Orbital Decay Read online

  Ben had known his enemies would learn, sooner or later, that they had failed to kill him. He had been hoping for later.

  Now he had only seconds before he was spotted. He reached out to the red-clad hotel employee. “Do you have a washroom in the shuttle bay? I don’t think I’ll make it through this line.” He nodded at the queue with a wry grimace.

  “Absolutely, sir,” the young man replied with indecent cheer. “Just inside that service corridor.” He indicated a hallway with bare steel walls and flooring. “Staff only but, under the circumstances, we can make an exception.”

  Not needing to feign his look of relief, Ben headed for the corridor. With a little luck, the unexpected wrinkle might have very little impact on his plans. The only hiccup was the lack of data on the staff-only regions of the hotel. He had been able to find floor plans of the public areas on his smartphone, but this particular region had been blacked out.

  He pushed open the washroom door and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut as he turned to face the back of the door. Perfect! On the back of the door was what he was hoping for. Next to the cleaning roster was an emergency evacuation plan and it showed him the regions that he couldn’t see on his phone.

  Indicators

  From: [email protected]

  To: Oversight23@(withheld).gov;

  CC: Steering23@(withheld).com

  Subject: Progress of Project Chronos – Live testing progress.

  Hyaluronidase production in subject CL13 has led to patches of severe degeneration in tissues exposed to air. Saprophytic activity has also been observed in the affected regions, eliminating the infected cells.

  We believe this may be yet another fail-safe mechanism built into the alien organelles. They appear to target any diseased tissues almost instantly.

  Subject CL13 has been moved to level-five containment facilities at the suggestion of Dr. Davis during a recent surprise inspection of the facility. He had spent several hours with the staff to get a handle on where the project is.

  Dr. Kelvin Narcisse

  Gaia Bio Design

  23345 W. Wacker Dr, Chicago, IL

  Plan B

  Virgin Xanadu, Low Earth Orbit

  Ben pretended not to hear the employee as he exited the washroom and turned to his right, heading deeper into the staff-only region. He could, however, hear him calling to the personnel that were manning the impromptu security checkpoint. He quickened his pace, resisting the urge to draw his sidearm.

  He had flashed his badge when passing the security checkpoint on Earth, and the guards had let him keep his weapon. It was now the standard procedure for flight marshals. Nobody, not even air or space-port staff, were privy to the random officer schedules. Pretty much every police force in proximity to any port had been tapped to provide officers in rotation.

  Ben had been to several orbiting facilities on flights from O’Hare and it had become second nature, bringing weapons on flights. A gunfight was the last thing he wanted. He would go from being a secret target to an openly-hunted criminal. If his plan was successful, he still wouldn’t be able to get his old life back.

  He heard a voice shouting orders as it approached the opening of the corridor.

  He broke into a run, pelting down the corridor, taking the second right turn and finding nothing but an empty break room. Must have based the evac plans on an old drawing, he groused as he ran back out and headed for the next right-hand turn. He could hear combat boots slamming against the steel decking behind him, but no voice shouted for him to stop.

  He threw himself around the next corner just ahead of a burst of rounds that punched through the thin plating on the far wall. There would be no more chances. If this turn was also wrong, he was likely to bleed out on the floor while one of his pursuers put his service weapon in his hand.

  Always best to make it look like your victim was about to fire on you.

  Ben made an inarticulate grunt of relief as he realized he had found the right hallway at last. He punched his fist through the emergency panel, activating a loud alarm throughout the hotel.

  And opening the hatches of the escape pods.

  No Return

  From: [email protected]

  To: Oversight23@(withheld).gov;

  CC: Steering23@(withheld).com

  Subject: Progress of Project Chronos – Live testing protocols.

  Cortical samples from CL13 exhibit high levels of hyaluronidase. It is believed that tissue degeneration has spread to certain regions of the frontal lobe, destroying the subject’s memories. Prior to testing, CL13 was able to communicate in simple sign language and could complete the ring test in less than five seconds. The subject is now unresponsive to all attempts at communication and does not even seem to recognize the ring-board.

  The subject is also highly aggressive toward staff. Even the sight of a human through the window of his compartment is enough to send him into a rage. CL13 has broken several bones in attempts to reach staff and we have been forced to conduct all observation by infrared.

  CL’s 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 15, and 22 have all begun to show signs of tissue degeneration consistent with CL13.

  Subjects CL25 through to CL50 have not shown any indications of tissue degeneration. As they are a separate testing group, we believe the pathology exhibited in Group 1 to be the result of some aberration that originated in CL13. All subjects in both groups have been isolated from each other.

  Dr. Kelvin Narcisse

  Gaia Bio Design

  23345 W. Wacker Dr, Chicago, IL

  Crossing the Styx

  Escape Pod, Low Earth Orbit

  Ben was reasonably sure he had managed to smash the synch unit for his pod before he slid down the escape chute. It should prevent the hotel from being able to recall the unit, and it also prevented the pod from automatically descending to the Earth. His main cause for concern, at the moment, was getting the app on his phone to synch with the pod’s onboard systems.

