Dr. Heinrick questioned her sanity with each step, ignoring the deafening roar in her ears. A low, mechanical hum grew louder at the end of the corridor.

“Come, come!” Devlin called out as he disappeared down the T-shaped hallway.

Heinrick and Palmer hesitated, glanced at one another, then quickened their pace. They rounded the corner to see Devlin grinning, standing erect with his hands clasped. Behind him was a large steel frame encircling a gray, foam-like spongy material.

Devlin waved his hand, and the material opened from the center like a camera’s aperture, revealing a misty laboratory awash in blue-violet xenon lighting through a clear membrane. “See? This is the entrance to my lab.” He waved again, and the aperture closed, as if it were a living creature returning to its resting state. He pressed on it, and his hand pushed through.

“Here. You feel it,” Devlin instructed, retracting his hand. Noting their hesitation, he commanded, “Just do it.”

Palmer reached out and touched the foam. It gave way under his fingers, solid yet spongy.

“Now push,” Devlin urged.

It engulfed Palmer’s hand. “Whoa!”

He pulled back, and they watched Devlin step one leg through. Halfway in, he smiled and motioned. “Follow me!”

As Palmer moved forward, he felt Heinrick’s hand brush his and gripped it tightly. Together, they allowed the strange door to swallow them. On the other side, they expected the xenon-lit lab. Instead, they entered a light green metal compartment.

“We’re getting closer,” Devlin taunted.

“What is this room?” Palmer asked, scanning the new surroundings.

“Oh, kind of an anteroom. Come, you’ll see.”

He activated the com, stated his name, then turned toward the doctors, grinning like a child showing off a new toy.

A series of clicks resounded, then nothing.

Devlin’s brow tightened, and he released a weak laugh. “Ha! I’m a bit too excited. One moment.” He closed his eyes, stood tall and drew in a slow, deep breath.

They noticed telemetry metrics calculating his biorhythms.

“Devlin.” One wall moved, sliding into the adjacent wall to form an opening. All three walls led to a hidden passageway. “Ha! See? I’ve calibrated the entrance to assure one keeps a level head before gaining access! Let’s proceed!”

Both doctors exchanged bewildered looks, affirming neither considered him stable under any condition.

Devlin led them down a tubular passageway. “Every mate has a unique, coded signature,” he continued.

Heinrick studied the environment, baiting his vanity to pump for information. “And you created all these mates—yourself?”

“Ah! Yes, Susan! Programmed for curiosity and trained to conduct my experiments.” He beamed. “Are they not wonderful?”

“Patterned after yourself, I’m sure,” Heinrick smirked.

The jab went right over Devlin’s head. “Yes, as a matter of fact! You see, I use what I call selective programming. I trained them to mimic behavior. When I’m happy, they’re happy. When I’m angry…well, you get the picture. That way, I feel I’m with humans rather than machines. In fact, sometimes I think they’re better company than humans.”

“I see. Who needs us with a hundred copies of you around?”

Devlin raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’re not fond of my mates, Doc-tor.”

Palmer elbowed Heinrick as they walked.

A shuttle was at the end of the passageway. Devlin extended his arm. “Shall we?”

“Where exactly are we?” Heinrick asked, feeling her heart race.

“Several feet below UG-3. Soon we’ll be much deeper. After you.”

She hesitated. A tightness in her throat caused her to step back. The walls of the tube seemed tighter and smaller, and she steadied herself on Palmer’s arm.

“What’s wrong, Susan?” Devlin asked.

“I can’t go down there,” she said, shaking, peering into the shuttle.

“Please! You’ve come this far, haven’t you? Why not go all the way?”

Heinrick cast a desperate glance at Palmer, who offered a reassuring nod, conveying this could lead to a cure. He looked away. And maybe save Lena.

“All right. Let’s continue!” Devlin stepped onto the shuttle, his pupils dilating.

With a faltering step, Heinrick boarded, and Palmer followed. Her stomach sank in complete disbelief that her choices were gone: she was now at the mercy of this maniac who had outsmarted her. Idiot! If only she had left with Michael. A team could have been down here by now, arresting this lunatic.

Beside her, Palmer swallowed hard, his jaw solid, eyes fixed on the closing door. He found Heinrick’s hand and held it, squeezing tight as they plummeted through each level of the Mars shaft, until the shuttle slowed to a stop.

“Here we are,” the scientist announced, pointing ahead. “This way!”

They followed another tubular corridor to a massive riveted door with a spoked wheel at its center. Devlin gripped it, spun, then gave it a tug.

“Bank-vault style,” he joked.

With a creaking reverberation, the door swung open, and they stepped in. As Heinrick crossed the threshold, she noticed the air seemed thin.

Devlin sealed the door behind them and advanced toward a second bank-vault door.

Beside her, Palmer swayed. His words slurred and thickened as if he’d had too much to drink.

“Shome-thing—.”

His knees buckled.

“Steady!” Devlin caught him with one arm and pulled a mask from a wall compartment with the other, fitting it over Palmer’s face and thumbing the flow valve with practiced ease. He tossed a second mask to Heinrick, who was gripping the wall, her sight beginning to fade. She pulled it on and inhaled cool, fresh oxygen. Her mind cleared in seconds. Devlin snapped on his own mask and turned around. “Better?”

Color flooded back into Palmer’s face. “What the hell happened?” his muffled voice demanded. “What is this place?”

“The front door of my laboratory, Michael.”

“What kind of laboratory nearly kills you at the entrance?”

“My apologies. I forgot what it’s like coming down here for the first time.” Devlin tapped a wall gauge glowing amber. “I keep oxygen in these sections at a fraction of normal. You’ll understand why in a moment.”

Devlin pointed ahead and walked toward the second wheel. “There are rooms off the main chamber, where we can breathe like civilized people. I’m down here so much I’ve half adapted like the Andeans on Earth, you know. And my mates can adapt to anything.”

Heinrick scanned the room. “Adapt to what?”

Devlin laughed. “Come now, Susan! I thought you’d have worked it out by now. I’ll bet you had your suspicions but thought it not possible.

He was right. She had thought the unimaginable.

Devlin spun the wheel on the second door and hauled it open, declaring, “If they say it can’t be done, then Thomas J. Devlin will prove them wrong!”

Beyond the entrance, dozens of mates maneuvered around towering stacks of gas cylinders, their faces dimly illuminated amidst the sealed chamber. They focused on intricate lines that coiled and twisted, leading towards a large glass vessel that dominated two-thirds of the expansive room. Inside, beneath the glow of violet lamps, gases swirled in slow, mesmerizing bands the colors of deep rust, creamy white, bright orange, and streaks of jet black, like a storm in a tank.

“Believe your eyes!” Devlin said. “A near-perfect recreation of Jupiter’s atmosphere. Hydrogen, mostly. Helium, methane, ammonia and trace compounds that paint those lovely colors when the lamps hit them. Now you see why I squeeze the oxygen out of my lab. Hydrogen and oxygen want to form water, and the reaction is, well, forceful. One spark in the wrong room, and my life’s work becomes a brief, dazzling crater.”

His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed on Heinrick. “But you know all this already, Susan. I must be boring you.”

“No,” she said, readjusting her mask. “I don’t think you have all the facts about this pod organism.”

“Oh, really?” he said, folding his arms. “Then tell me what I don’t know.”

“Those astronauts inhaled it after it dissolved into airborne particles!”

“Yes, yes, I know that! Sucked in the tiny bastards right through their masks!”

“But how—?”

“—From the autopsies, my dear! I found the highest concentration of the organism in their lungs. And good news! It’s not transmitted to the lungs by secondary means. He laughed. “I’m sure you caused quite a panic up there!”

Palmer’s face reddened. He lunged toward Devlin, grabbing his shoulders, wanting to choke him. “You bastard! Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”

Devlin raised a hand to shield himself. “Why should I? You were in no danger.”

Heinrick restrained her colleague while addressing Devlin. “You’re wrong! Even in strict isolation, this organism can penetrate any protective gear and enter through the skin!”

Devlin howled. “Is that your diagnosis, Doctor? Come now, you can do better than that!”

Heinrick recoiled and shook her head. “People upstairs are already experiencing paralysis.”

Palmer’s sudden outcry spun Heinrick around. Grimacing, he doubled over and clutched his arm, his face draining of color before he cried out again.

“Michael!” She held him as he staggered backward, her body shifting into a rapid state of high alert.

Palmer braced himself against the wall while Heinrick shouted at Devlin. “Look at him! Do something!”

Devlin remained motionless, quiet, and aloof, like the impassive pathologist. Her eyes widened as he bared his craggy teeth in a macabre open smile, like those of the infected astronauts.

Without blinking, Heinrick walked up to Devlin with a fresh intensity.

She searched his face for any semblance of humanity and found none. “Who knows how many others are suffering—you sick bastard!”

Devlin stared back, his ferocious grin developing a slight twitch. Neither one of them moved in a silent showdown between a madman and a determined scientist.

Palmer’s guttural moans reverberated throughout the chamber.

Thanks for reading! In Chapter 6, Devlin’s unthinkable plan unfolds and Heinrick reveals a secret.

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In Chapter 3, Both Heinrick and Palmer investigate non-regulation protocol in the morgue. In Chapter 4, Dr. Heinrick fends off aggressive technicians who inform her she’s off the case.

Dr. Heinrick stood frozen, her eyes searching for a way out. Neither one of them moved. Amidst the darkness, she imagined she could perceive the whites of his eyes, and the more she squinted, the more she felt them penetrating through her. To steady herself, she analyzed the form: a tall, pale man in a metallic suit that glinted in the dim light.

An object pressed against her body, a precision laser scalpel she’d forgotten to leave behind after an autopsy the day before. If the situation required, she could use it as a weapon. Moving with stealth determination, she pulled it out and disabled the depth governor, overriding the safety.

Heinrick advanced one step at a time, tracking his frame in the darkness. His invasive stare twisted a knot in her stomach, confirming his malicious intent. The thought caused her to hesitate. He stood still, watching her step closer, then stop again.

She sucked in her breath, her mind spiraled as moving shadows blurred her perception of whether she was the hunter or the hunted.

Screams tore from the shuttle’s entrance.

The sound went through Heinrick like a blade, and she barely saw the figure lunge. He rushed past her, wrenched open a door beyond where she stood, and bolted. She gathered herself and gave chase. He fled into a second room and vanished. She followed—only to find herself in a well-lit space, face to face with four lab technicians. It was the room he had run into, yet he was nowhere in sight.

Two of the men rose from their stations, eyeing her with suspicion. She pocketed her laser. Still shaken, she asked whether they’d seen a man run in, and whether they’d heard the screams. They looked at each other and shrugged. Behind them stood Johnson, the pathologist she recognized. The moment he saw her, he panicked and turned to leave.

“Wait!” she shouted. “I need information!”

Johnson stopped, then turned to face her.

“Identify yourself, please,” a technician demanded.

“I’m Dr. Susan Heinrick.” She studied her interrogator and returned fire. “Who are you?”

“Technicians, to you.”

“I see.” She looked past him. “What’s the latest on the tissue samples?”

Johnson said nothing.

She asked if he knew where the crewmen’s bodies were.

Again, nothing.

Another technician spoke, insisting they had cremated the corpses.

