, but lo and behold, his Angel has them open wide. He dashes inside and stabs at the habitat level buttons but there’s no real need—Sec Squads are mustering two levels up waiting for fire crews to arrive and deal with the non-existent blaze.

Four minutes later he’s stepping out onto the habitat level. Out of breath. Drenched. Looking for all intents and purposes like he’s just spent an hour in the gym.

He makes his way back to his domicile and shuts the door.

I’d bet my leftie the little bastard spent the next ten minutes thanking every god in the book; Allah all the way through to Yahweh.

Either that or puking his guts up.

CitB: u still up? u on stims?

ByteMe: never sleeping again. heart ready to burst

CitB: touching. is it love?

ByteMe: harhar. stress and adrenaline.

CitB: you been talking dirty with your bf?

ByteMe: u are so lucky i cannot be bothered coming all the way up the other end of the ship to thump u

CitB: taking out the frustration of separation, r we?

ByteMe: keep misbehaving i won’t share what i got

CitB: . . . this is me behaving. spill.

ByteMe: i told u already there were executions out of the court martials

CitB: yuss

ByteMe: found out why. for disobeying orders from AIDAN

ByteMe: orders to shoot the civis from the Copernicus

ByteMe: orders from the crazy AI

CitB: if those weren’t orders from general torrence then why enforce?

ByteMe: can’t admit AIDAN took control. imagine the panic.

CitB: shit

ByteMe: ayup

CitB: are they any closer to getting AIDAN back up? do not want visitors

ByteMe: don’t think so. but we might have a prob sooner than that. got inside, sending u docs

CitB: lover boy helped! our young heroes won the day!

ByteMe: u want them or not?

CitB: shutting up

ByteMe: sending

Captain,

Having completed examinations of all 1,896 surviving members of the Kerenza attack now residing aboard Copernicus, I can confirm several suspicions:

Firstly, that the BeiTech assault did include the use of a biochemical agent, apparently delivered via orbit-to-atmos missile above the Kerenza hermium refinery. This explains why the illness is confined to the Copernicus—ours was the only ship to land shuttles near the refinery, and as such, the only ship to take on afflicted refugees.

I regret to inform you that, due to the disorder of the evacuation and the sheer number of evacuees, proper quarantine protocol was not followed by Copernicus flight crews.

Post evacuation, Copernicus medical staff received continuous and recurrent reports of acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) among evacuees. Symptoms included anxiety, nausea, tachycardia and headaches, often so severe as to induce physical impairment (tremors, seizures and in many cases, catatonia/paralysis). However, as this was a logical reaction for civilians surviving a large-scale military incursion, standard treatments for PTSD were initially employed (counseling and pharmaceutical remedies).

It was not until Copernicus crew members who were not directly involved in the assault or rescue operations began reporting debilitation from these same effects we began to suspect a larger problem.

I will send another memo with a list of afflicted passengers and crew.

Teresa Shteyngart, MD

Harry,

Short answer, no. The air recyc system isn’t made to deal with an airborne agent circulating throughout the ship. We could possibly rig up some kind of ionizing field over the CO2 scrubbers to filter out organic matter, but this isn’t going to stop carriers spreading the agent person to person, nor can I give any guarantee that the pathogen will be eliminated in the air we do recyc. This is EXACTLY why we have fucking quarantine protocols. An airborne biological agent loose inside a sealed metal can floating in space has nowhere to fucking go except back into us. As of writing this, I have nine of my crew down with the Shakes (as the locals are affectionately calling it).