But Interstellar Teleson's Corporate Standards dictated that the most sensitive records and delicate instruments, and all their computer equipment, be installed permanently in sub-basements no less than four stories below surface level, to avoid any possibility of damage. Corporate Standards had been set to guard against human interference, not nature's. Corporate Standards evidently did not consider nature to be important.
Whoever was in charge of this project apparently completely disregarded the geological survey. Engineers complained about seepage and warned of flooding; the reaction was to order extra sump pumps. Sump pumps were keeping the sub-basements tolerably dry now, but Tia guessed that they were going constantly just to keep up with ordinary groundwater. They were not going to handle the flood.
Especially not when flood waters were seeping in through the ground floor walls and creeping over the doorsills.
According to the meteorological data, the glaciers were melting, and the spring rains were only a couple of months away.
Meanwhile, half a continent away, there was a disaster recovery firm that specialized in data and equipment recovery. They advertised that they could duplicate an existing system in a month, and recover data from devices that had been immersed in saltwater for over a year, or through major fires with extensive smoke damage. Interstellar Teleson was going to need them, and they didn't even know it. Besides, Tia liked the name. Whoever these people were, they had one heck of a sense of humor.
Chuckling to herself, Tia called Lee Stirling and made her investment, then sent out another carefully worded letter to Crash and Burn Data Recovery, Limited.
The public trial of Doctor Haakon-Fritz was a ten day circus, but by then, Tia and Alex had for more serious things on their minds and no time to waste on trivialities.
Tia's recordings, both at the site and in the main cabin, were a matter of public record now, and that was the only stake they had in the trial. The Institute only wanted to keep from looking too foolish. In return for the supply of small arms Alex demanded, they asked that he not testify at the trial, since anything he could say would only corroborate those records. They both knew what the Institute people were thinking: records were one thing, but a heroic participant, who just might sound impassioned, no, that was something they didn't want to see. He was willing, he reckoned it was a small price to pay. Besides, there was little he could add, other than becoming another source of media attention.
So while the media gathered, the quiet Institute lawyers and spokesmen tried to downplay the entire incident, Alex got his arms-locker, and Tia her ethological kit as the price for their non-participation. And as they prepared to head out on a new round of duties, there came an urgent message.
The Institute contract was on hold; CS had another use for them as the only BB ship on base.
And they suddenly found themselves, not only with a new agenda, but an entirely new employer.
"Kenny, what is all this about?" Tia asked, when the barrage of orders and follow-up orders concluded, leaving them with a single destination, an empty flight plan, and a 'wait for briefing' message. So here they were docked with the Pride of Albion, and the briefing orders coming from Doctor Kennet Uhura-Sorg.
"This," Doctor Kennet replied, grimly, sending the live-cam view of one of the isolation rooms.
Alex gasped. Tia didn't blame him.
The view that Doctor Kennet gave them of this, the pride of Albion's newest isolation patient, was blessedly brief. It had been a human at one point. Now it was a humanoid-shaped mass of suffering. Somewhere in the mass of open sores were eyes, a mouth, a face. Those had been hands, once, and feet
Tia was the first to recover. "Who is that," she asked sharply, "and what happened to him?"
"Who, we don't know," Kenny replied, his face completely without expression. "He was from a tramp freighter that left him when he didn't get aboard by liftoff time. We don't know if they expected something like this, or if they were just worried because one of their bogus crew turned up missing, but they burned out of Yamahatchi Station with a speed that simply didn't match their rather shabby exterior. He was under false papers, of course, and there isn't enough of his fingers or retinas left to identify him. And unless he's ever been a murder or crime-of-violence suspect, his DNA patterns could take years to match with his birth records."
Alex nodded. It wouldn't have been too difficult to deduce his ship; anyone logging into a station hostel or hotel had to list his ship-of-origin as well as filing his papers. That information was instantly cross-checked with the ship; the ship had to okay the crewman's ID before he would be allowed to check in. Passengers, of course, used an entirely separate set of hotels.
"That kind of speed probably means a pirate or a smuggler," Alex said.
"I don't think there's much doubt of that," Kenny replied. "Well, when his logged time at the cheap hostel he'd checked into ran out, they opened the door to his room, found that, and very wisely slammed the door and reported him."
"What about the hostel personnel?" Tia asked.
"We have them all in isolation, but so far, thank the deity of your choice, none of them are showing any signs of infection."
"For which favor, much thanks," Alex muttered.
Just what is it that he's got?" Tia asked, keeping her voice even and level.
Kenny shrugged. "Another plague with no name. Symptoms are simple enough. Boils which become suppurating sores that seem to heal only to break open again. A complex of viruses and bacteria, reinforced with modified immune deficiency syndrome. So far, no cure. Decontamination sterilized the hostel room completely, and we haven't seen anyone else come down with this thing. And, thank the spirits of space, once he checked into the hostel, door records show he never left his room."
"There is no reason for a pirate to come down with something like that," Tia pointed out, "but an artifact smuggler."
"Precisely why I asked for you two," Kenny replied, "and precisely why the Institute loaned you to us. Oh, Alex, in case you wondered, I'm in this because, despite my specialty, I seem to have become the expert in diseases associated with archeology."
Alex cast an inquiring glance at her column. Tia knew what he was asking. Could this be the same disease their mysterious 'Sinor' had told them about? Could it be that the man had given them a true story, though not his true name?
She printed her answer under Dr. Kenny's image. It's a coincidence. Not the same as Sinor's phony plague, he would have been frantic if he truly had this to contend with.
He signaled his question with his eyes. Why?
"Immune deficiency. Contact or airborne. Think about it."
His eyes widened, and he nodded, slowly. The nightmare that had haunted the human world since the twentieth century; the specter of an immune deficiency disease communicated by an airborne or simple contact vector. No one wanted to think about it, yet in the minds of anyone connected to the medical professions, it was an ever-present threat.
"You two are a unique combination that I think has the best chance to track this thing to its source," Kenny said. "Medical Services will have more than one team on this, but you're the only BB team available. The Institute doesn't want any of their people to stumble on the plague the hard way, so they subcontracted you to Medical for the duration. I'm delegating the planning of search patterns to you. Got any ideas on how to start?"