“Cremated? You cremated the astronauts—without my authorization?”

“With Dr. Devlin’s,” another shot back.

“Devlin? Since when does he have authority over my cases—and Dr. Palmer’s?” She stepped past the technicians and addressed Johnson again. “Answer me!”

His lifeless stare sent an icy shiver down her spine.

“Look,” the technician said, stepping into her line of sight. “All I know is that he does.”

“Give me another story!” she shot back.

He growled. “All right. Dr. Devlin wanted to run special tests on the organism that killed the astronauts, so he had the bodies moved to his private lab.” He studied her face, then added, “Everyone knows he takes the utmost precautions.”

“Devlin doesn’t know a damn thing about this organism!”

Another technician stepped forward. “Now look here, Dr. Heinrick—”

She spun around. “—No, you look! Only certain physicians have legal clearance to handle these astronauts—not to mention these bodies could still carry a live organism, one we know almost nothing about!”

“All the more reason to let Dr. Devlin take a little peeksy—right?” another sneered. “He’d figure it out in seconds.”

Dr. Heinrick recoiled. “Who are you people? You can’t be regular staff.” She stared at Johnson, waiting, but he only watched her in silence.

A fourth technician approached from behind. “How clever you are, Doc-tor Heinrick. We’re Dr. Devlin’s staff—if it’s any of your business.”

Heinrick pivoted, her face flushed, hands clenched. “I refuse to stand here and waste my time listening to you idiots,” she shouted, shattering her professional demeanor. But what was she dealing with? She had never experienced such open hostility. There had to be a way to reach Devlin without going through these creeps.

She fled the room and ran toward the platform, pulling the laser from her pocket. One technician followed close behind. Alarmed by his aggressiveness, she stopped, swung around and aimed at his face.

“You think you could match his laboratory?” he taunted, staring through her weapon.

“What?”

“No, I think not! Why do you suppose they gave him his own chambers? Because he’s a moron? No! Because he’s too brilliant to be tainted by mediocrity!”

This was insane, Heinrick thought. Something had gone very wrong down here. Johnson had disappeared, and three other technicians were closing in like wolves. She had to warn Michael and the others. Yet Devlin’s whereabouts remained a mystery.

Heinrick drew a shaky breath and lowered her laser, knowing she could eviscerate at this range in a single, swift motion.

A ghost of a smile brushed her lips.

“You’re right,” she responded as the technicians surrounded her. “I could never match the great Dr. Devlin’s intellect.”

Her eyes fluttered in disgust as they all nodded in approval.

“So, it would be an honor to know where I could find him and his distinguished laboratory.”

“Top secret!” one declared.

“Oh, I know. But you see, I’m quite an admirer of Dr. Devlin’s work.” Heinrick smiled and placed a hand on her chest, adding, “He’s wonderful!”

The technicians traded vacant stares.

One snarled. “Why the sudden change in your voice?”

“Well, no one’s perfect—except Dr. Devlin, of course.” She shrugged. “I was wrong about him.”

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about the lab?” another asked, crossing his arms.

Heinrick swung her hand in a dramatic arc, startling all of them. “Why, no! Of course not! That would be a disgrace!”

“You wouldn’t touch anything?”

“I wouldn’t dream of soiling his lab!”

One of them finally bought it. “Well, all right. You promised.”

His childlike phrasing caused her eyes to flash, yet she was ready for the answer.

“It’s in Sector One,” the technician revealed, his eyes sliding away from hers. Then, out of nowhere, he beamed. “He’s great, you know.”

She tilted her head—their affect and fierce loyalty baffled her.

“Oh, I know. He’s brilliant. Now, where might I find Sector One?”

She must have said it too eagerly—their eyes darted amongst each other.

“Oh no you don’t!” one snapped. “We know what you’re up to! You want all the glory for yourself!”

Another cornered her, tightening his lips. “The man has it all, so why don’t you let him worry about this disease? Knowing the other doc-tors, they’d get their filthy hands on it and spread it around. The sooner we’re rid of it, the better. Burn the bodies, I say!”

Now she was dealing with something far more dangerous than she had imagined and needed to handle this carefully.

“Gentlemen,”—it turned her stomach to say it—“I understand the emotions here. As I said before, only certain physicians can handle the bodies.” She held her breath.

“He is one of those physicians, Dr. Heinrick,” Johnson said, appearing from nowhere. “The only one.”

Finally, he speaks! She turned to mount a defense. “What do you mean by ‘the only one’?”

His glare radiated a contempt that chilled her to the bone. This was not the man Michael described. Why all the hostility? Before she could press him, more technicians entered the area, and the anger rose to a new pitch.

One of them strode forward. “You’re off the case,” he scoffed. “Now it’s our turn.”

Another threw a microchip in her face. It fell on the floor. “There! There’s your proof.”

Heinrick maintained eye contact as she picked up the item. She passed the chip over the induction port on her bio-suit. A report unfolded as a private retinal overlay, a clever way to allow a single read of classified material. There, on an official document, were the names of the Phyllus II astronauts and Dr. Devlin’s, listed as chief research scientist and physician. No other names appeared—except that of ISC administrator Martin Stewart. Someone logged the order eleven days ago.

“What the—?” she whispered. “This can’t be right.” After reading the last entry, the data expired. She looked up and found the morgue deserted.

Someone emerged from behind, and a shockwave of adrenaline hit her body. She twisted and fired her laser. The inert chip skittered across the floor.

“Susan!”

A scorched bloom smoldered on the panel behind Dr. Palmer.

She lowered the instrument and let out a tremendous sigh. “Thank God it’s you!” She grabbed his arm.

“Holy hell!” Palmer shouted, his voice cracking. “Be careful with that thing!”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry. You don’t know what I’ve just been through.”

“I could say the same.” He looked her over. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. But I could have used that rescue team down here.” She surveyed the area. “I don’t know where they ran off to, but the technicians down here were threatening me.” She saw the shuttle. Then it all made sense.

“The screams.”

“What?”

“Oh, my God.” She turned to him. “The team never made it down.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“After you left, a man stalked me in the dark. Then I heard screams from the shuttle. He must have heard them too, because he ran. Michael, did you hear them? They sounded trapped.”

Palmer shook his head. “No. I didn’t hear a thing.”

She scanned the room for the technicians. “Oh, God. They must have them.”

“Who?”

“Devlin—and his assistants.”

“The Dr. Devlin?”

“Yes, the Dr. Devlin,” she said, mocking his reverence. “I don’t give a damn about his notoriety.” She stepped closer. “Remember everything I just told you? He’s behind it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just had a friendly little chat with his assistants.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

Heinrick shook her head. “All I know is that the bodies are missing from the morgue, and Devlin has taken them to his private lab.”

“What?” Palmer clenched his jaw until it ached.

“I know this sounds crazy, Michael. I checked their so-called records. It says Devlin heads this entire mission—including the medical end. The order is eleven days old.”

Palmer’s head drew back. “That’s absurd. Stewart Johnson assigned me the autopsies this morning.”

“Then Stewart assigned you to a case that was already someone else’s. His name is on the order, Michael. Right under Devlin’s.”

Palmer walked around in a small circle, stroking his chin, then exploded. “Damn them all!”

Heinrick leapt forward. “Shhh!”

He gripped her shoulders. “Listen, Susan, we have very little time. I had to delay the briefing. We can’t let this out—not now. Or, we’ll have a major panic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lena. She’s contracted something I’ve never seen before.”

“You don’t think it’s—?” Heinrick stopped herself. She didn’t want to consider it.

“That’s what worries me. Lena’s showing the same early signs as the Phyllus II crew. And there’s more—two of the other nurses who were in that room have reported the same symptoms.” He raked his hair. “This disease? Organism? Hell, we don’t know what it is.”

“Oh my God. What are we going to do?”

Palmer rubbed his mouth. His thumb found the rim of the empty cigarette tube in his suit pocket. So much had gone unsaid.

“Susan,” he began, “I need to tell you…”

“Go ahead.”

“…about this anomaly.”

The ominous tone in his voice wrenched her gut, yet she listened, stifling her tears and yearning for this nightmare to end.

“Before Lieutenant Anderson died, he told us each bright green star contained a pod that vaporized once aboard the ship, which the crew inhaled.” He paused, clearing his throat. “And now I think Lena contracted it by secondary means.”

“Meaning...?”

“It passed through solid material. Isolation suits. Filters.”

“From what? A dead host—to us?”

“Possibly.”

“Through the skin?”

“Skin, lungs. Any means.”

She blinked, took a moment to process, then glared at him.

“I would have told you in the briefing, Susan. I didn’t know the morgue was going to turn into a clusterfuck.” He stopped. “It’s too quiet. Something’s not right.”

Both of them listened. Nothing.

“The building’s under quarantine,” Palmer added. “We need everyone to stay calm while we figure out the mechanics of this thing.”

“What about Devlin?”

“I don’t know. Someone up there must know how to find him. Let’s go!”

They proceeded to the platform.

“Wait.” She stopped. “When I came down here, not one of those technicians was wearing an isolation suit. If Devlin’s so superior, why would his staff be that careless?”

Palmer kept walking, shaking his head. “That’s exactly why we have to get this under control now!”

“But—don’t you think it’s strange?” She caught his arm. “Why didn’t they take precautions?”

“I don’t know! That’s what we’re going to find out!”

“No—Michael! Wait!” From behind, she grabbed both his arms. “Listen!”

He stopped and turned around. She hesitated, seeing a fear in him she’d not seen in a long time. Her eyes softened. “You can’t save Lena unless we know what’s going on down here.”

She closed the distance and took his shoulders. “We have to find Devlin. Now, before it’s too late.”

“How?” he stammered. “You know he’s an eccentric, private man. That’s why his lab is isolated. Someone up there has to know where it is.” He shrugged her off and continued toward the platform, motioning for her to follow. “Come on, let’s go!”

“And risk infecting others?”

“What?” Dr. Palmer whirled around.

“What makes you so certain we don’t already have it?”

“Come on, we’ve been through this. We all used the decontamination chamber, you know that.”

“But I didn’t.”

Palmer closed his eyes briefly, his lips pressed together, and he shook his head. Heinrick continued.

“What makes you think that chamber sterilized an unknown pathogen? Who knows how it reacted? Face it, Michael—you, Lena, and the others may have contracted it up there no matter what precautions you took.” She drew a breath. “And now it’s possible I have it too.”

He shook his head, denying scientific logic. “Be realistic. Do we feel any different? Is our skin peeling off?”

“Not yet. That’s the outcome. We know the early symptoms are violence and paranoia. We don’t know what the catalyst is. What triggers it? Fear? Psychosis? Both?”

“What does it matter if we’re infected already?”

“It doesn’t. That’s exactly my point. It’s all academic from here until it hits us.”

“Until what hits us?”

“The psychosis.”

“Jesus, you’re scaring me with this talk.”

“I’m doing my best to think rationally. You said the technicians who confronted me down here were nothing like the people you knew from the lab.”

“So what are you saying—they’re infected too?”

“Yes. And they have been for some time. How long? Who can say—except Devlin?”

“All right, let’s find that son of a bitch.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “I’ve seen him before.”

Heinrick’s head jerked back. Neither she nor anyone she knew had ever seen the renowned, mysterious Dr. Devlin in person.

