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The Prowler shuddered to a complete stop.  As soon as the indicator lights went green, verifying that atmosphere had been restored to the hanger, Crichton lashed out at the hatch release switch and grabbed his flight helmet preparing to remove it before jumping to the deck.  He was brought up short by the sight of the barrels of six pulse rifles pointed at him.

"Do not remove your flight helmet!  Stay where you are," ordered an older blond woman dressed in a severe military style.  "Failure to obey these orders will result in preemptory execution."

John quickly lifted his hands off his helmet and raised them into the air. Looking at the woman's hard brown eyes and thin, compressed lips convinced him that this was not an idle threat.  "The pilot is ill.  She passed out. She needs immediate medical attention."

The blond woman, who was obviously the one in command, ignored him.  "Is she contagious?" she demanded.

"She was injured and the wound went septic," John tried hurriedly to explain.

"She has an infection," the woman said bluntly.  "I will ask this one more time.  Is the infecting organism contagious?"

"No!" John shouted.  "At least I don't think so," he added under his breath. "She needs immediate medical attention.  Help her, please."

The woman looked to her right and nodded.  Immediately two people ran over to the Prowler while a third followed behind with a gurney.  With professional care, the two pried Aeryn from the cockpit and laid her on the medical cart. John watched with relief as they rushed her out of the hanger.

"Slowly leave the Prowler.  Keep your hands where they can be seen."

John did as told.  Now that Aeryn had been taken care of, he turned his attention to keeping himself in one piece.  Once standing on the deck, he waited.

"Name and designation?" she inquired authoritatively.

"John Crichton.  Civilian technologist on special assignment, stationed on prison transport Leviathan Moya under Captain Bialar Crais."

The woman regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and appreciation.  "Follow me."  She turned on her heel and strode away.

It only took one poke of a pulse rifle to convince John that it would be a good idea to do as he was told.  He fell in behind the officer, his armed escort walking behind him.

*****

John was being debriefed in his skivvies in a glass enclosed isolation room. Once in the isolation area they had taken his flight suit and most of his clothing.  It seemed they had been questioning him for hours.  "Look, I already told you.  Larraq was infected by the intellent-virus.  While he was escaping, one of the crew wrestled his mission chit away from him."

"And the virus was destroyed when the Marauder's cesium leak was ignited," came the disembodied voice that had been questioning him.

"Yes, that is what I said," John repeated, trying not to let his exasperation color his voice.  "Now, can you please tell me how Officer Sun is doing?"

"Tell us again how the virus was released from stasis," the voice continued, ignoring John's question.

"We never found out.  The Captain believed that one of the prisoners somehow got out of his cell and opened the stasis container.  Once out, it was passed from person to person until it finally infected Captain Larraq."

"I am certain that Captain Larraq told Captain Crais that procuring the intellent-virus was a top priority yet your Captain allowed it to be destroyed."

"The virus told us that it intended to infect this base with its spores.  We had to destroy it once it left the Leviathan."

"Why would the virus tell you its plan?" the voice inquired.

"I don't know, it seemed pretty egotistical to me, maybe it was just bragging because it thought there was nothing that we could do to stop it."

"Did the virus infect you?"

John was afraid that he would be asked that question.

"I repeat, did the virus infect you!"

"Yes, I think so.  I don't remember," he admitted reluctantly.

"What was your function on the Leviathan?" the voice continued to question.

"I've already been over that."  John stood and began pacing his cage.  A thought occurred to him and he decided to play the hunch.  "It's been over two arns.  If I was infected with the virus, it would have spawned by now and infected the base with its spores."

"Isolation areas are self contained.  Viral spores would not be able to infect the rest of the base."  There was a pause.  "What was your function on the Leviathan?"

John stopped his pacing and crossed his arms.  "I'm not going over that again until I get some word on Officer Sun," he said stubbornly, trying to look imposing in only his underwear.

There was a pause.  "Officer Sun has lapsed into a coma."

"Is she going to be all right?"  There was no response from the unseen voice. "IS SHE GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT?"

"I am informed that her prognosis is uncertain at present."

*****

They brought him food, processed stuff that was as unappetizing as a food cube.  He ate it.  He paced.  He sat.  He tried to stay warm.  He did mental gymnastics.  He wondered just how similar he was to a Sebacean male in case they decided he needed a complete medical examination.  He did what ever he could to try to keep from worrying about Aeryn.  Eventually the door opened and the woman officer whom he had met when the Prowler landed came in a threw him an armful of his clothing.  She pointedly watched while he dressed; her thin, too red lips compressed into a cruel smile.

John turned his back on her as he slipped on his pants and shirt.  He noticed that they had left Larraq's 'dogtags' with the rest of his clothing.  He palmed it in hope that his observer wouldn't notice it.

