The Symbionts of Murkor Read online

  “Perhaps they lack water to make coffee,” Garcia said, trying to smile.

  “We can only hope.”

  “Get out of here. Get some rest.”

  After Carlos departed, Garcia chastised himself for failing to offer more words of encouragement.

  He then contemplated how and when to evacuate Nadir.

  ***

  Carlos had convinced himself that Ellis, at the behest of the Coalition, was responsible for Nadir’s emergency. His inability to counter that threat meant he was failing Garcia much the same way as when he had helplessly stood by while his father lost everything at the hands of the same enemy. It was this subconscious association that fanned the flames of his hatred and greatly influenced how he approached the technical problem he was facing.

  It is why, although a brilliant engineer, he had failed to uncover the rudimentary cause of the ESS/Nexus malfunction. Although he had correctly surmised that the Nexus was responsible for shutting down the carbon dioxide scrubber, he was blinded as to why it would issue what appeared to be an illogical command.

  The Nexus made decisions based on real-time information supplied by scores of detectors, historical operational data, and a cache of previously infused technical knowledge. Its programming specific to carbon dioxide levels was to assure that both upper and lower thresholds, those amounts determined to be deleterious to human health, were never exceeded.

  It is common knowledge that breathing in too much carbon dioxide is detrimental. Outside those in the medical field, it is markedly less known that too little carbon dioxide (hypocapnia) can be fatal. Rarely, almost never, is it the result of poor ambient air quality, rather than physiological causes. Unfortunately, that distinction wasn’t the Nexus’s concern.

  The carbon dioxide detector in the ESS’s main air plenum had passed multiple inspections. The readings it was actively displaying had been confirmed by independent air samples. The detector’s defect was more insidious. It was erroneously signaling Nexus that carbon dioxide levels were far below the threshold required for respiration. At first, the Nexus reacted cautiously, ramping down the scrubber in an attempt to increase the amount of carbon dioxide in the air. Unaffected, the faulty detector continued transmitting erroneous readings to the Nexus. In response, even as actual carbon dioxide levels continued to increase, the Nexus took the scrubber off-line.

  Carlos’s clever attempt to fix the problem only managed to make matters worse. Redirecting plenum air to the oxygen concentrator to remove carbon dioxide was an action the Nexus was unfamiliar with and, therefore, confusing. Unable to reconcile several streams of conflicting data (low carbon dioxide, reduction in oxygen produced by the concentrator, reduced volume of air passing through the ESS’s plenum) the Nexus concluded that Nadir was unoccupied. Overcompensating, it did something Carlos guessed correctly, but for the wrong reason. It curtailed oxygen intake from Murkor’s atmosphere by deactivating the oxygen concentrator.

  Another pair of experienced eyes, those not looking through a fog of hatred, would have discovered the original defect and swapped out the faulty carbon dioxide detector. Problem solved.

  Because no one else on base had the expertise to diagnose the defect, all Garcia could do (and the lack did nothing to bolster his own flagging confidence) was to coax Carlos into looking at the ESS/Nexus problem in a different light. Given the engineer’s current state of mind, the prospects of that happening was exceedingly unlikely.

  ***

  Shortly after maneuvering Amanda Cruz into discussing her failed sexual overtures toward Garcia, Roya Allawi sought a second opinion on the matter. An opportunity presented itself when she and Marianna Perez met over lunch in the area of L2 designated for such purposes.

  “Yesterday I had an enlightening chat with Amanda,” Roya began.

  “You won’t be violating any confidences?” Mariana replied, not particularly caring if the answer was “yes.” She’d insist on hearing it anyway.

  “A confidence on this base?” Roya responded. “Is there such a thing?”

  “Very few,” Mariana agreed. “With you and me around.”

  “This isn’t one either. If it was, I’d still be disinclined to keep what I learned to myself. It concerns Amanda’s dealings with the Comandante.”

  “You have my attention,” Mariana remarked. “Maybe it’ll shed some light on the Comandante’s recent behavior. I’m worried about him.”