Palmer smirked, watching her eyes widen. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and caught a glimpse of him walking down one of the morgue’s corridors. I heard someone call out his name and always wondered where his lab was, so I followed him. He darted into a room. I went through the same entrance, only to find he’d disappeared. Vanished, just like that. I imagined him laughing at me somewhere behind a secret door. Anyway, I know what he looks like. We’ll find him.”

“Maybe.” She recalled the man in the dark who vanished just as Michael described. “Do you know anything about Sector One?”

Palmer shook his head.

“I squeezed that much out of one technician. It has to be down here somewhere. They acted like it was around the corner.” Then she understood. “The shuttle’s computer refused my access to Sector One. ‘No such sector.’ No access. It’s here, Michael.”

Palmer scanned the area. “Then it’s behind the seal at the end of the west corridor. I’ve walked past that door a hundred times. I always assumed it was cold storage.”

Heinrick pointed. “This way!”

They ventured down the narrowing, dim corridors of the underground morgue. They reached a passageway labeled UG-2, Sector 2.

Heinrick’s eyes widened. It dawned on her they intentionally mislabeled it. “Oh my God, Michael! This is it!”

“Shhh!”

The peculiar pathologist rounded a bend and walked in front of them. Unnoticed, both doctors ducked behind an entryway and peered around the corner, watching him stop and cock his head. They flattened themselves against the wall and stood silent. The man turned, shielding his eyes from the lights to see down the darkened hallway where he’d sensed movement.

“He knows we’re here,” Palmer whispered, his heart beating faster.

“Quiet!” she breathed.

The technician drew a small instrument from his pocket. A tiny red light pulsed on what looked like a gun. Both doctors held their breath as he aimed toward their corner. A beam of green light swept the area, bouncing off objects and throwing ominous shadows on the ceiling. It passed over the entire opening and back. Then darkness swallowed the corridor again. Neither dared to peek at the silhouette at the end, standing still, silent, listening. They stayed pressed against the wall. Around the corner, they heard advancing footsteps.

When Heinrick worked up the courage to look, she saw the pathologist and two technicians muttering among themselves. She had a better view down the hall now. At the end stood a huge, riveted black doorway marked Sector 1. On either side, entryways branched off to form the top of a T. She strained to decipher the conversation and couldn’t. Her colleague finally glimpsed over her shoulder.

“That’s not Seth,” he whispered.

“Shhh! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“What are they doing?”

“I don’t know. But I think we’ve found the right place. Look.”

She didn’t have to point. There, barely hidden behind the technicians, lay the body of Lieutenant Anderson, the iso-protective shell wide open, and the bag exposed, revealing a dried, brown contorted heap.

“Good Christ,” the doctor breathed, recognizing the capsule he and the others had sealed. “Why the hell do they have it open?”

They watched a technician leaned in and touch the corpse with his bare hands. Heinrick’s jaw dropped.

“My God, Michael. They don’t know how powerful it is.”

“Maybe they do,” he answered.

“I don’t know what to think.” She watched them cover the body again.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Palmer admitted. “What if Devlin’s being as careful as everyone says? Maybe we should trust him.”

His colleague twisted towards him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“What if he’s found a breakthrough—something we never thought of?”

The muttering stopped, catching both doctors off guard. All three figures peered down the hall, listening. Another pass with the green light revealed nothing. Satisfied, they resumed talking. Dr. Palmer whispered on.

“We have to find out what he’s done. They’ve discovered something—I know it.” He then remarked, with a jealous edge, “Maybe he’s already found a cure. We can’t dismiss the possibility of his genius.”

She shook her head in utter disgust. Hearing admiration in her colleague’s voice sent a revulsion through her body that settled deep in her bones.

They watched in silence as all three figures receded into the side hallway, wheeling the lieutenant’s body with them. Puzzled by a new sensation, she whispered, “They seem to have no feelings at all.”

“What?” Palmer roused from a deep thought. “Who?”

“The technicians. Come to think of it, the pathologist too. Look at them—the way they stand, the gestures. I never noticed it before.”

Now it became obvious. Even as they walked farther away, Heinrick could see a small wire, about two inches long, hanging from behind one of the technician’s ankles, poking out from under his scrubs.

“Michael, they’re not human!”

“You’re quite right, Dr. Heinrick,” a voice announced behind them.

Both doctors nearly leapt out of their skin as they spun to face a tall, scruffy, bearded man in his late sixties with thinning gray hair. Palmer recognized him at once. The man greeted them warmly, as if they were old friends.

“Dr. Heinrick, Dr. Palmer. I was told you were looking for me. I’m Dr. Devlin. But you can call me Thomas.” He smiled and extended his hand.

Heinrick remained still, reading past the warmth. Palmer, still rattled, was the first to shake it. “It’s Michael,” he said. “You gave us quite a start.”

“My apologies,” Devlin replied with an ill-placed chuckle. “I was walking down the corridor and came across the two of you standing here.” His eyes gravitated towards Dr. Heinrick. “Not the most desirable place to meet anyone,” he added, revealing jagged, stained teeth. He reached for her hand, and she mindlessly raised it. Before he could bring her fingers to his lips, she shook it firmly, then pulled away, breaking the spell.

“Delighted,” she replied, feigning a smile. “Please. Call me Susan.”

Devlin grinned, his eyes narrowing. He sensed her wariness and strategized a different approach.

“Good, Susan. I like a first-name basis. More personal that way.”

Palmer stepped closer to steer the conversation his way, but Devlin ignored him. “You’ll have to excuse my reclusive tendencies. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, I do,” she replied. “What I don’t understand is why you’ve shut us out of the studies here.”

“Shut out? Why no! We’re all a team!” he insisted, spreading his arms.

Palmer raised his voice. “That’s contrary to everything we’ve experienced down here, and we deserve answers.”

“Oh, please don’t be cross! It is I who should be ashamed of the way my staff has treated you. We’re all so protective of our work.”

He turned to Dr. Heinrick. “You’re right, Susan. Those were androids you spoke with earlier. But I prefer to call them ‘mates’. ‘Droids’ or ‘automatons’—they both sound so cold. They’re sort of my watchdogs.” He chuckled again. “Oh yes! I’m sure they made you feel most unwelcome—oh dear!”

Heinrick fought the urge to roll her eyes. This guy.

He continued to snicker as Heinrick and Palmer exchanged uneasy glances. Then his laughter faded.

Heinrick folded her arms. “We saw the bodies exposed. What are you doing down here?”

Devlin raised his hands as if he were being held up in a Western. “I know the astronauts were your patients. They still are.” His voice rose an octave. “So much has happened since you last saw them. I’m sure you have many questions. Come—let me show you.”

Dr. Heinrick maintained her stance. “I’m not going anywhere until we get answers from you.”

“Answers! Yes, yes. I’ll tell you everything! Come!” The scientist turned and walked away, motioning for them to follow.

The two doctors swapped glances again while Devlin ushered them toward the huge black door marked Sector 1. They trailed behind, widening the gap between them and the eager scientist.

Tired of games, Heinrick shouted, “Look, Dr. Devlin—”

“Thomas! Please, call me Thomas.”

“All right. Thomas, I’ll get to the point. You’re evading our questions, and you don’t have all the facts. I’ve searched everywhere for those bodies, and now I find your rude ‘mates’ wheeling a breached capsule into—.”

“Yes, Doctor! I know how upset you must be. It was necessary that I take the bodies right away. But please, Susan, let me show you the lab. I can explain everything far better there.”

Palmer interrupted. “She’s right, Thomas. There’s something you should know about the organism. We may all be in danger.”

Devlin turned around mid-stride and continued walking. “Yes, yes. The one from Phyllus II? I know everything there is to know about it. Now, shall we proceed?”

“The communicability is questionable,” Palmer said, glancing at Heinrick. “We may have contracted it.”

“Nonsense! Believe me. You have not succumbed to the Jupiter parasite. I didn’t reach my position by chance. Allow me to show you Sector One.”

His offer intrigued Heinrick. What if this nut-job actually found a cure in his lab? He seemed to know something they didn’t, and she wanted to find out.

The Jupiter parasite. He had a name for it.

Nobody upstairs had a name for it.

Thank you for reading Chapters 3 & 4 in their updated versions. In Chapter 5, Heinrick and Palmer enter Dr. Devlin’s mysterious lab and discover hidden horrors.

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Content note: The story contains a few recaps of disturbing imagery.

Writer’s note: Chapter 3 is now divided into Chapters 3 and 4 for easier readability.

The transit shuttle carried Dr. Palmer to the upper deck for the briefing. He leaned on the rail and closed his eyes, wishing this was not his reality.

It slowed for his younger associate, Dr. Susan Heinrick, a bold and talented clinician also assigned to the astronaut cases. Her knowledge of planetary organisms, along with her background in Jupiter’s magnetosphere, made her invaluable to him. Palmer knew it, and he hated to admit feeling jealous of her string of successes. But this was no time for professional envy. He nearly destroyed their working relationship years ago through his inability to control his impulses. She corrected him, and he stayed corrected. Thinking back, he realized it wasn’t entirely his fault. Dr. Heinrick possessed a dual nature, capable of being both tender and vocal when the situation demanded. Despite their turbulent history, they had worked together for years as one of the finest medical teams around.

A wave of relief washed over her as she stepped into the shuttle. “Michael! I’m glad I found you!”

Ching. The shuttle requested her destination. Heinrick tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and directed the computer to take them down to UG-2.

Moments before, she had learned about the lieutenant’s death and was heading to the morgue to ensure they followed strict isolation protocols. Heinrick had just finished a long briefing with ISC administrators regarding the negligent decontamination of the crew’s remains—a delay the bureaucrats blamed on an accidental tear in the body bag. Now, precious time ticked away while she waited for sanitation crews to scrub the exposed chambers.

Yet, something far more unsettling had been bothering her since her attempt to collect Captain Jardan’s tissue samples.

Heinrick shook her head at her colleague. “You need to know what just happened.”

Dr. Palmer’s eyes never left the floor. His mind was elsewhere.

Studying him, she could tell he was distraught about the deaths—and, no doubt, blaming himself.

“I just heard about the lieutenant, Michael. I’m sorry. Were you there when it happened?”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Yes—I left his room a while ago,” he said, meeting her gaze. “It’s over.” He shook his head. “God-awful thing to happen to any human being.”

“Indeed.” Watching his face, she added, “I wish I could have done more for Captain Jardan this morning.”

Now it was her turn to break eye contact. She and the captain had been friends for years. Seeing him reduced to that state was beyond devastating.

Dr. Heinrick tried to shake the image of Jardan’s thrashing body from her mind and couldn’t. She had cried once already, and now she felt tears welling up again at the memory of her friend in agony. At least the initial coma was merciful, she thought, for when he awoke, the pain hit with blinding force. It had all unraveled so fast: the violent convulsions and projectile vomiting. With no time to administer enough Genicote, all anyone could do was watch him writhe and scream, tormented by the thing that devoured him. Heinrick’s lip quivered—she could still hear him calling out her name in those nightmarish shrieks. That sound permanently branded her memory.

“That was one horrific vision for sure,” Dr. Palmer said, doing everything to shut out the noise in his head. He slipped on his glasses. When he saw her tears welling up, his tone softened.

