Dave Duncan - Wildcatter

Fonatelles, op. cit.

The walls and ceiling of the control room were displaying the starscape outside, dominated by the devilish red glow of great Betelgeuse, although the blue giant Bellatrix now glowed significantly brighter than before. Seth had brought a chair from the mess for Meredith and placed it beside his own at the foot of the table. She was in it already, stroking Whittington, while that faithless turncoat purred in her lap. One by one the others drifted in: Reese, annoyed to be dragged away from the lab, where she had been studying Cacafuego fever; Hanna fidgeting because one of her ferrets was late returning; Jordan still pale from her sickness; and Maria, who honored Seth with a sultry smile designed to boost his heart beat significantly, deliberately followed by a stare at Meredith intended to stop hers altogether. There were now two sex bombs aboard Golden Hind , an explosive mixture even without including Seth’s earlier commitment to the captain.

Lastly came JC, grayer and significantly thinner after his ordeal. He was not so reduced that he could not play the royal role, though. He smiled graciously to his loyal subjects and took the chair at the head of the table, normally occupied by the captain. That was another part of the tradition, for a wake had no fixed agenda, and even the captain’s performance could be shredded. The record was invariably submitted as a report to the financial backers and almost always made public too, so that reputations could be made or shattered. In a wake the ambitious could try to boost their careers and the spiteful could satisfy grudges. Wakes had been known to end in brawls and attempted murder.

Seth savored nostalgic memories of other meetings around this table: jubilation at the announcement that they were heading to a niner world, joy when they saw it for the first time, dismay when they found the beacon, and the dawning hope later that there might yet be something to salvage. Now the mood was sour, almost putrid. It was not the planet at fault now, it was the people. The team had lost faith in itself. He thought he knew why, and was astonished that no one else seemed to have worked it out.

JC had barely laid his hand on the table when he was interrupted by a rainbow flash outside the ship—the missing ferret had returned from a jump. Hanna half rose, then settled back. Control could dock the probe and download its information. An hour or two didn’t matter.

“A good omen!” JC said. “Control, the wake is in session. Lights, please.”

The universe disappeared, beige walls and ceiling returned. Something of the old JC was revealed also. He knew all there was to know about chairing meetings. When it came to public relations, he could spin like a pulsar. Leaning back, relaxed in his chair, he beamed around and addressed Posterity.

“It is a great honor to preside at this historic wake aboard Mighty Mite’s Deep Space Ship Golden Hind , presently wending its way homeward after its epic visit to the world we have named Cacafuego, ISLA catalogue number GK79986B. Before summarizing the team’s astonishing discoveries, I must pay credit…” To Jordan for a harmonious voyage out, to Hanna for a speedy and safe one, to Maria for a skilled analysis of the problem world…

“And certainly to the renowned Dr. Reese Platte, our biologist, who has not merely nursed every one of us back to health in her capacity as chief medical officer, but has managed to solve the mystery of the unknown infection that—”

Jordan’s fist hit the table. “Just when does Dr. Platte plan to share her findings with the rest of us?” Her expression made quite clear that she had not been told the news beforehand. For Reese to tip off JC before telling the captain was a serious discourtesy at the very least.

“I was planning to start personal statements after—”

“Now!” Jordan barked. “Or I will suspend this wake until First Officer Finn and I have been properly briefed.” She wasn’t having any trouble standing up to Commodore Lecanard now, but perhaps that was because it was Reese she was really mad at. Or else JC looked less formidable than before.

“I truly meant no disrespect, ma’am,” Reese said, and for once she seemed defensive, not smirking or sneering. “So far my findings are provisional, but when I went to check on the commodore this morning, he did ask me if I had identified the infective agent yet and I let slip that I had.”

Of course!

“You have a name for it?”

“Not yet, ma’am. I am not ready to submit a detailed report, but I am convinced now that the culprit is a prion.”

“A what?”

“A prion. A prion is a protein of the same chemical composition as one of the victim’s own constituent proteins, but wrongly folded. Infective prions were discovered back in the twentieth century, but they are so rare that I have discovered few later references in Control’s library. They are associated with disease of the brain, specifically spongiform encephalopathy , where the brain is reduced to a sponge. They are normally spread by eating infected brain tissue, although in this case by some other means, most likely simple inhalation. As a first hypothesis, the prion protein we contracted may have come from the centaurs. Perhaps it is peculiarly associated with intelligence? Notably the first to succumb was Prospector Dylan Guinizelli. He was swarmed by them, as you will recall.”

“His EVA suit was not compromised!” Meredith said. “I insist on that.”

Reese shot her a glance of dislike. “You cannot know that. A prion is so tiny, far smaller even than a virus particle, that it could have penetrated any mechanical junction, such as the seal of his helmet. Even if it just adhered to the outside of his suit, your later attempts at decontamination would have been useless. Known prions are so stable that they will survive being boiled in caustic soda.

“The danger is that when a prion meets up with its normal twin, it catalyzes the normal protein’s inversion into the evil twin’s own form. Thus it creates a stereo copy of itself, and both can then proceed to catalyze others.”

“Like vampires?” Maria muttered.

“Or nuclear chain reactions,” JC said.

No one else commented. All eyes were fixed on Reese, hanging on her words.

“And what is the cure?” Jordan asked.

“No cure is known,” Reese said. She smiled smugly. “No one ever survives a prion infection. I detected no trace of antibodies being formed against the infection, because the intruder is identical or almost identical to one of our own constituents. Our immune system ignores it. But since we here are all either cured or recovering, I knew at once that there must be a treatment in this case. We have been incredibly lucky. Had I not been summoned to this wake, I would be in my lab continuing my research. I guessed that the answer must lie in one of the medications we have been using. Since viruses have protein coats, I began by trying out the standard intravenous antiviral medications that ISLA recommends, and about ten minutes ago I found that the evil-twin prions in one of my Petri dishes were reverting to their regular form. Serendipitously, the antidote lay in that medication, and now all I have to do is isolate which ingredient is the active agent.”

“Brilliant!” Jordan jumped to her feet and applauded, and everyone else followed, although JC need time to heave himself out of his chair. As soon as everyone sat down, he took charge again, asking the question that had been worrying Seth and probably everyone aboard.

“So when we return home we can assure ISLA that there is no need to quarantine us?”

“I expect so, Commodore, as long as we remain healthy for the duration of the voyage. ISLA may want to run some tests, of course, and confirm my findings. I shall initiate a course of antiviral treatment for all of us until we can be certain we have eliminated all traces of the prion.”