  “You and I both,” Roya replied. “What Amanda volunteered explains some of it. Putting it bluntly, she has her claws in him and won’t let go.”

  “Did you ask her to?” Mariana knew that Roya was capable of asking, and more.

  “Not in so many words. She appeared blissfully unaware of my hints.”

  “And he can’t extricate himself?”

  Roya shrugged. “There’s more. Earlier, I overheard them talking. She seems intent on cornering him.”

  “Can you blame her?” Mariana said, looking carefully at her friend.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never get lonely for a man’s company?”

  “Of course. It’ll wait. Has to.”

  “It has to,” Mariana repeated. The reply was perfunctory, as if disappointed. “I’ve been here as long as anyone. I have my own desires—sometimes I feel that I’m only one look, innuendo, or casual touch away from doing exactly what our dear colleague Amanda is doing. Or trying to.”

  “But you don’t,” Roya replied. “And if you did find yourself in a similar circumstance, you’d know when to back away. Amanda hasn’t a clue. Maybe she never will.”

  “Okay,” Mariana said, “but I’m not sure what, or even if, we could do about it. Should we be meddling—”

  “Meddling in what?” Gustavo interjected, slumping into an empty seat, two fiercely blank stares greeting him in answer. On the table, topic for a safer conversation, were two unfinished plates of food. “Not hungry, ladies?”

  “You know, Gustavo,” Mariana said, “you have a talent for pointing out the obvious.”

  “Just one of my many. Or is that obvious too?”

  “Be careful,” Roya replied, “you’re starting to sound like Carlos.”

  “He’ll be flattered by the comparison,” Gustavo said, turning to Mariana. “Would you mind dispensing a little doctorly advice? I hesitate to ask, seeing you got up on the wrong side of the bedside manner.”

  “She’s not a psychiatrist,” Roya commented.

  “Seriously.”

  “What’s troubling you?” Mariana asked. “Don’t say lack of energy. That’s the air we’re breathing.”

  “Not that. I do a lot of reading. Up until two days ago I had no difficulty seeing number ten font. Now I’m having trouble making out size eleven.”

  Mariana immediately became more attentive. “Is there a difference in acuity between eyes? Headaches? Do you see halos around lights?”

  “No difference between eyes—no halos. Sorry, what was the other question?”

  “I forgot it myself,” Mariana said. “Oh, yes—headaches. Any headaches?”

  “Minor—”

  “Likely from eyestrain, maybe the air we’ve been breathing. Stop by later for an optical exam. Keep in mind I don’t have a full array of instruments. I can do little more than rule in or out the obvious.”

  “Understood. I don’t recall you saying that low oxygen causes headaches.”

  “Didn’t I? It does. That’s not our problem, though.”

  “Sure is,” Gustavo insisted.

  Mariana looked to Roya for help.

  “Gustavo apparently knows something we don’t,” Roya said.

  “That would be a first.”

  “Neither of you has been informed?” Gustavo asked. Upon receiving two shakes of the head, he explained the latest troubles with Nadir’s atmospherics.

  The urgency of the moment had yet to sink in when Garcia and Amanda stepped off the staircase that spiraled up from the crews’ private quarters on L1. The
fact that the two were together was indicative of nothing, but as they approached Mariana and Roya exchanged speculative glances—noticed, and outwardly ignored, by Amanda.

  “Good, we’re assembled,” Garcia said, as he and Amanda took places at the table. “Carlos is preoccupied at the moment. For the time being, I think it best that he not be distracted by what we’re about to discuss.”

  “Gustavo just filled us in,” Roya said.

  “My apologies,” Gustavo said. “I should have sooner. I was unaware they hadn’t been informed.”

  “No, it is I who have been remiss in communicating the gravity of the situation we are facing,” Garcia insisted. “I am no longer persuaded that whatever has affected the ESS can be rectified. I’m contemplating some very unpalatable choices—”

  “We’ve never seen an engineering problem stump Carlos,” Gustavo said.

  “True enough,” Garcia agreed. “Except if it traces to a subverted Nexus, there may be no remedy at his disposal.”