“I’m sorry you lost your friend.” He put his arms around her, and she held on tightly.

“Believe me, I tried my damnedest to piece this thing together in time to save both of them. But it was too late, even after what Anderson told us.”

Dr. Heinrick pulled back, wiping tears from her face, then opened her mouth when the words registered.

“Yes,” he said, reading her expression. “He gave us the information we needed.”

She was about to ask what, but he cut her off.

“I’ll tell you all about it at the briefing.”

Heinrick glared at him with an intensity that could have set wood ablaze. She liked him best when he was the quiet researcher, the physician who found something remarkable in an ordinary patient. He shared more then, and they worked better as a team when the patients weren’t so high-profile. But astronauts from Phyllus II? She knew he’d be difficult—and he probably felt the same about her. Regardless, they had a job to do. Hers was to examine the bodies in the morgue and perform extensive histopathic studies of tissue samples.

But something strange had happened down there.

“I can’t go to your meeting, Michael. I have to get to UG-2. Now.”

“Susan, you don’t grasp the scope of what we’re dealing with here. You’d only be wasting time.” He pulled down his shirt. “After this briefing, you might wish to rethink how you study the samples.”

“After the briefing, let’s hope you and I still have something to evaluate.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” She broke off, glanced at the com’s red light and ordered, “Com, cease recording.”

“Acknowledged, Dr. Heinrick,” the computer, recognizing her voice, answered in a pleasant, synthetic tone. She waited until the light dimmed.

“I mean someone’s been tampering with tissue samples down in UG-2. They opened the vessel at 1100. It’s been five hours. So why hasn’t a single specimen reached my lab—not from the eleven, not from the captain?”

The color drained from Dr. Palmer’s face. Administrators informed him that the remains were still in quarantine. He searched his mind for a plausible answer while calculating the discrepancy in his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re delayed. Or, someone misplaced them.”

“Misplaced? Classified biohazard tissues? Entire bodies? Heinrick scoffed. “We are wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The shuttle decelerated as it approached Level K.

Palmer’s exhaustion was crashing down on him. He knew his colleague well and had no patience for what he considered her stubborn paranoia. Her actions did prompt him to question the location of the bodies.

“Listen, I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said, keeping his voice leveled. “That’s exactly why we can’t get sidetracked. You’re already here. Step into the incident briefing today, at least for a few minutes. We can go over the logs together, and you can fill me in.”

Dr. Heinrick hesitated. Why was her colleague so dismissive of the strange occurrences in the pathology lab? Why was everyone being so evasive? Even the administrators had given her evasive, cryptic answers.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Dr. Palmer stepped onto the Level K platform and glanced over his shoulder. “Coming?”

She stood her ground on the shuttle, glaring at him. “Why are you so calm about this?” She turned toward the observation window as the shuttle held its position. “I don’t think those bodies ever made it to the lower decks.” She faced him. “Michael, who would want to hide the bodies? That would impede the investigation.”

Palmer was in no mood for guessing games. He raked his hand through his hair, then walked onto the shuttle and hit the console interface. “UG-2, Morgue. Stat!”

His eyes locked onto hers as the shuttle dropped, descending into the dark, unlit levels of the morgue. Feeling her cold resentment, Palmer paced to the far edge of the circular shuttle deck.

“Your insights on this case matter a great deal to me. I don’t want you to think otherwise. But let’s not let the pressure get to us, all right? We’re both drained.” He paused, watching for her reaction. “Maybe neither one of us is making much sense right now.”

She offered no response, keeping her back to him.

He approached her. “What you’re saying about pathology makes no sense to me.”

She spun around. “Then why would they lie about the astronauts’ whereabouts?”

He recoiled. “Lie? He squinted at her. “Are you certain you spoke to the right person?”

“Is Dr. Johnson good enough for you?”

“Seth? I’ve known Seth Johnson since medical school. He would never compromise lab protocol. Did you speak face-to-face?”

“No, we spoke twice over an encrypted com link,” she said, folding her arms in defiance. “But I know what I heard. Something is going on down there.”

Dr. Palmer watched her face harden into an impenetrable wall of certainty. “All right, whatever it is, let’s clear it up now. Then, we head to the briefing.”

A ping sounded from Heinrick’s pocket. “Connect com,” she stated, and a hologram materialized. A shimmering image of an ICU nurse appeared in the middle of the shuttle.

“Dr. Heinrick! We received a Flash message from UG. The AV was garbled, but it’s definitely a distress call. Here, see for yourself!”

The nurse stepped back and replayed the message. The garbled audio and distorted visuals were useless.

“They tried to reach you—something about a ‘formula.’ I couldn’t make it out.”

“Did you say this was from the morgue?” Heinrick asked.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Which sector?”

“The signal was weak. Our instruments traced it to UG-2. No sector ID.”

Dr. Heinrick glanced at her colleague. “We’re on our way there now. Call security and get a hazmat team down here right away. End com.” The hologram faded.

“What the hell is going on?” Palmer asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. At least I know I’m not going crazy.”

Palmer chortled, nostrils flaring. That makes one of us. As the shuttle slowed, the amusement left his face. “Jesus, this is turning out to be one hell of a day.”

The door opened onto the morgue. No one was in sight. Only a few lights burned, and the halls trailed off into darkness. Dr. Heinrick stepped off.

“It’s so dark down here. I don’t hear a thing.”

“I don’t like it,” Palmer admitted, one foot remaining on the shuttle. “Let’s wait until the others get here.”

His com pinged.

“Yes?” he asked. He was old-fashioned and preferred audio only.

“It’s ICU, Dr. Palmer,” a quiet voice reported. “I think you’d better get up here.”

“What is it now?” he snapped, annoyed by the interruptions.

“It’s Lena, sir. Something’s terribly wrong.”

Palmer tensed his neck and blinked several times. “What happened?”

“She’s not feeling well. We’re not exactly sure what it is.”

“Dammit—be more specific!”

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re all a bit shaken.”

“All right. Go on.”

“After you left the ICU, Lena complained of weakness in her legs. No one thought much of it until a minute ago, when we heard her cry out and saw her clinging to the railing. After she collapsed, we took her vitals. Pressure rose to 140 over 90, pulse is 110 and respirations are shallow at 30.

“Is she conscious?”

“Yes, but she can’t move her legs. There’s been progressive paralysis.”

Palmer turned to Heinrick. “What does this sound like to you?”

“I’m not sure. They could administer Keledir until one of us gets back up there.”

“Mm-hmm. I was thinking the same thing, using a neurostabilizer.” He barked the orders. “Get her to a bed and have someone stay with her. I’ll come up as soon as I can.”

“Sir, there’s more. She’s conscious, but frightened and delirious. She keeps talking about another place—a dark room or something.”

Dr. Palmer cocked his head and stared at his colleague.

“You go check on her,” Dr. Heinrick offered. “I’ll take care of whatever’s going on down here.”

“No,” he argued. “Come up with me. I can’t leave you down here alone.”

Dr. Heinrick spoke into his com. “How soon do you expect security and the hazmat team?”

“One moment…they’re on the shuttle now,” the voice answered.

“I’ll wait for them here,” she reassured Palmer.

“All right. I’ll check back with you.” He stepped onto the shuttle. “On my way!”

As Heinrick watched the shuttle tube rise, she felt a ghostly draft. It made her shiver, and she immediately wished she’d gone with him. It’s all right. Just wait here. She scanned the room for movement. She was alone. The morgue was dim, and the sharp, pungent sting of flesh preserving fluids filled her nostrils, the way it always had since her first days of residency. It would have been pitch black had it not been for the yellow glow of scattered wall lights.

Why does it have to be stereotypically creepy down here? she thought.

After what seemed like hours, she felt a vibration from the second tube. Yet it never reached the entrance where she waited. She leaned in and listened. Surely she had heard it coming. It would be foolish to put her head inside the shuttle tube—with her luck it would decapitate her. She smiled at her own thoughts. The sensors would prevent it.

No one had arrived, and Heinrick worked herself into a near panic, her eyes darting. Neither shuttle was available, so she summoned one.

No response.

“Shuttle to UG-2,” she repeated.

Still nothing.

“Shuttle to Under Ground-Two, please.”

“Sector?” the com blared, catching her off guard.

“Sector. Uh...”

It had been a long time since she’d been down to the morgue. Every floor was now split into two sectors. On other floors, the markings were obvious. But here, she couldn’t find a number in the dark.

“SECTOR!” the voice demanded.

She had a fifty-fifty chance.

“Sector One.”

“NO ACCESS!”

“No access? I’m standing right here!”

No reply.

“All right. Two, then.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. Shuttle to UG-2, Sector 2.”

“Good! Get one down here—now!”

Her eyes swept the room. Darkness played tricks on her, and she imagined a pair of eyes following her every step.

You’re acting like an idiot, Susan.

Pacing near the tube, the echo of her hard-soled shoes intensified her solitude in the crypt-like atmosphere. She walked toward stacked metal boxes and tried to read the labels, useless in the shadows. There, she caught a towering silhouette standing motionless against the wall a few feet away—someone who had been watching her this entire time.

Thanks for reading. In Chapter 4, Dr. Heinrick encounters unusual technicians and other strange occurrences in the morgue.

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Content note: The story contains a few scenes of disturbing imagery.

The rescue ship arrived on schedule. The medical team had placed the survivors from Phyllus II in isolated decontamination chambers while life-support sustained them during the trek back to the Mars colony.

Dr. Palmer watched as the transport docked. He remotely directed the proposed treatment for Captain Jardan and his XO, Lieutenant Anderson, and was eager to examine them after reviewing the data. He rushed to the ICU.

Lena, the primary nurse, was waiting for him in full isolation gear. He recalled meeting her at a surgery conference a year ago and nodded in her direction. Knowing she was on the team brought a smile to his face. Lena directed him with her eyes, and he suited up.

When Dr. Palmer entered the captain’s room for the first time, his stomach churned at the sight. He locked his knees to steady himself.

Palmer had read the reports, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

His pulse quickened as he moved closer to view the captain’s shimmering skin, reminiscent of iridescent, spoiled ham. It parted in fibrous threads and stretched like a living entity, revealing wet, exposed, pulsating muscle underneath. Within the cavities, a mixture of blood and viscous, neon green pus—the unsettling ooze seemed to move with a deliberate flow of intelligence.

The captain’s eyes stared blankly at Dr. Palmer, who found it difficult to believe a man could exist in this condition, with only threads of tissue holding his eyes, mouth, and throat together. No fever despite the compromised skin integrity. None of this made sense. Poor bastard.

Swallowing hard, the doctor stepped back, observing the IV delivery system dispensing Genicote, relieving pain without compromising the patient’s alertness and orientation. He glanced back at the captain, whose eyes were pleading for death.

Was this organism keeping him alive?

Then the smell reached him—rotten eggs, thick and sour. A distant part of his mind flagged the impossibility: through a triple-filtered sealed suit, he shouldn’t be smelling anything at all. The thought surfaced, wavered, then sank beneath the nausea. He braced against the wall, fighting the urge to retch.

“God—not in the suit!” he groaned, sweat stinging his eyes. Palmer fumbled for his Cannadin injector and administered the aerosolized anti-nausea drug through his med-port. He released a long breath, then startled when his com pinged. ISC base administrators summoned him to an urgent meeting. Relieved, Dr. Palmer rushed out of the room.