  He would only have a minute or two before the security team launched their own shuttle and came after him. He needed to get to his destination as quickly as possible and, to do that, he needed his unauthorized free application to start talking with the systems of his escape vessel.

  Finally, with a short warbling tone, the control buttons of the app went from grey to full color scale and he touched the only pre-loaded destination in the menu – Tartarus Station. He held his breath, hoping the coordinates in his case file were accurate. With a gentle tilt, the pod’s mag field kicked in and he accelerated away from the hotel.

  He realized, with sudden alarm, that he was instructing the pod to follow a straight path from hotel to research station. What if there was another station or a satellite in the way? He looked out the small window but saw nothing but a graceful blue curve to his right.

  He knew the chances of a collision were slim, but he hated the idea of not being able to steer.

  The pod tilted to begin deceleration and the only difference he noticed was the change in angle. The deceleration was at the same rate as his acceleration had been and he did a quick ‘guestimate’ of how long he had been traveling so far. If the shift heralded the midpoint of his journey, he had a four-minute ride to reach the station.

  The security team was almost certainly following him, but the pods traveled as fast as any shuttle and he had a comfortable lead. There was just the tricky question of whether or not he would be granted access to land his small craft in their shuttle bay.

  He was rehearsing various arguments, hoping to come up with a way to convince the staff of the research station to let him come aboard. He had planned out how to get to the station, but actually getting aboard was a dangerously loose plank in his plans. He was in the middle of an impassioned plea for assistance when the gravity suddenly disappeared.

  The tiny craft rotated and he found himself looking out at Gaia Bio Design’s orbital platform. It was an impressive sight – at least twenty levels, and big enough to fill
a football field. Stations like this had led to a new industry – orbital lift. Companies specialized in renting out mag-lift engines that could carry structures up to low Earth orbit. Without the cost of zero G construction in bulky EVA suits, orbital facilities quickly grew in size.

  Looking at the huge lab, Ben got the definite impression that he wasn’t welcome. The bay doors were sealed and the place just looked as though nobody was home. He noticed a row of circular hatches, similar to the one that he had just launched from eight minutes ago. Something was definitely out of the ordinary.

  There were no escape pods attached to the hatches.

  Oh well, he thought. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. He used his app to send an RF interrogation to the bank of hatches and found them active. Selecting one of them, he imitated an automated docking procedure before reaching out to hold one of the handles on the side of the pod. His knuckles turned white as he committed his life to an unlicensed phone app made by some kid in his parents’ basement.

  If he ever wanted to go back to his loft – if he wanted to see his son on weekends – he had to see this through.

  The Face of Death

  From: [email protected]

  To: Oversight23@(withheld).gov;

  CC: Steering23@(withheld).com

  Subject: Progress of Project Chronos – Live testing protocols.

  Samples of the Mg Phage from infected tissue exhibit full viability. All genes appear to have been restored. We should have seen this coming. It may already be too late.

  We believe the phase I retrovirus has mutated in subject CL13, allowing it to act, not on the subject, but rather on the alien organelles introduced into the subject. Dormant genes have activated to cause unbelievable symptoms. This has transformed the organelles into fully functional and highly infectious bacteria.

  Several members of the staff are exhibiting symptoms and have been placed in isolation cells in #3. If we can’t find a way to stop the progress of the infection, we will have to initiate the flash protocol.

  Dr. Davis has placed the facility on full lock-down, no further shipments will be allowed through the shuttle bay and all escape pods have been jettisoned. We have not seen him since our last review and fear that he may have entered one of the pods before they were ejected. Given the high potential for infection, we recommend the immediate apprehension and isolation of Dr. Davis.

  Dr. Kelvin Narcisse

  Gaia Bio Design

  23345 W. Wacker Dr, Chicago, IL

  Tartarus Station

  Low Earth Orbit

  Ben climbed into the station through the open hatch. He stood there, in an empty hallway, bathed in a bluish light, the white stripes of his dress shirt glowing painfully bright.

  Either they’re having a rave or something bad is happening, he thought. An involuntary shudder ran up his spine. Ultra-violet lighting was used in labs to kill pathogens.

  Where the hell is everybody? He pulled out his shield and clipped it to his belt. It somehow seemed a futile gesture. A CPD detective badge in an orbital lab had about as much meaning as a campaign promise.

  Or a promise that promotion to detective would mean less shift work and more flex-time with family.

  Still, it gave him some small measure of confidence. He wasn’t just some lost tourist – he was here investigating a death. He picked a direction and started walking, trying to look as though he routinely boarded orbital stations in the performance of his duties.