  “Zenith conspiracy or not, do you doubt that’s where the defect lies?”

  Garcia pondered this for a long moment. “To the extent that I asked Amanda to perform a separate air sample analysis—”

  “And it confirms exactly what Carlos has previously reported,” Nadir’s chemist replied in a tone that suggested to the other two women that Garcia was continuing to resist her advances.

  “Can the oxygen loss be attributed to the misaligned exterior panels?” Roya asked.

  “Pressure loss is taxing the system.”

  “Selectively purging more oxygen than nitrogen?”

  “You’re joking?” Amanda said.

  As an accomplished scientist, Roya was well aware that this was not a reasonable possibility. She did not try to cover her mistake.

  “Pretty dumb of me.”

  “Yeah,” Gustavo agreed. “Thanks. You managed to take the pressure off the rest of us. Pardon the pun.”

  “None of us are thinking clearly,” Garcia observed. “Mariana? What’s ahead for us?”

  “We’re already feeling the first effects of hypoxia and carbon dioxide poisoning. As conditions worsen they’ll be impairment to our physical and mental abilities. Below fifteen percent oxy, we’ll have difficulty tying our shoes. That is if we can even remember where to find them.”

  “When I pressed Carlos,” Garcia said, “he projected oxygen loss at somewhere between one-half and one percent per day. Under the circumstances, it would be wise to make important decisions now.”

  Mariana nodded agreement, thought a moment, then said: “I have a few stimulants that can alleviate symptoms. A short-term solution at best.”

  Garcia turned to Gustavo. “Are there any Unión vessels within six days of Murkor?”

  “None known. Our resupply ship is ten days out.”

  “Oxygen is just below eighteen percent now,” Garcia said, struggling to remember the exact number. Performing a calculation in his head, he fixated on Mariana. As usual, she grasped what he was contemplating.

  “Survivable?” Mariana said, having managed the same calculation. “With great difficulty, Comandante. What if Carlos is wrong? There’s no margin of error. What if the oxygen loss accelerates? And there’s the debris field to consider. The supply ship could arrive a day or two too late. Or never. Even with no delay, we won’t be happy waiting.”

  “Then I see no other reasonable alternative,” a resigned Garcia responded. “I am forced to request assistance from Zenith.”

  “And if Carlos is correct,” Amanda protested, “we played right into Ellis’s hands.”

  “And what, exactly, would you have us do?” The inquiry coming from Roya.

  “You heard,” Amanda responded. “We have sufficient time. We wait Ellis out.”

  “I see that hypoxia is affecting some of us more than others,” Gustavo observed.

  “How can you jest?” Amanda demanded.

  “How can you not?” Gustavo replied. “And who’s jesting?”

  “That’s enough,” Garcia responded. “I can—I will defer contacting Zenith for a few more hours. I should give Carlos at least that much time. Let’s listen to what he has to report later this evening. After dinner.”

  “Sure,” Gustavo said, once more focusing, or trying to, on the barely touched plates of food. “If anyone has an appetite to hear it.”

  Conversation turned to more mundane matters.

  No one, including Garcia, fully apprehended what would befall them.

  That would come soon enough.

  ***

  “Where’s Gustavo?” Garcia asked hours later, everyone else having collected at the dining table, the only furnishing that could accommodate six people comfortably.

  “He asked that we start without him, Roya answered. “Mumbled something important came up.”

  “More important than us asphyxiating?” Mariana said.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Garcia protested, grimacing at the remark.

  A look around the table belied his optimism. They were starting to look as tired as he felt. In comparing experiences, the common compliant was lethargy and reduced appetite. Loss of mental acuity, which they all marginally labored under, was harder to quantify. Gustavo and Amanda complained of blurry vision; Roya, a slight impairment to hearing.

  Earlier in the day, Mariana ordered physical exams for the crew. The limited tests she was able to perform revealed little out of the ordinary: One or two ailments atypical of mild hypoxia/elevated carbon dioxide, a slight variation in symptom severity and onset among the crew. She attributed these discrepancies to the human body’s ability to respond in different ways to the same affliction.