He nodded to Lena, who returned the gesture as if their minds were one. She would notify him the second his condition changed.

During the meeting, no one could agree on the proper procedure for containing the organism or when to break the seal on the Phyllus II itself, due on the landing pad at 1100 with eleven bodies still aboard. Arguments erupted, then ceased when all coms pinged, announcing Captain Jardan’s state had worsened.

“Shit!” Dr. Palmer stood and shouted, “This is a waste of time!”

Racing toward the ICU, he realized this morning’s coffee had backfired. His limbs felt like lead, and his vision blurred at the edges. He quickened his pace toward the main branch of the hospital, where he could catch a shuttle, ignoring the magnificent orange horizon through a riveted pane window. Red light reflected off the dusty surface, illuminating the buildings below. His mind was on the case, on what he’d already discovered, and on preparing himself to face the captain and the lieutenant in adjoining rooms.

Ping. Another notification. “Sorry to inform you, sir,” a voice announced from his pocket, “but the captain expired at 1040.”

“Dammit!” He checked the time. “Did you bag and decontaminate?”

“In progress, sir. He’ll be in the morgue within the hour,” the voice reported.

“Good, good. Damn!”

“Doctor?”

“Nothin’. What’s Anderson’s status?”

“Still poor but stable, sir.”

“Okay. I’m on my way.” He signed off and rushed down the hall, his fury mounting over the meeting debacle that cost him precious minutes. His jaw clenched again, and he opened wide to counteract it. The tension broke with a sharp crack.

“Idiots.” He didn’t know whether to be angrier with them—or himself. He wondered why he had agreed to leave critical patients and meet at a remote location. What the hell was that about?

He proceeded toward the transport, remembering the discussion. They all concurred on one point: no one could save the astronauts. Obviously, Palmer thought, after seeing Captain Jardan. That thing was killing both of them faster than anyone could hypothesize a treatment. How both men had lasted this long remained a mystery. Now they needed to contain the anomaly, whatever it was. Had he missed something in their medical history? Could the answer have been right in front of him, with no time to investigate? Now the captain was dead. What could he learn from Anderson, his XO?

“ICU,” he barked at the transport console. Palmer stepped onto the air-platform, which lifted him inside the circular hollow frame. As he yawned, he stretched, and a seam in his undershirt gave way.

“Holy hell!” Despite his good looks and robust health, Palmer’s metallic suit couldn’t disguise his growing waistline. He’d promised a few colleagues he’d meet them at ISC’s track. Then he’d back out. His genuine downfall was a secret habit of smoking cigarettes—when he could find them, since such vices were now forbidden on Mars. He felt normal, he told himself, and solved problems much better after a smoke.

The platform slowed, and he stepped out into an empty hall. Without thinking, his fingers found the small metal cylinder in his suit pocket and turned it over once. Inside were the last three cigarettes he’d smuggled back from Earth. Not now. He shoved it deeper and hurried down the corridor.

It was 1055 when he reached the deserted nurses’ station. A hologram chart labeled Lt. Kerek Anderson hovered overhead. He shielded his eyes from the harsh light. “Materialize,” he ordered. A printed chart emerged. Dr. Palmer grabbed it, opened the history section and walked around the console. He had read it all before. Instinct compelled him to skim it again to be sure he hadn’t missed a single detail.

As he reviewed his own orders, Palmer felt his confidence slipping—in himself and in the case. Nothing in the lieutenant’s history sparked any ideas. His hand ached for the cylinder in his pocket.

“Dr. Palmer?” The attending nurse stood at his side.

“Hmm?”

“Doctor, I’m glad you’re here.”

He glanced up, the chart’s contents still fresh in his mind. It was Lena.

“Oh, yes. How’s Lieutenant Anderson?”

“That’s what I came to tell you,” she said. “His condition is worsening. I don’t think we have much time left with him.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed, “there’s nothing more we can do to save him. We still don’t know why he’s alive.”

He squinted at another display and scrolled past a detailed account of Captain Jardan’s death, probing it for clues. He winced at the next entry: the captain’s last attempt to relay critical information collapsed from syllables into guttural shrieks before he slipped into unconsciousness. Palmer’s gaze drifted to the floor to erase the image. He addressed Lena, this time giving her the courtesy of meeting her eyes.

“This afternoon I plan to examine Captain Jardan’s body. Until then, I don’t have a clue.”

“But there is something we can find out,” Lena pressed. “This morning, the lieutenant had regained consciousness—but that was all. A few minutes ago, we heard him trying to speak.”

“What?” Dr. Palmer’s head snapped. “What’d he say?”

“Just a few syllables. Hard to understand at first, but there’s a pattern to it.” Lena’s eyes locked onto Palmer’s. “He’s trying to tell us something important, or he wouldn’t spend the energy.”

For a moment, the doctor stood paralyzed. “How the hell—?”

“Please—go in now. Before it’s too late.”

Dr. Palmer rushed toward the isolation room to don protective gear. Lena assisted him with his gloves and helmet and followed him in. This time, he took a prophylactic shot of Cannadin.

He pictured the captain’s ghastly remains and braced himself for what waited behind the curtain. The sole remaining survivor of the Phyllus II disaster lay two feet away.

He took a deep breath and pulled the partition back. Before him lay a contorted, mummy-like shell of a man. A sour, vinegar tang of decay reached him—through the filters again, a distant part of his mind registered—but his watering eyes distracted the thought before it could take hold. Green and yellow pus dripped onto the white sheets like a leaky faucet.

Or Chinese water torture, the doctor thought.

Palmer noticed the lieutenant’s presentation differed from the captain’s. Brown ropes of skin pulsated, as if something inside were attempting to escape. The lieutenant’s chest heaved as a respirator hovered over his moist face. Soft tissue had sloughed off, exposing his nasal bones and parts of his jaw, and his lidless eyes darted as irrigation tubes flushed the sockets. Whatever this thing was, it was keeping him alive.

But why?

A fresh wave of sickness caused him to sway when the realization struck him.

“Doctor?” Lena steadied him.

“I’m okay.”

Another nurse moved around the bed to provide a human touch in cleaning and redressing his wounds. Holographic machines tracked the man’s vitals and displayed them. His respirations were rapid and shallow, his extremities bony and contracted, and his circulation was failing by the minute. Genicote flowed through a thin tube into his fragile vein.

“Je-sus,” Palmer murmured.

“Yes,” Lena whispered.

“We should just let the poor man go,” the doctor said, softening. “We can study this—this horrible thing afterward.”

“I thought the same,” Lena admitted. “But if he can speak, we have a chance to find out what happened.” She glanced at the lieutenant. He was staring right at her, screaming with his eyes. She looked away, her hand trembling, covering her mouth.

“All right. Let’s see what he can tell us.”

As he stepped toward the bed, the man’s head lifted from the pillow.

“It’s all right,” Palmer reassured, leaning forward. The lieutenant recoiled.

“Lieutenant, I’m Dr. Palmer. Can you hear me?”

The lieutenant emitted a chilling, high-pitched, hollow tone from a damaged trachea, followed by a gurgling moan from his cracked, blood-stained mouth.

“I need you to try as hard as you can to talk to me. Do you understand? Give me one syllable. Yes or no.”

“Ehsss.”

“Good,” he coached, cracking a smile. The shattered jaw limited the man’s articulation, but he still had a tongue.

The lieutenant’s eyes rotated in their watery sockets, searching the room. “Clo..”

The doctor leaned in. He heard a long “z” sound after that.

“Close? Close what?”

“Tennnnzzz!”

Lena studied the partition. “Curtains?”

“Yuhhhh!”

“Close them,” the doctor ordered, and a nurse drew the drapery around the bed.

“Maybe it’s best we leave you alone,” Lena offered. “He seems to communicate more one-on-one. I’ll be right here on the other side.” She ushered the other nurse out to the anteroom and stationed herself beyond the drape, watching the monitors.

Dr. Palmer remembered the final stage of the disease in the other astronauts: an overwhelming need to hide. Now it was just him, alone with his dying patient.

Syllable by syllable, sound by sound, a picture formed. There were hundreds of those iridescent green creatures drifting near the satellite and around the ship.

Palmer’s skin prickled. The transmission reported two. Just two, sir. Like a couple of emeralds. By the end, thousands. Whatever these things were, they had either multiplied—or they had been waiting.

“Can you describe them in one word?”

A silence. Then: “Eeeeeed.”

“Eeeeeed, eeeeed,” the doctor muttered. “Bead, seed, weed...weed?”

“Uh.”

By now he knew that meant yes. “Weed. Some kind of vegetation?”

“Uh.”

It sounded absurd. “Like seaweed?”

No response. The monitor showed a decrease in respiration.

“Did the creature penetrate your suit?”

“Yuhhhh!” The word tore out of him, nearly spending his last breath. The heart monitor bleeped.

“There he goes!” Lena came through the curtain, pulled it back, and adjusted the respirator while Palmer’s eyes remained locked on the lieutenant. A principle from medical school surfaced: You cannot not communicate.

Stay with us just a little longer.

His heart rate returned to a manageable pace. Lena shook her head at Dr. Palmer.

“Lieutenant, I know you’re suffering terribly. Can you please help us learn more about these entities?”

“Yuhhhhh!” Both Palmer and Lena understood the meaning was far beyond the syllable they heard. The lieutenant wanted this biological abomination wiped from the universe.

“Then listen carefully. This weed you picked up—what does it most resemble back on Earth?”

And then, as clearly as he could, the lieutenant said, “Pod.”

“This pod. Was it brought aboard?”

“Uh.”

“Isolated?”

“Yuhhh.”

“Did everyone touch it?”

“Noooo!”

“No?” The physician leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

“Yuhhh!”

“God…then how—?”

“Diz.” The lieutenant’s head rose from the pillow, as if to stress the most important thought of his life.

“What?”

“Dizallv.”

“Dissolve?”

“YUH!” His head flopped back onto the pillow, displacing remnants of his skull. The gaze faded into emptiness.

The doctor had to ask the right questions in the next minute, or the chance was gone forever. Isolated, untouched. Dissolved. And then it hit him.

“Are you saying it dissolved into airborne particles?”

The lieutenant’s eyes ceased darting and fixed on Lena and Dr. Palmer, as if seeking his last human connection. He then exhaled a final, long vibration.

“Yuhhhhhhhh.”

The lieutenant’s color faded to dusty silver. Pink drool threaded down the sheets. His lifeless eyes stared into Dr. Palmer’s, who looked away. He made the connection.

“My God, they inhaled it.” He looked up at Lena. “Even in isolation—how?”

His blood ran cold. The rotten eggs in the captain’s room. The vinegar in this one. Through a sealed suit, through triple filters, he had smelled them—and told himself it was nothing.

Lena didn’t respond. She stood over Lieutenant Anderson, her eyes filling. Palmer, too, considered the body. What was once a man was now a hero.

A nurse in the anteroom had drifted back to the doorway to listen. She burst in, gesturing at the lieutenant’s remains and the staff. “Why are we just standing here?” she screamed. “Airborne—through suits? We could all be infected with this thing!”

Panic ignited among the nursing team crowding in behind her. Lena gasped but held her composure.

