Theirs_Found and Claimed Read online

  End of conversation. We both apply ourselves to the task at hand.

  “Target in visual range.” CAID’s disembodied tones disturb our efforts a little while later. We both remove our photonic welding masks. Time for a break.

  “On main screen,” commands Sylvan.

  The image appears on the huge wall before us, the outline of the abandoned craft contrasting sharply with the inky blackness of the void backdrop. The hull consists of a pale turquoise shell that shimmers intermittently. There is some sort of power source on board, though it’s failing.

  “Life support systems?” Sylvan barks out his query at CAID.

  “Minimal,” comes back the reply. “I must advise caution, sir.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” agrees Sylvan. He turns to me. “Coming?”

  I grin back at him. “Try stopping me.”

  * * *

  We arrive on the alien craft a short while later, both of us decked out in full life support and ventilation suits. I hate these things, but it’s better than suffocating. As soon as we materialise on the main command deck I calibrate my toxicity sensors and scan our environment.

  “Oxygen levels at seventy-seven percent of optimal, no toxins detected.”

  Sylvan meets my gaze through his protective mask. We nod our agreement then I remove my helmet. Sylvan went first the last time we encountered a potentially harmful atmosphere, now it’s my turn. My first couple of breaths are tentative, but nothing untoward happens. My chest feels a little tight, perhaps, but it’s manageable. Sylvan watches me critically, ready to leap to my rescue at the first sign of distress. I breathe in again, then out, then in. I give him the thumbs-up and he removes his helmet too.

  “So, what do we have then?” Sylvan gazes around, taking in the complex set of controls and communication devices arrayed before us. “Looks technically advanced for the age of the craft, if a little old-fashioned.”

  “How old would you say this old bird is?” I wonder. “A hundred helio-cycles perhaps?”

  “Thereabouts,” agrees Sylvan. “Maybe a little more, and she’s been floating about out here all that time. Do you recognise this technology?”

  I shake my head. The control unit consists of a smooth, vertical surface marked with a series of lines and some geometric configurations. I trace several with the end of my gloved finger but nothing reacts and I am unable to establish any level of interface or connection. It may be a power failure, though I doubt that as there is illumination on board and the life support system is trundling on. Most technologically advanced species would rig their craft so that the command console is the last system to be cut off, even after life support, since they would in all likelihood have some manner of cybernetic system as a backup. We have detected nothing of that sort.

  I try a couple more tricks, even establishing a symbiotic link to send a pulse of electrical energy into the system to see if that might jumpstart it or elicit some sort of response if only defensive. Nothing.

  I tap my wrist to activate my communication device. “CAID, any ideas?” I’m good, but I bow to CAID’s superior data banks on occasion.

  “Negative, sir,” comes back the deadpan reply. “Initiating whole system scan.”

  “Do that,” I mutter. It will take our on-board computer a while to make contact with the intergalactic web to check all known databases for any information pertinent to this find. Meanwhile, we can do this the old-fashioned way.

  “Shall we take a look around?” Sylvan is already headed for the door.

  We decide to start at the bottom and work our way up the ship. There is some sort of internal transport system but it has failed so we have to go the long way around, by descending on the ladders built into each deck.

  The engine room is interesting. The civilisation that built this ship had sub-light propulsion technology, but they were knocking at the door of photonic capability. The technology that enabled interplanetary craft such as the Zephyrean to reach the speed of light is still relatively innovative, but has transformed space travel and exploration. These guys seem to have been there ahead of us, which makes their disappearance all the more baffling.

  “They were advanced,” I murmur. “There’s some serious power in this setup.”

  “Can you reactivate their systems?” asks Sylvan.

  I nod. It will take me some time to figure out the finer points, but I should be able to get the engines back on line eventually. “CAID, can you determine the fuel source?”

  “Affirmative, sir. This craft is powered by sub-magnetic polarisation.”

  Again, I’m impressed. The use of magnetic pulses generated by the gravitational force of the surrounding planets is clean and renewable, and best of all it’s cheap. This ship was constructed to travel fast, and using virtually nothing in the way of energy, though only over short distances. These people were clever.

  “Going up?” Sylvan is ready to move on. I nod and follow him back to the ladder.

  Our next stop, three decks up, appears to be some sort of laboratory. There’s a workbench in the centre of the space, which is strewn with what I can only describe as a collection of old fossils. I nudge a few pieces, wondering what the significance was. Clearly these items had value to whoever left them here but their charm is lost on me. I move on to examine the equipment and recording systems.

  “Whoa, over here,” calls Sylvan. He sounds serious so I abandon my own investigations and make my way over to join him at the far end of the workroom.

  As soon as I see my partner’s discovery I let out a gasp. “Holy shit! How many are there?”

  Sylvan is crouching beside the first of the bodies, almost entirely decomposed but still recognisable as humanoid in form. They are in individual cubicles, presumably sealed originally but no longer. I assume the seals degraded as the power failed. Sylvan has already released the catch to open the first container and is reaching inside to investigate more closely.

  “Seven,” he answers over his shoulder, “all in much the same state.”

