"We're matching…" Bandao muttered, face screwed up in concentration, his fingers gingerly moving the controls on the medical display. Maggie had a paw tight on his shoulder, the white arc of her claws digging into the padded armor hiding under his jacket. "What does this mean?"
Gretchen crossed her legs and took a deep breath, head in her hands. Russovsky had not moved. Whatever lived inside her, whatever motivated her to action, to sudden motion, seemed puzzled by the closed door. The distant hooting of alarms, and the way — apparently unnoticed by either Bandao or Maggie — the main door to Medical had sealed itself, apparently without orders, was of more concern. She tapped her comm quietly, but there was no answer. No channel opened, no soft green light indicating the shipside comm band was awake and taking messages.
Now what? Gretchen waved at Magdalena, drawing the Hesht's attention. She tapped her comm and made a face. Maggie checked, finding her comm dead as well. The Hesht fiddled with her settings and was rewarded with a blinking light of some kind. Moving very quietly and staying away from the Russovsky-copy's line of sight, Gretchen slipped from the table and moved to the observation window. Magdalena held out her comm, letting Anderssen see which channel she'd changed to. Ah, a local suit-to-suit circuit.
"…hear me?" Maggie's soft voice echoed in Gretchen's earbug. Anderssen nodded, moving back to the far side of the examination table. "Dai says your readings are okay, but there's some kind of khu-shist energy pattern permeating the Russovsky and you have something like it in your boots."
Gretchen looked down. Aw, crap. The sides of her soles were discolored and shiny. Bet that doesn't come out with spit and a cloth, either.
"Okay," Gretchen subvoxed, "can you tell what's happened on the ship?"
"I don't know," Maggie hissed. "Something's locked us out of main comp."
Gretchen stared around in mounting panic. The chamber was sealed and now she realized the air vents had sealed up. An ozonelike odor tickled her nose and she backed away from the Russovsky-copy again. What a day to decide not to wear my z-suit. "Can you do anything in here with just that panel?"
She saw Bandao lean over and speak into Maggie's comm. "Control the examination table, the lights, do an emergency atmosphere dump — "
"I don't want that — hey!"
Russovsky moved, reaching the glassite door, one arm swinging back. Before Bandao or Gretchen could react, the copy smashed a fist into the clear material and there was a resounding crash! The glassite flexed, spiderwebbed with cracks and rebounded with a singing, clear note. The copy staggered back, staring at its fist in wonder. Gretchen hissed in surprise, seeing the knuckles crumbling away like sand, spilling shining blue particles to the floor.
"She's breaking down," Gretchen hissed into her comm. "She's been getting weaker the longer she's been aboard the ship. Bandao — what's her energy field reading?"
"Weaker, but still hot!" The gunner snatched up his automatic from the display.
The copy smashed into the door again, this time with both fists. Metal squealed, glassite splintered violently, sending tiny flakes whirring past Gretchen's head, and the entire door frame creaked. More blue sand scattered the floor and now deep rents split the copy's arms and shoulders.
"Is there radiation shielding?" Gretchen shouted into the comm, scrambling back away from the blue dust winking on the floor. Some of the particles flickered with an inner light. "Cut her off, cut her off!"
Bandao stabbed a series of glyphs on the panel. The copy wrenched at the side of the hatch, grainy fingers digging into the twisted frame. There was a sound of metal tearing, then a deep basso hum welled up, filling the entire room. Secondary panels slashed down from the overhead, cutting off the observation window. One panel, over the hatch, ground down against the buckling frame, then stopped with a whine. Gretchen switched on her hand lamp and was greeted with the sight of the copy turning toward her, shining bluish-gray sand spilling away from massive wounds on its hands, face and arms. Even the z-suit and the poncho were breaking down. The copy lurched blindly toward Gretchen.
"Lort!" She cursed, flinging the hand lamp away. The copy swung, tracking the spinning light, and lunged toward the flare of illumination. Gretchen dodged sideways, heard a crash as the copy slammed into a medical cart, then leapt to the deformed hatch. Bandao was on the other side, kicking at the twisted frame, trying to clear the jam.
Gretchen caught the door frame, then pulled hard, foot braced against the wall. The distended frame squealed, then popped back toward her. With a thud, the radiation shielding dropped, sealing the hatchway.
There was a sigh behind Gretchen and she jerked out of the doorway. Her boots skidded on gravel and sand, but she managed to catch herself. There was no sign of the copy, only disordered bluish dust everywhere. Even the color was fading, moment by moment, leaving only a dull gray residue on the floor.
"Uhhhh…" Gretchen slumped against the wall, dizzy, her heart racing. "Maggie?"
There was no answer from the comm. Even the blinking light of the local suit-to-suit circuit had gone out.
Hummingbird looked away from the jumbled image on his display panel. A tiny Anderssen had her head between her knees, back to the bulkhead of the medical bay. He tapped open the comm channel to the Cornuelle.
"What happened?" Hadeishi had put away his tea and his book, and leaned forward, dark hair — unbound and loose, as he was off duty — framing a thin, concerned face.
The tlamatinime rubbed his jaw, feeling the wrinkled seams of age under his fingertips. "Anderssen's ground team recovered the missing scientist today," he said, eyes drifting across his panel. Everything had come to a standstill on the Palenque, all of the compartments sealed, everyone isolated and confused. Only Fitzsimmons and Deckard remained on the loose, and they were in their quarters, hurriedly donning full combat gear. "But she was not what they expected."
"She was a cartel agent?" Hadeishi's brown eyes had gone hard and cold.
Hummingbird laughed softly. The so-efficient Sho-sa Kosho had made her views known to him, in her direct way. However, the woman had access to only a fraction of the information known to the tlamatinime. "No, she was not in the pay of Norsktrad Heavy Industries or some other pochtecatl." He stopped and raised a temporizing hand. "At least, not anymore. The — ah, how to put it? — the shape the ground team returned to the Palenque was not human. It was, instead, an entirely lifelike copy — at least to the human eye. They took the shape to Medical and tried to examine her and there was some trouble."
"Was anyone killed?" Hadeishi's jaw twitched slightly, which made Hummingbird wonder who the naval officer would worry about on the civilian ship. Certainly not me, or his Marines.
"No. Though the shape — some kind of mobile crystalline lattice — has been reduced to its essential components. The immediate danger is past."
Hadeishi nodded and his shoulder shifted a fraction. Hummingbird realized the Fleet officer had prepared his own response, much like the tlamatinime's own. In the crucible of the moment, as the shape had tried to escape the medical bay, Hummingbird hadn't hesitated to initiate a destruct sequence for the civilian ship. Now the moment had passed, now Chu-sa Hadeishi had taken his hand away from a similar glyph, the tlamatinime was filled with a chill sense of relief at escaping annihilation.