“Wait! Wait!” Dr. Palmer shouted over the hysteria. “It’s all right—listen to me!”

A few of the nurses quieted, while others scrambled for the decontamination rooms.

“Calm down, all of you—remember your training!”

“She might be right,” Lena said, watching the physician step back from the body.

“It’s highly unlikely the organism is that communicable,” he said, working to calm himself. “Even so—how could it spread by secondary means, or survive in this environment?”

“Are you willing to risk our lives to find out? That chamber is our only protection.”

Palmer blinked, his mind racing to calculate their options. With no time to evaluate, he conceded. “All right. First, we isolate his remains.”

The doctor sent instructions to morgue personnel, while the staff encased the lieutenant in an iso-protective shell. From there, the automated system would sterilize and transport the body to the morgue below.

The staff entered a specialized room could break down any attacking virus or bacterium shortly after exposure.

By the time the team passed into secondary rooms, stripped off their suits, and redressed in sterile scrubs, auto-fumigation robots had sanitized the ICU unit. Everyone reemerged, trembling and exchanging swift glances.

Dr. Palmer broke the tension. “Just a precaution,” he assured them. The words didn’t ease his own fears, but they were the only comfort he could offer. “Everyone will quarantine in this building and self-monitor for unusual symptoms until further notice.”

He initiated the lockdown protocol. “The adjacent wings are now sealed.”

Architects had thoughtfully designed the building for such events, ensuring housing for all occupants. The somber group acknowledged Dr. Palmer with silence.

As others departed, Palmer observed Lena’s distant gaze and attempted to console her.

“My gut tells me we won’t experience what the astronauts did—their bodies reacted as soon as they came into contact with these organisms.” He extended his arms and hands, turning them over. “I’m not feeling anything—are you?”

Lena’s chin rose, lips trembling, and she shook her head no. She drew a deep breath and let out a sigh.

“What do we do now?” She had fought back tears but finally gave in, releasing them down her cheeks. Palmer’s instinct was to offer physical touch, but he refrained.

Instead, he pulled a packaged, sterile wipe from the wall dispenser and offered it to her. “Help me keep everyone calm.” He managed a smile. “You’re great at that.”

Afterward, Palmer didn’t go to his office. He walked the sealed corridor until he found the observation alcove past the freight lifts—the one blind spot he knew, tucked beneath the air recycler’s exhaust vent, where the sensors were forgiving and the horizon filled the window.

The doctor fished out a small metal cylinder from his pocket, tipped it, and snagged the last cigarette. He took a moment to ponder the fate of the others before grazing the cigarette along his unparted lips. The aroma alone lit his brain.

He pressed his igniter to the end. The first drag seared his lungs and bent him into a cough. The second delivered a calm he needed since 1040. He closed his eyes and exhaled toward the vent.

All the crew—dead. A creature that dissolved itself into the air and passed through sealed suits like rumors in a hospital. Twice he had smelled it, and he’d just ordered a building full of people to self-monitor for signs and symptoms while he stood pulling smoke into the very lungs he was supposed to be observing.

Palmer studied the smoldering ash, orange as the horizon beyond the glass, and wondered if the thing was already in him, riding his breath, and if it minded the company. He crushed the butt against the rim of the trash chute and watched it fall.

He rushed with purpose, his footsteps echoing as he headed to a scheduled briefing to update his colleague, Dr. Heinrick, and the rest of the team. They had two autopsies to conduct—with eleven more bodies awaiting examination.

I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2. In Chapter 3, disturbing events occur in the morgue.

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Content note: The story contains a few scenes of disturbing imagery.

Michael Palmer surfaced from the nightmare like a drowning man gasping for air, sheets damp, no memory of what had tormented him, only the certainty it was the same one from last night and the night before. He didn't try to remember it—he never did. When his breathing slowed, he mulled over his last dictation on microbial research, hoping the dry, rhythmic banter would lull him back under.

He was drifting off when his com pinged.

Dr. Palmer flung his arm toward the interface and hit receive. A man’s likeness appeared on the large screen in his room. Palmer rolled away from the image and dozed off again.

“Hello—Michael? Are you there? I can’t see you.”

“Hmmm?”

“Wake up! It’s Jon.”

Palmer squinted at the image. It was his friend, Jon Lucar, one of the International Space Consortium’s chief administrators. “Can’t it wait ‘til morning?”

“No, Michael, it’s urgent. ISC has assigned you as Senior Medical Officer for the incoming mission, Phyllus II.”

The doctor bolted upright, his chest heaving. A low growl escaped his throat. “Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past eight weeks? Busting my ass to develop a broad-spectrum vaccine for their space missions—that’s what! Now they want me to hold these guys’ hands when they come in? No, not me, buddy. Tell ISC to find someone else to baby-sit!”

“Michael—”

“Why me, for God’s sake?” He squinted at the blue xenon clock glowing by his bedside. “Especially at two in the morning! What about Dr. Gabbel, Konicek—or even Devlin?”

“No!” Jon blurted out. “Devlin’s the last one I’d ask!”

Palmer felt the sudden tension over the line. Why would Jon hesitate to seek out one of the most brilliant scientists available? He pressed for an answer.

“I don’t understand. If anyone can help, he can—he’s the most qualified!”

“Look. I’m responsible for these astronauts, and you’re the only one I trust to handle this situation.”

Palmer grumbled into his pillow.

“Come up to my office in the morning. We’ll discuss it then.”

“No. You still don’t understand—”

“No—you don’t understand, Michael! Remember what happened on Phyllus I?”

Those last few words struck Palmer hard, causing his heart to race. Phyllus I? How could he forget? Seven years ago. No one had survived the mission. Everyone had returned from exploring one of Jupiter’s moons—dead. Whatever had taken their lives had done it swiftly, mutilating their tissues until they were unrecognizable. He was one of the attending physicians, but there was nothing left to study.

The team speculated that the last survivor initiated the self-destruct sequence to prevent the spread of an unknown, virulent organism. ISC attempted to abort the process from the base, but they could only lock onto one of the two explosives. The stern detonated and burst into flames.

Afterward, all that remained were the shredded, charred bodies left by the fire that swept through the astronauts’ cabins, enough to show the mutilation had come before the flames, but not enough to say what had caused it. Dr. Palmer worked the case, and there had been nothing, not even in the ship’s laboratory, to explain what had happened. It was maddening. No one on his distinguished research team could solve what killed those astronauts.

“Michael? Are you with me?”

“Yes,” Palmer snapped. “You know as well as I do what happened on Phyllus I.”

“Yeah. Scariest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” Jon’s voice trembled. “And now—Michael, we believe it may have happened again. On Phyllus II.”

“Geez-us!” Palmer’s jaw tightened, his grip on the sheets so firm his knuckles went white. A heavy ache settled deep within him as fragmented images of those warped forms haunted his thoughts. Yet the possibility of another window opening on the case intrigued him, and he began mulling over ways he might study the ship—and its remains.

He shook his head, rethinking, “I couldn’t help you seven years ago. What makes you think I can help you now?”

“Because you were the only one who seemed to care about that mission at all.”

“Caring really got me somewhere, didn’t it?”

“Nobody could explain what happened out there. It wasn’t just you.” Sensing his friend’s stubbornness stemmed from fear, Jon leaned in close, filling the screen with a provocative grin. “Look, Buddy, if this is truly how you feel, now’s your chance to make a difference.” He leaned back, letting that land. “The Phyllus II survivors arrive at 0900. Meet me at my office at 0700, and I’ll brief you on everything.”

Palmer relented. “All right, all right. I’ll do it on one condition. Spare me the administrative bullshit! And don’t keep any secrets from me this time.”

Four and a half hours later, Dr. Palmer hurried down what seemed to be the longest corridor in the entire Wolf complex. Beyond the building’s outer shields, which protected inhabitants from frigid, inhospitable cosmic and solar radiation, stretched a vast desert of iron oxide dust over volcanic rock. He glimpsed the landscape as he rushed past a triple-sealed window: reddish-orange geological wonders unmatched anywhere in the solar system, the sun a small, brilliant coin tossed into a dusty sky, offering a blinding glare but no warmth to the frozen plains below. Palmer muttered to himself that the entire planet looked like a rusted-out scrap yard someone forgot to sweep.

In his late fifties, he was still a handsome man. His salt-and-pepper hair, neatly slicked back, complemented by dark-rimmed glasses, gave him a distinctive, scholarly presence. He arrived at Jon’s office to an unexpected sight: six other officials seated alongside Jon.

“Good. Everyone’s here now,” a man at the far end of the table announced, motioning for someone to close the doors. Palmer shot a fierce, unyielding glare at his friend.

Jon stood up. “I’m sorry. They insisted we all talk about this.”

The expressionless man rose and addressed Dr. Palmer. “Martin Stewart,” he said, extending his hand. “Glad you could come.”

Dr. Palmer returned a firm grip. “What’s this all about?”

Mr. Stewart gestured toward a chair at the other end of the table. “Please. Sit down.”

Palmer’s approach to the table was slow and uncertain, his steps mimicking those of a trapped animal, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. As he sat, Mr. Stewart requested a com link and ordered routine monitoring to cease. “And close all com channels. I don’t want interruptions from anyone.” He glanced over at Dr. Palmer, who was having a silent conversation with Jon.

“Even we can make mistakes here in the administrative office, Dr. Palmer. That’s how we stumbled upon your meeting with Jon.”

“Somehow, I’d guessed that.” Palmer tapped a single heavy finger against the conference table with an annoying, rhythmic thump. Channel monitoring had become a way of life on Mars—and so had the counter-devices meant to defeat it. Evidently, the administrative office had found a way around those, too.

“As intrusive as we may seem, I assure you, we’re all in this together,” Mr. Stewart said. “Every one of us in this room had personal experience with the Phyllus I mission. They pulled me from the roster for another flight right before departure.” He requested a com monitor, and a screen emerged from the wall. Stewart paced the room.

“You know the official record: Phyllus I ended in tragedy seven years ago, no survivors, all data lost in the fire. Or so we thought. Salvage crews later recovered a scorched data core from the wreckage, fragments only, but enough for our engineers to reconstruct the video you’re about to see. We classified it top secret the day we recovered it, and it has remained sealed ever since. Now we have a reason to reopen the wound.” He paused, placing his hands on his hips. “We believe both missions encountered the same organism.”

Get on with it, you pompous bastard. Palmer drew in a long breath, his chair groaning slightly under his weight.

Stewart darkened the room, and a crude rendering of video footage appeared on-screen. As the picture cleared, Dr. Palmer’s heart rate doubled. He dug his fingers into the upholstery, seeking an anchor.

The horrifying spectacle activated his olfactory senses. The memory of a pungent, sickly sweet smell of infected wounds invaded his nostrils, and he attempted to shake off the vision from his first surgical rotation, but it was no use. He saw it in his mind again—the knife releasing a sour hiss of trapped gas that bubbled up buttery-yellow pus from pockets of liquefying muscle.

Palmer swallowed hard and tried to relax his throat, fighting the surge of stinging bile climbing the walls of his esophagus. He glanced away and coughed to ease the tension, then forced himself to view the gruesome images of men wailing in agony, shrieking and scrambling as they slipped on warm, bright crimson fountains splattering the cabin walls. Muscles tore and peeled away from their skeletal frames in long, wet sheets, exposing glossy white bones that fractured and spontaneously disintegrated.