  “So, at least now we know what happened to them, but not why they died.”

  He lets out a noncommittal grunt and removes one of his gloves. As I peer over his shoulder, Sylvan picks up one of the finger bones, which has become separated from the first of the cadavers, and is holding it encased within his fist. His eyes are closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

  “Yes, we do. Chickenpox.”

  “What?”

  “They died of chickenpox, or at least a virus almost identical. It would have been an infection relatively harmless to humans but must have been lethal to their physiology. I’m guessing it was able to bypass their immune system somehow…”

  “How do you know all this?” I ask him, though I sort of already know.

  He releases his grip on the bone to roll it across his palm. “I’m picking up minute traces of the varicella zoster virus, or a variant of it. It’s possible that they had never encountered it before so had no resistance. It’s highly contagious, so…” He gestures to the rest of the bodies. “I’m guessing these were the crew, and for some reason when they died they chose to keep the remains here rather than jettison them into space. Some sort of death ritual, perhaps.”

  “Species?”

  “Can’t tell from this.” He replaces the piece of bone with the rest of the remains. “We’ll need to do a full analysis and report though, before disposing of the bodies. Once we know what race we’re dealing with we’ll be able to implement any protocols or ceremonial observances.”

  “Fair enough.” It’s unusual to come across remains such as these, but not unheard of in our line of work. Provided there are no suspicious circumstances, the terms of our licence require us to undertake the required rituals. We’ve yet to establish if there are any grounds for further investigation, but given that these beings died well over a hundred helio-cycles ago, and we have already detected the presence of a potentially deadly virus, it’s unlikely that any further action will be t
aken regardless of any forensic evidence remaining. Still, we’ll do what we can to establish just what happened on board this doomed ship and then we’ll clear up the scene.

  “You finish up here and I’ll continue on through the upper decks.” I leave Sylvan to his grim work.

  “Okay. I’ll catch up later.” He moves on to examine the next body as I make for the exit.

  * * *

  The next seven or eight decks are uneventful. I come across the usual collection of technical equipment, personal belongings, the trappings of everyday life on board an intergalactic spacecraft. There’s a galley so it looks as though they liked to prepare their food rather than synthesise it. I also find an area that appears to be some sort of social lounge, and a medical bay. The latter seems to have been of little use to them in the end. The upper decks appear to be the accommodation section, and I note that there are cabins and dormitories for many more than the seven crew members we have discovered. I count sleeping accommodations for over thirty crew so have to assume that for some reason the ship’s complement was already depleted when the virus struck.

  “Hey, anything interesting up here?” I turn when I hear Sylvan’s voice. He emerges through the hatch from the deck below.

  “Nothing startling. Just the usual facilities and accommodation, but it looks as though this ship originally carried a much larger crew.”

  “Yes, I was thinking much the same. Mess hall with seating for forty, huge food storage capacity…”

  “Mmm, agreed.” I hit my communicator again. “CAID, any joy yet with that scan?”

  “Affirmative, sir, though the results so far are inconclusive.”

  “Details, please.”

  “The metallic configuration of the outer hull is specific to just three planets in the Patreaos Quadrant, suggesting the ship was constructed in this sector of space. The most likely probability is Krysorus since neither of the other two has interplanetary propulsion capability.”

  “What do we know of Krysorus?”

  “Isolationist and generally considered hostile, sir. Also, their known technological capability would suggest they could not have developed the sub-magnetic propulsion system.”

  “Okay. Keep working on it, CAID.”

  “Affirmative, sir.” I close the device and shrug.

  We might as well finish our initial inspection. Sylvan leads the way up the ladder to the uppermost deck.

  “This looks to be the officers’ quarters.” Sylvan opens cabin doors at random, poking his head inside then continuing along the central gangway. We reach the end, presumably the commander’s quarters since this accommodation unit comprises a seating area and conference facilities as well as what must be the sleeping chamber. Sylvan has seen enough, but I was always the more curious of the two of us. I open the door to the bedroom and peer inside.

  “Holy fucking hell. Shit! Come and see this.”

  Sylvan arrives at a sprint and bursts through the door just after me. We both stand and gape at the vision before us.

  “So, that’s what they looked like,” murmurs Sylvan.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “The females, at least. Wonder why she hasn’t decomposed like the rest.”

  “Could be something different in the environmental conditions up here,” suggests Sylvan, circling the body that lies face down on the floor.

  The alien female is nude, her skin a pale coppery shade with darker markings across her shoulders and down her back and over her heart-shaped bottom. Her hair is caught back in a loose, messy braid but I can see that it’s long, very long, to the waist probably were she on her feet, and very dark. It could be black, though highlights in dark purple and a deep midnight blue catch the uneven, flickering light. She really is rather lovely. The systems are failing fast now and both Sylvan and I are finding it more difficult to breathe.

  “We need to finish up here and get back to the Zephyrean,” mutters Sylvan, now crouching beside the latest corpse. “CAID, do you have a visual here?”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Do you recognise this species?”