  The corridor ended at a large set of sliding glass doors. He looked through a coating of filth and saw what he took to be a lab, but it wasn’t the kind of ultra-clean, shiny facility one expected. The place was a mess.

  Scorch marks circled the perimeter of the ceiling and faded their way down the walls. Rows of glass-fronted compartments along the back wall held small piles of ash. Small lumps of melted plastic lay between glass beakers and flasks on the central work stations.

  Three piles of ash lay on the lab floor, just inside the doors, another in the middle of the floor.

  Dead end, thought Ben, turning to try the other direction. His foot struck something and he was sure he recognized the sound as the small object skittered across the floor. He bent down and retrieved the small brass cartridge. .45 ACP, he mused. The same ammunition he used in his XD Service semi-automatic.

  What the hell did I walk into? He drew his weapon and cocked it before moving on. As he came to a right-hand turn, he saw what looked like blood spatter on the bulkhead. This was not shaping up the way he had expected.

  He reached back to the holder on his belt and pulled out a thirteen-round magazine. The ten was ideal for concealed carry, but his pinky finger always slid off the bottom of the grip with the short mag. He switched them out, giving himself a more secure grip on his weapon.

  He was about to take the right-hand turn when he heard shrieking from dead ahead. Pistol at the ready, he moved down the hallway, coming to another glass door.

  This one was clean and the lab inside was more to his expectations. The clean, glass-fronted compartments on the far wall held dozens of chimpanzees. They had been the source of the noise.

  Movement caught his eye and he realized that the large blue tarpaulin wasn’t a tarp at all but a researcher in a biohazard suit. The individual stepped back from an enclosed chamber, withdrawing his hands from heavy reversible gloves built into the front.

  Without even thinking about it, Ben pushed up against the wall to his right, staying out of sight of the man inside. He had a fear of germs, stronger than most people, and the scene before him radiated danger.

  He sidled along the wall until he reached the turn and breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped around the corner and out of sight of the man in the biohazard suit. He realized his breathing was loud enough to wake the dead and his heart was racing. He stood there for a moment, forcing himself to calm down, bringing his breathing under control.

  Looking down the new corridor, he saw yet another sliding glass door set back in the corridor wall, and on the floor gleaming dully were more brass cartridges. Ten feet beyond the door, the corridor ended in a set of heavy steel doors with small windows. A large ‘13-L’ adorned the sliding doors, white on gray. He moved toward the glass door, holding his weapon in both hands. As he drew closer, he became aware of decay. The stench of it was growing in his nostrils as he approached the spent brass on the floor.

  His foot slid on a cartridge as he reached the door and he crouched, throwing out his right arm to regain his balance. The door must have been equipped with a proximity sensor because it slid open as Ben flailed his arm.

  And the lights came on in the room.

  It was a boardroom. A standard boardroom. There were touch screens on the walls with sketches of cells, the names of chemical compounds, and line after line of notes. A large table dominated the center of the room and on the far side slumped two corpses, busily maintaining the foul stench that assaulted Ben’s senses.

  The one on the right, a man, looked like an ordinary murder victim to Ben. There was a jagged tear in his neck and his lab coat was black with dried blood. Cause of death was a no-brainer.

  The one sprawled next to him was anything but ordinary. Her skin appeared to be melted, sagging in translucent folds from her face. Black stains of blood were on her lab coat as well and there were five holes in the grimy garment.

  Going on first impressions, Ben would have said that she had attacked her colleague and got shot for her troubles, but what had she used for a weapon? He stood there, stomach roiling at the smell as he assessed the crime scene.

  He stepped back out into the hall, partly to count the brass on the floor but mostly to get some slightly better air. Six rounds, he thought. So where did the missing round end up? He stood to look through the door and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. One of the victims was missing.

  He stepped back through the door, his right hand squeezing the pistol’s grip safety as though it knew better than the r
est of him. As he cleared the door frame, he became aware of movement to his right and he swung to face it, pistol up.

  And there she was.

  Ben’s breath exploded in a wordless rush and his heart went to full speed. Five feet away from him stood the corpse with the five thoracic gunshot wounds. Sections of rotted flesh were hanging loose from her face and neck. The body shifted erratically, constantly correcting for overbalances. Her eyes focused dully on his general form. No way could she be alive. No way… His mind screamed at his body to do something.

  She took a step toward him. A painful, shuffling step that spoke of a deliberate expenditure of limited resources. She gathered herself for another lurching step, and Ben’s hand took over, adjusting his aim and squeezing the trigger. The sound filled the room. Comforting. The smell of gunpowder strong in the room, neutralizing the stench.

  The grisly horror was thrown back and Ben stumbled backwards out of the room. He saw the door at the end of the hall and ran to the right-hand side of it where a large red button was mounted on what he hoped was the control panel. He slammed his left palm against it and the massive doors slowly began to slide open.