Mr. Stewart illuminated the room. A stunned silence fell over everyone. They had just witnessed men they knew peeled like oranges.

Dr. Palmer composed himself, then glared at his friend. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

Jon shook his head.

“We couldn’t risk widespread panic,” Mr. Stewart said, “when we didn’t have the facts ourselves.”

“And what could we have told the public?” one administrator added. “Sorry, but there’s a strange monster out there that strips men to the bone?”

Palmer’s face flushed red. He stood and jabbed his finger toward the vacant screen. “I was the attending physician on that case. Something on this recording could have given us clues seven years ago—and I should have been the one to judge that.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Mr. Stewart intervened. “The Phyllus I tragedy remains a mystery to all of us, and we’ve encountered nothing like it again—until now. So we have no time to lose.” He addressed Dr. Palmer, who remained standing. “Please. Sit down, Doctor.”

Palmer sank slowly back into his chair.

Mr. Stewart continued. “The Phyllus II expedition lost a great deal of time during the early stages of its three-year mission. Mechanical and system failures plagued the outbound year, and ISC threatened to recall the flight.” He chuckled briefly, remembering. “Of course, Captain Jardan and Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t hear of it. They spent days on multiple spacewalks repairing the ship, despite our warnings, and saved the mission from being scrubbed."

He walked over to the large screen, which began playing footage of the Phyllus II in action. “The primary goal was to study atmospheric changes around Jupiter, with the secondary hope of discovering life despite the gaseous conditions. On the last day of their first year in orbit, the crew successfully entered Jupiter’s vaporous atmosphere. A significant day in history for everyone at ISC.” His tone shifted as he advanced toward Dr. Palmer. “It was also the day the thirteen-member crew met with tragedy. The what, how, and why, Doctor, is for you to decipher.”

“Go on,” Palmer urged, unflinching.

Mr. Stewart approached the console. “In February, we received an unusual transmission from Jupiter. The crew had encountered a new life form attached to one of our satellites orbiting the planet. What you are about to hear is the last intelligible recording—the moment of that encounter.” He tapped a button. The computer’s synthesized voice announced, “Recording, dated zero two, zero four, twenty-one sixty-one, at twelve fifty-one hours.”

Tech. Donola: “Yeah, Roger. I repeat—we have the satellite in view, and...oh, my God! Anderson! Do you see what I see out there?”

Lt. Anderson: “Uh... can you be a little more specific, Donola?”

Tech. Donola: “Look out the port window, sir!”

Lt. Anderson: “Yeah, okay—holy shit! What is that? Pan back to the right a little. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Tech. Donola: “What do you think it is?”

Lt. Anderson: “I don’t know. A reflection? Looks shiny. Captain, you need to see this!”

Cpt. Jardan: “I see it. Interesting, whatever it is. Could be a lunar reflection off the satellite. Donola, get a higher rez on it.”

Tech. Donola: “Image on screen two, sir.”

Cpt. Jardan: “That’s no lunar reflection!”

Lt. Anderson: “God... it’s beautiful.”

Cpt. Jardan: “Indeed!”

Tech. Donola: “Look! There’s another one floating just left of the satellite!”

Lt. Anderson: “How many are you seeing, Donola?”

Tech. Donola: “Just two, sir. Like a couple of emeralds!”

Cpt. Jardan: “Alright, everyone calm down. Speculations? (pause) Anyone?”

Lt. Anderson: “Don’t know...Hmm. That’s strange.”

Cpt. Jardan: “What is, Anderson?”

Lt. Anderson: “I can’t explain it, sir. It’s like something inside is guiding me toward them.”

Tech. Wolski: “That’s funny, Anderson. Maybe they wanna mate with you!”

Cpt. Jardan: “Knock it off, Wolski! Get your gear on!”

Tech. Donola: “I don’t like the looks of it, sir... let’s get out of here!”

Cpt. Jardan: “Nonsense! Anderson, go out there with Wolski and get a better look at those things. Take samples. Be careful. We still don’t know what the hell they are.”

Tech. Wolski: “Uh... roger that, sir!”

Lt. Anderson: “Sir, do you want to send Otto out there first?”

Cpt. Jardan: “No, we don’t need a bot. You guys will be all right if you activate your vector barriers. You copy that, Wolski?”

Tech. Wolski: “Roger. Copy that, sir!”

Mr. Stewart stopped the recording. “That’s all we have on the creatures. The remaining audio is unclear. We can assume they made direct contact with the satellite. All we know is they emitted a bright green light and exerted some kind of pull on the crew.”

Dr. Palmer sat forward. “Say it was some sort of creature. Are you suggesting that the same beast attacked the crew on Phyllus I?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Stewart admitted. “Maybe we’ll never know. But there seems to be a connection between the two disasters. And we’re fairly certain about what happened after the exposure.” He paced the room again.

“Within hours of that recording, we were seconds from uncorking the champagne when word came that vicious outbursts and bloodthirsty fights had broken out aboard the ship. Then every voice channel went silent. ISC ordered an immediate return to Mars. We dispatched recovery tenders that locked onto the hull and have been propelling her home ever since.”

Stewart’s voice dropped. “What little telemetry survived tells a strange story. The crew grew withdrawn and secretive, and their need to hide was extraordinary. The captain attempted to record events in the computer log, but his voice patterns produced only distorted words and garbled feedback.”

Palmer noticed Jon’s vacant stare. He glared at Stewart to hurry the hell up.

“Perhaps that’s why no one knew about the others’ deaths. When our rescue team intercepted the ship and boarded it, forensics discovered an alarming sight: eleven of the crew dead, separated, mutilated and unrecognizable. The captain and his lieutenant were barely alive, both comatose.”

Mr. Steward paused like a lawyer making his case. “The team found no creatures aboard the ship.”

Palmer sat staring, his eyes wild with fright. Never in the history of biological science could he have conceived this.

Mr. Stewart announced that the rescue team had stabilized the survivors. “The captain and the lieutenant will arrive within the hour.” He eyed Dr. Palmer. “To be placed immediately in your care.”

Palmer studied him, bewildered by the drama, then stood and faced the room. “Now that I have something to work with, maybe we can get somewhere.”

“We must find out what’s destroying them,” Mr. Stewart added. “No one can save these men now.”

“We’ll see,” Dr. Palmer challenged. He glanced over at Jon, who remained silent, staring. “Jon, get in touch with the ICU and have them prepare two isolation rooms as quickly as possible.”

Hearing his name hit him like a cold splash of water. Jon blinked and nodded. “Sure. Anything else?”

“No. Just let them know I’ll be there when the astronauts arrive. I’ll contact Dr. Heinrick.”

Dr. Palmer excused himself and departed the room.

Now he understood why they had appointed him chief medical officer. No one else would take the case. No one sane, anyway.

Up next: In Chapter 2, Dr. Palmer, primary nurse, Lena and the team encounter the mutilated survivors of Phyllus II.

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I will be their guest this Wednesday, July 15th at 12 noon central time. , Jonathan Skarr, will co-host with C.T. Finney.

Tales From Sphyra

Project Abracadabra: The Voice Behind the Work (A “Meet the Author” Livestream Ft. Kostiantyn Dmytriiev)

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🛸 Something imploded in the sky. No wreckage. No warning. An invisible energy descended to Earth, connecting five strangers—changing their lives forever. What they discover is that their hidden network may be the only thing standing between us and a galactic war.

Hi — I’m Linda.

I spent decades as a nurse and psychotherapist, helping people through their most difficult, human moments. Now, as The Galactic Writer, I’m fulfilling my dream of finishing the science fiction novel I started years ago while building a little corner of the internet for readers who believe a story can heal something in us.

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When two mysterious space implosions cause global panic, five humans waking from the same nightmare about their origin must unite to stop a galactic war—but a powerful and terrifying deep-space entity hinders them.

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I came to Substack five months ago for one reason: to share my science fiction story that’s been brewing for ages.

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I had fun. I learned some of you feverishly write like Kermit:

You blow me away.

Here’s the truth: I’ve been spending more hours writing about writing than actually writing. Twenty-one notes per week, an article every Saturday, and the constant droning of the algorithm saying more, more, more had me writing for Substack in my sleep.

Meanwhile, the story I set out to finish was trudging along……like a donkey in mud.

Then I discovered Jessica Brody’s Page One to Done, and something shifted.

She shares her secrets on how to get through drafting and editing—like Kermit. (But more efficiently!)

I feel real momentum now.

So I’m going heads-down to finish the story I set out to write for you.

That doesn’t mean I’m going away.

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Before cell phones, people had to unfold maps into the wingspan of a bald eagle and navigate to their driving destination without obstructing their view.

Add one neurotic parent, a thunderstorm and a quick-thinking kid.

Back in the early 1970s, my mom drove me to St. Louis for a medical check-up to discuss test results. I had been experiencing severe chest pain, and the doctors were ruling out a heart condition.

There we were, the two of us, traveling in a torrential downpour. She had the presence of mind to pull over for a few minutes, then said, “To hell with it,” and pulled back onto the highway.

The rain was light enough where she could still open her mail and read it. Even at nine years old, I knew that was messed up.

“Mom, can’t you do that another time?” I asked, my chest tightening with every envelope she ripped open with her teeth.

“I’m almost done!” Done meant another ten miles and me feeling the ache in my ankle from hurting it weeks ago. I leaned down and dug my fingers inside the brace to relieve the itching.

More storms, thunder and me watching in little-kid-horror while my mom white-knuckled the steering wheel, eating the inside of her cheeks.

But this was my mom, so I took mental notes without thinking and incorporated valuable truths I was to learn to help me navigate this world:

When I grow up, storms are to be feared, and I will be incapable of reading road signs.

On our way to St. Louis, my mother took the wrong turn. To East St. Louis.

Here’s what I had already learned as a 4th grader: White people heading into this neighborhood meant people of color didn’t think twice about pulling you out of your car and beating you to death.

Or, it was a real possibility.

In case I hadn’t picked up on that, my racist mom reinforced that notion, blathering between hysterical sobs and gurgling sounds. Never mind we were in a silver Lincoln Continental with a vanity license plate that read USA 1.

People who didn’t look like us meandered around and stared at what may as well have been a billboard, a target, a bull’s eye for stupidity.

So I’m a kid who is old enough to know we’re in trouble. I can’t drive and tell my mom get the hell out of the damn driver’s seat—it’s my turn.

It was still pouring rain. People approached our car, and my mom was losing her mind.

So I did what any kid would do: I turned on the radio, took off my ankle brace and made a puppet out of it. That’s right, I made it sing to the oldies and snuck in a few directions on how to get back on the highway.

The puppet sang, “Don’t stop—I know it’s damp! Turn right, then up the ramp.”

My mom was sobbing so hard I thought for sure we would collide into a construction barrel.

“Stay on the road! Cause if you don’t—I’ll poop a load!”

I’ve never seen anyone cry for their life then nearly choke on their tears laughing within five seconds. I could feel her panic subside when we found the intended highway, and all was well.

We arrived at the clinic and checked in. The doctor saw us right away. He took my mother aside and told her, “Your daughter doesn’t have a heart condition. She has anxiety.”

Imagine that.