  “Affirmative, sir, but I suspect our database to be inaccurate. She is an anomaly.”

  “A what?” I demand.

  “An anomaly, sir, in that she should not be in this location.”

  I’m fast losing my patience. “Well, she clearly is—”

  “Never mind that.” Sylvan interrupts us. “What species is she, CAID?”

  “This individual has the appearance of a Fyorlian female, sir, but that is impossible since that particular species was declared extinct over one hundred and fifty helio-cycles ago after their home world was destroyed in a meteor hit.”

  “You don’t say? Well, they got it wrong.”

  “I can assure you, sir, that the meteor—”

  “Fuck the meteor.” Sylvan takes the female by the shoulders and carefully rolls her onto her back. “This so-called extinct Fyorlian is still alive, though only just.”

  “Holy shit!” I kneel down beside my partner. “Are you sure?”

  He casts me a withering look.

  I shrug. “Can you help her?”

  He nods. “Probably, though not here. I need to take her back to the Zephyrean where the atmosphere is more stable.” He looks up at me. “Can you manage to finish off here? I want to get started as soon as possible. Now that we’ve disturbed the environment in here who knows what might happen?”

  “Sure. Go get her prepped. I’ll be across soon.”

  Sylvan gets to his feet, the Fyorlian in his arms. “CAID, activate transport. Two to come over, direct to my quarters.”

  I watch as the pair dematerialise before my eyes, then I unclip my helmet from my belt and pull it over my head. Since I’ll be working alone now and the atmosphere is deteriorating, it’s best not to take chances.

  I make my way back down to the main control room where I adjust the systems that remain functional to make them capable of accepting regulation from the Zephyrean. We should be able to control the ship from our own bridge, and if I’m really lucky there will be enough propulsion left to enable the alien craft to follow us under remote pilot control. That should save a lot of draw on the ionic trawl web we usually use to haul our finds. It takes me a while to make the necessary adjustments but eventually I think we’re all set. I stand back and call for CAID to transport me.

  Chapter Two

  Sylvan

  Once back in my quarters I deposit the Fyorlian on her back across my bed. I’m stripping my hazard protection suit off as I bark out my instructions to CAID.

  “I’ll need full physiological data on Fyorlian anatomy. I want to know optimum heart rate, body temperature, blood pressure, brain activity, and any significant adverse indicators.” If anything goes wrong suddenly I’d rather know what to look out for.

  “On screen, sir.”

  I glance at the data displayed and I’m relieved to note that the Fyorlian is unlikely to require anything too specialised in terms of her environment. I’d already worked out that Fyorlians are oxygen-breathers, though they require a lower level than we humans do, and their core body temperature is two degrees less than ours. That could account for her nudity; perhaps this species prefers not to wear clothing in order to better regulate their temperature. I have no complaints on that score, but don’t dwell on it. There is more pressing business I need to attend to right now.

  I lift each of the alien’s arms in turn and inspect her inner wrists. I’m looking for a vein and an artery as I need to connect her circulation system to mine and take it over for a while. My immune system will react to create the antibodies she needs to combat the viral infection that I detect in her bloodstream. The increased oxygen levels I am about to provide should reactivate her near dormant vital systems over time and, I hope, revive her.

  At first I had assumed the Fyorlian to be unconscious, but on closer inspection I revised that to comatose. Now I think neither of those diagnoses is accurate. Rather, she is in some sort
of state of suspended animation, her life systems on hold for reasons I can’t yet fathom and I have no idea how long she has been in this condition. Her breathing has stopped and her heart rate is down to one or two beats per hour. Her core temperature is eight degrees below the optimum for her, which is preventing the virus from multiplying, and is probably the only reason she is alive. The sooner we start to reverse all this, the better her chances.

  My first task is to insert organic cannulas into both her wrists, which I manage quickly. It’s a procedure I’ve practised many times and could do blindfolded. I select the correct equipment and position the incision nodes right over the blood vessels I intend to use. I press hard, and the device emits an anaesthetic pulse to numb the area. She’s deeply unconscious now but might well recover to some extent during this procedure and it is likely to be painful for her. I prefer not to take that chance.

  I continue to press and the cannula penetrates the epidermis. I adjust the angle slightly before pressing on to enter the alien’s vein. I am glad of my skill, as much for my own sake as for hers, because the next step is to insert the same devices into my own arms. This is a more difficult trick to perform one-handed but I manage.

  I attach a small phial to the cannula in the alien’s left arm and draw a small quantity of blood. First, I lift it to the light, then I pour a few drops onto my finger. I smell it, then eventually taste it. I now have enough data on the Fyorlian’s DNA to enable me to emulate her precise genetic structure.

  So far so good.

  Next I link up the connecting tubes, first to myself, then to the tiny tap that now protrudes from each of the alien’s arms. I flick open the valves, and lie down beside her on the bed. This will take a while.

  * * *

  “How’s it going?” I open my eyes to see Luca, my partner, peering across the room at the pair of us. He is still wearing full body protection, his helmet under his arm. I assume he did the same as me and transported direct here from the alien ship.