  Five hours had elapsed since the previous meeting and still Carlos had nothing favorable to report except a small, unaccountable decrease in the rise of carbon dioxide. That only made him more adamant in assigning blame.

  “I did exactly as you asked, Comandante,” he contended. “I went through every subsystem and detector again. There is no defect in ESS. The answer lies with the Nexus.”

  “Then we should request assistance,” Garcia said. “What’s to be gained by delay?”

  “Because I’ll find an end-run around the damn thing,” Carlos replied, refusing to relent. Seeing no response to his optimism, except, perhaps, in Amanda’s face, he exclaimed: “Wait a second! Is this meeting about begging Zenith for help?!”

  Garcia was about to respond when Gustavo’s arrival was preceded by the rattling sound his footfalls made on the spiral staircase leading from the lower level. He seldom looked angry. He did now.

  “Those Coalition bastards tunneled into our mindstor.”

  “What?!” Carlos shouted. “I told you—”

  “How did they find their way in?” Garcia asked, cutting Carlos off.

  “By latching onto our CAM-L’s com signal the last time we were out and about. I’m afraid they acquired the data residing on its memory.”

  Roya couldn’t prevent herself from stating the obvious. “That gives them the location of every water resource in our exclusion zone!”

  Gustavo nodded in agreement. “And that breach is what I’m sure of. I suspect they used our internal transmissions to access the base’s primary mindstor. It’s anybody’s guess what they obtained once there.”

  “You see what’s happening?” Carlos implored. “They expected us to come crawling. We didn’t, so now they’re getting desperate. It’s just a matter of time before they’ll use the information they stole to make an incursion.”

  “One problem at a time,” Garcia cautioned, gesturing for Carlos to be silent. “Was an attempt made to compromise any of our operating systems?”

  “None that I could determine,” Gustavo replied. “Perhaps they didn’t have time. The intrusion could have only been during transmissions back to base. They also have to decipher what they obtained.”

  “So what put you on to this?” Garcia asked.

  “Zenith did.”

  �
��What?”

  “I was performing a routine check of our security protocols when a solitary word unexpectedly appeared on the screen and then faded away—like it never existed at all. I traced the source backward—”

  “Are you going to make us ask?” Amanda protested.

  Gustavo hesitated, in turn glancing in Carlos’s direction, then Garcia’s.

  “Venimos.”

  The word hung in the still air like a cloud of sarin gas.

  “Fucking chancro bastards!” Carlos screamed, rising out of his chair. “Well, let them come! Let them come!”

  “Quiet yourself,” Garcia ordered. Except there was no heart in the command and no remonstration in his voice as he watched the young engineer, shaking in anger, kick back his chair and storm to the room’s viewport, where he silently stood looking out.

  Searching for an enemy he despised and finding only a lifeless, forlorn landscape.

  “What do you see, Carlos?” Garcia said knowingly, coming up behind him to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Are you seeing our future somewhere out there, or your past?”

  “I see—I see both, Comandante.”

  “Come back to the table,” Garcia urged, leading him away. “We have the present to deal with, and we can only do that when we’re all together.”

  After they were seated, after their pent-up anger toward Zenith and Coalition was vented, an exhausted silence set in. Five expectant faces stared intently at Garcia, hoping he could make sense of what was happening to them. Waiting for direction.

  His crew, Garcia thought. Was Gustavo breathing heavy? Probably the effect of running up from the L1 com hub in the poor air… Carlos, eyes glazed, sublimating his anger… Amanda, messaging and flexing the fingers of her right hand…

  “Comandante,” Mariana whispered into the silence.

  “Gazing through the wrong end of a telescope,” Garcia mouthed, half to himself, yet expecting he’d be understood.

  “Comandante?” Mariana’s worried voice again, trying to focus his attention.

  “The message,” Garcia finally explained, shaking his head in doubt. “I’m thinking about the message. Is it really from Ellis? We know nothing of her—”

  “But why would anyone taunt us this way?” Roya inquired.