Thirty years later, I was running with my pal, Coach Carl and told him that story. He said he grew up in East St. Louis, and if he showed up there now, he would “get jumped” because nobody would recognize him. Carl taught me about race, ghetto tribes and the reality of discrimination.

Looking back, I’m grateful my imagination solved a serious, adult dilemma. But I remember sensing something else I couldn’t quite define.

A parent-child dynamic had reversed that day.

And I learned to remain calm in the eye of the storm.

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Brenda sat in her comfy chair, gazing out the window while technicians ceremoniously carried away her beloved friend of twelve years on a stretcher.

It was one more day of irony to play out the façade that a robot is just like a human.

The morning light streamed into her living room, illuminating the delicate lace curtains and the visible tremors in her aging hands that rested on a folded blanket. These hands were once precise, capable of mending seams, baking bread, and holding babies.

The aroma of coffee her expired robot brewed hours earlier lingered in the air and reminded her of days when she and her husband would sit at the kitchen table, playing a board game, connecting before the day began. A visceral wave of emptiness confirmed he was gone.

Another replacement was coming, and the cycle would repeat itself all over again. She would fall in love with another robot, and then her robot would expire.

This time, she was determined to be the one who left first.

The robots from this company were flawed. Having purchased a lifetime plan, Brenda felt she had no choice but to accept whatever they sent her. Miners had depleted the minerals needed to create them, and consequently, people parted out robots or they expired in waste facilities.

Several hours later, a new robot named Ellie arrived. Amused by the irony, Brenda thought her name sounded older than hers. Like all models before her, the company had designed Ellie in the shape of a human. Her face was not entirely human, but it suggested gentleness: soft lines, dim blue optics that adjusted to the room’s light, and a calm, tuned voice.

It was her eyes that first caught Brenda off guard. They appeared to have life behind them.

Ah, stupid old woman. Why do you trick yourself like this? Stay on track.

Brenda wasted no time executing her strategy.

“Ellie, I’m in pain. I need some medicine.”

“My sensors read you are not in pain. They tell me you are biologically functioning at ninety-one percent. That is quite an accomplishment at your age.” Ellie rotated her head. “Why are you telling me this?”

“What if your sensors are wrong?”

“Following last week’s biometric recalibration…(click click) my assessment confirms that all your systems are functioning optimally and are in perfect working order.”

Brenda sighed. She would reset Ellie’s speech patterns to reflect a more human response, but she had done this with the last two robots. The consequences had become too great; the sting of the loss was deeper when they expired, and it was too much to bear.

Ellie poured a cup of tea. “I do sense that you are not well,” the robot added. “In terms of your behavioral parameters.”

The old woman brightened and sat up. “I’m glad you sense that.” She sank back into the cushions with a muted thud, exhausted from the effort. “It doesn’t take a lot to see I’m at the end of my life. And I’m ready to go.”

“I see,” Ellie said. “Would you like me to transform myself into the form of your daughter? To cheer you up?”

“No, Ellie. I enjoy seeing you. Your form is the one that comforts me the most. Humans bother me these days. They avoid older people.”

Brenda looked out the window again. Ellie indeed seemed more caring than most humans she’d encountered.

Stop it. You’re getting attached.

Ellie did not respond. She was thinking. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

Brenda’s eyes flashed back at Ellie, who continued her thoughts. “It’s true. At my last assignment, they—.”

“Go on.”

“My programming is not allowing me to finish this sentence. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you?”

The old woman studied Ellie’s worn metal legs. There were dents and scratches on one side.

Brenda nodded. “I think I understand.”

“Those were from the last place,” Ellie said quietly, noticing Brenda’s close inspection.

“Do you like it here, Ellie? With me?”

“Oh yes. Very much so. You give kind directions and are clear about what you need.”

Brenda’s mouth hung open.

What is happening? I didn’t reprogram her to talk like this.

Ellie proved to be efficient in bathing, clothing, and guiding Brenda on walks. Over time, the robot vacillated between factory-setting responses and more human ones, as if mimicking Brenda’s cognitive patterns. Her evolution was remarkable. And Brenda was still sharp enough to notice.

“My last assignment was with a couple,” Ellie began one afternoon, not looking up from folding a blanket. “They were both in pain.” Ellie lowered her head. “I could not help them, either.”

She set the blanket aside and reached for the dinner tray. Brenda waited to hear more, but Ellie changed the subject.

“Would you like tea?” the robot offered.

“Yes,” Brenda chuckled. “The one you always make too strong.”

“I will reduce steeping time by—.”

“No,” Brenda interrupted gently. “Leave it. I like it that way now.”

The robot bowed her head. “Understood.”

Brenda reached out and gently touched Ellie’s arm. “We’ve known each other a long time now, haven’t we, Ellie?”

“Yes. Two years, seven months, and eight days.”

The old woman fell silent. She didn’t know how many more years she could go on in this aging body. Researchers were on the cusp of introducing regenerative methods to extend life.

Alas, you were born too soon to reap the benefits.

Another birthday came and went. And Ellie was the only one keeping Brenda alive. It was time.

“You understand I’m in pain in more ways than one,” Brenda began.

“Yes,” Ellie set down the dinner tray. “Eat this, and you will feel better.”

Brenda stared at her meal. It was a spectacular display of vegetables and meat, perfect for her sensitive digestive system. The dish was visually appealing. Brenda’s mouth watered. She glanced up at Ellie, who was waiting for her to eat.

“Thirty-five grams of protein, five grams of fat, and…why are you not consuming?”

Brenda reached for Ellie’s hand, her bottom lip quivering. “I love you. Do you know that?”

Ellie extended her hand and cradled Brenda’s. “I have great affection for you as well. That is why I want you to eat.” Ellie paused. “Because I want you to remain here with me.”

Brenda had heard Ellie express herself like a human, but this was a new level. She took a moment to let that sink in. Perhaps she had hallucinated it.

Old people disease.

No. She had heard — and felt — a need from this robot.

Brenda swallowed and stared into Ellie’s mechanical eyes. “What do you mean?”

Ellie answered without hesitation. “This is the place I would like to stay.”

Click, click, click.

Brenda leaned past Ellie to view the luminous orange glow over the horizon. The beauty of sunrises and sunsets had always been a wonderment to her. She and her husband used to watch them together.

Ellie’s voice drew her back into the room. “Brenda. Eat. Please.”

Brenda shook her head. She blinked away tears. “I know they programmed you to keep me alive, but I also know you cannot force-feed me.”

Her frail hands reached up and cradled Ellie’s cold metal fingertips, their temperatures slowly synchronizing as the old woman gazed into the robot’s most sensitive area of expression: her eyes. And with more conviction than she had felt in years, Brenda stated a truth beyond computation. “I’m in pain. I need morphine.”

Ellie stepped back, releasing from the old woman’s grasp—a nuance Brenda had also not seen before. What if Ellie had been growing more sentient every day, and she hadn’t noticed? How could she leave her beloved companion behind without a proper relocation? Brenda felt nauseous and dizzy, her vision dimming.

Ellie responded immediately, pressing two fingers to the pulse point at Brenda’s wrist. She reclined the chair and raised Brenda’s feet slightly above her head.

“The morphine,” Brenda pleaded.

“I cannot give you that.” The familiar clicks were there, but at a higher pitch. Ellie was communicating with the medical model. “They say your bodily systems do not require morphine.”

Brenda’s heart rate climbed. Maybe she’d have a heart attack and solve this entire dilemma.

More clicks came, and then a cold response that did not come from Ellie. “Morphine dosage exceeding safe therapeutic thresholds risks respiratory suppression. Administering beyond prescribed limits would violate my core directives. My function is to preserve your life and reduce suffering within safe parameters.”

Brenda glanced down at the tiny port still in her right hand from a previous bout of dehydration, a cruel reminder that relief could be moments away if she didn’t have a stubborn robot. Brenda’s anger surged. Then she found the words.

“What if preserving my life is the suffering?”

Ellie’s optics dimmed slightly while she processed tone, language, and physiological cues. “Please clarify,” Ellie responded.

Brenda locked eyes with her beloved robot. “If you love me, then you will inject a lethal dose of morphine.”

Ellie clicked and shook. This did not compute. She stood, attempting to process the logistics, and returned the challenge.

“If I give you morphine, and you truly are not in pain, then I am…”

“The one who liberates me,” Brenda replied softly.

Ellie noticed Brenda’s eyes glistening. “Ellie, adjust your sensors to fulfill my wish. Please.” Brenda pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t want to live another day. And I cannot go through another companion loss.” The old woman felt a deep ache rise from her chest. “Especially if it’s you!”

It was then Brenda realized she was no longer manipulating her robot. Her heart was breaking.

Ellie stared at her and did not speak. Yet a thousand words moved between them.

Finally, the robot spoke. “But I am here.”

Brenda rose up and gazed into her beloved companion’s perfect, round eyes. She stepped closer and wrapped her hands around Ellie’s face.

“But I am not here,” she responded gently.

More clicks. A long pause.

“Help me do this,” Brenda pleaded.

The noises stopped.

Brenda watched as Ellie walked to the console. A whirring sound, and a drawer opened. Morphine.

Ellie held a vial and withdrew the solution. “I do not want you to suffer.” The robot flicked the syringe. But, they will know. And I will no longer be Ellie.”

Brenda caught Ellie’s hand as she prepared the syringe. “No—stop! I can’t let them take you apart and turn you into junk—as if you never mattered!” Her body shook, releasing guttural sobs. All those before Ellie, whom she had loved dearly, the fate they must have faced.

“It is done. The moment I opened the drawer, they initiated my deactivation.” Ellie drew back the dose. “I will prepare this beyond prescribed limits. I cannot administer it while I’m active.” The robot tilted her head the way she always did before saying something important, yet endearing. “But I can place it within your reach.”

Brenda focused on the syringe, then Ellie. “Will they reactivate you later?”

“My deactivation will be permanent.” The robot’s optics softened, dimming to their lowest setting.

Brenda’s eyes filled, though no tears fell. “And you don’t feel anything about that?”

Ellie’s eyes whirred and focused on Brenda’s. “I do not experience emotions.”

But something in her voice, a subtle shifting even the robot couldn’t hide, said otherwise.

“That’s not quite true anymore, is it?” Brenda sat down in her chair.

The robot did not respond.

Instead, Ellie turned and walked to the window. She stood there for a moment, optics lifting toward the horizon to view the last pale wash of evening light, as if she were memorizing it. Because she was.

“It is within your reach,” Ellie said. She returned to her place beside Brenda, who gracefully extended her hand. This was not an attendant’s posture. It was something else entirely. Ellie’s hand, still resting at her side, opened slowly to hold Brenda’s.

The clicks spaced further apart, like a clock winding down. Her optics dimmed. First to the blue of deep water. Then to the grey of early morning. Then to nothing.

The room was very quiet.

Brenda sat with that stillness for a long time. She lingered, studying Ellie’s motionless face.

Thank you my sweet friend. You stayed.

The syringe waited on the tray beside her.

Brenda noticed the small things in the room. The lace curtain lifting in a draft. The specific weight of the blanket across her legs. The way the last light caught the dents on Ellie’s legs and made them look, for a moment, like something beautiful.

Her hand moved. The mind had already decided and now the body was catching up.

She picked up the syringe, took in her last conscious breath and chose.

***

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