"I am Science Liaison Martow.  I am in command of this research habitat." She walked around him, after he had dressed, as if inspecting a prize bull. "I have some information about Officer Sun's condition."

John suppressed a shudder.  This woman was definitely creeping him out.  "How is she?"

"We have discovered that the sepsis is caused by a previously unknown and somewhat unusual  bacteria.  It is not one that normally would cause any problems to a Sebacean.  However, when it was introduced into her body cavity by way of her wound, it became opportunistic.  Her immune system still has not identified it as a threat.  The only reason that she is still alive is because the bacteria is reproducing so slowly.  A Sebacean is not a good host for it."

"What's so unusual about this bacteria?" John asked curiously.  "Could the virus have somehow...," he stopped because he really didn't know what he wanted to say.

"It is not something that the intellent-virus could have been responsible for causing.  The bacterium itself is unusual due to it's spherical shape and that it bonds in pairs and chains.  We, the medical research staff,  are currently discussing the possibility that it can be gen-engineered into something that might be useful on the battle field.  If Sebaceans have no immunity to it then perhaps other Sebacean-like anthropoids will also be susceptible."

She put a neatly filed but sharp fingernail under John's chin and lifted it slightly.  "The real question is, from where did such a bacteria come?"

John was suddenly reminded of an old deodorant commercial which expounded: never let them see you sweat.  He lifted his chin off her nail and shifted his head to the side.  "The real question is how are you going to help Officer Sun," he said mildly.

Liaison Martow smiled a predatory smile and turned away to walk back to the door.  "The research staff is working on preparing a specific antigen to the bacteria that will enable Officer Sun's immune system to recognize and fight the infecting agent.  Once a bacteria is identified, it is not a very difficult task for this facility.  They estimate that they should have a viable antigen in ten to twelve arns.  Then it's just a case of wait and see."  She stopped at the door and looked back at him over her shoulder.  "If you will follow me, Contractor Crichton, I will show you to your temporary quarters."

John tried to memorize as much of the route and the base as he could as Martow led him to his rooms. Each door and corridor was neatly, almost compulsively, labeled.  It occurred to him that he should have spent more time learning to read Sebacean; at least enough to know if the sign over the door he was about to enter read men's room or air lock.

"Where is Captain Crais waiting for you?"

John's attention was suddenly refocused on his erstwhile host.  "He isn't waiting for us.  He said it was his duty to continue on to the lifer's colony and deliver the prisoners.  He'll try to pick us up on his way back."

"Too bad," Martow said sounding inconvenienced.  "Since his prisoners were all condemned to life, I could have conscripted them.  It is difficult to obtain and maintain live subjects for the experiments and there is only so much that computer modeling is able to predict."  She stopped at a door and opened it.  "These will be your temporary quarters.  If you are going to remain here indefinitely then you will be assigned to the duty roster as will Officer Sun if and when she is fit for service.  You should sleep now as it is the third duty shift.  When first shift begins someone will come and show you around the base, until then you are advised to remain in your room."  She waited for Crichton to enter the room and then closed the door behind him.

Once the door was safely closed, Martow removed a gel-filled vial and a small scalpel from an inner pocket.  She deftly scraped beneath the nail on which she had held Crichton's chin and deposited the skin cells from the tip into the vial.  She held the vial up to the light even though she knew that she wouldn't be able to visualize the sample.  Smiling she pocketed the vial and headed toward the lab.

Once the door was safely closed, John exhaled a sigh of relief and rubbed at his chin.  It felt as if Herr Commandant had impaled his chin on a talon.  He looked around the sparsely furnished room.  Luckily, form usually follows function and he was easily able to identify the bed, table and chair.  Now, if he could just find the bathroom.

An arn later, Martow was reviewing paper work in her office.  She often worked late when there was less a chance of being interrupted by the day to day needs of running the research facility.  She heard a sound and looked up to find Science Tech Leis waiting respectfully in the doorway.  "Yes?"

"The preliminary analysis of the biological sample is completed, Sir." The tech looked uncomfortable.  "I would feel more confident of the results if a better sample were available."

Martow looked at him with cold, impatient eyes.

"The sample yielded DNA that is not represented in our current, extensive data base."

Martow sat up straighter at her desk.  "It was not Sebacean in origin?"

"No, definitely not.  It didn't even have the correct number of chromosomes for a Sebacean.  However, more than that could not be conclusively determined from the few cells available for analysis."  Leis watched uneasily as Martow narrowed her eyes speculatively.  "If I may ask, Liaison?  Where did you obtain the sample?"

Martow looked sharply at the tech.  "No, you may not ask.  In fact, for the time being the results are to be sealed under my authority.  Is that understood?"

Leis brought himself crisply to military attention.  "Understood, Liaison Martow."

"Dismissed."  Martow watched the young tech leave.  Once alone again, she steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair.  "How very interesting, Contractor Crichton.  How very, very interesting."

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