Chapter Sixteen
Aurelian
THE ATMOSPHERE was tense as the team waited outside the airlock joining them to theStella Maris. If Harold Dawes was as ruthless as Aurelian suspected, he could always blow the seals, condemning the whole team to a quick freeze-dried death, and apologize for the “mistake” later.
Dawes must be suspicious, but hopefully he was not certain, prayed Aurelian.
Almost there, Kait. Almost there.
After what felt like an eternity, Aurelian heard the hiss of environments mixing. His ears popped.
The airlock opened.
Led by Marc, the hazmat-suited and masked team proceeded on board theStella Maris. They were immediately met by a man whose uniform declared him to be the ship’s executive officer and therefore second in command. Behind him was an escort of five burly crew members.
“What is this nonsense?” the man demanded. “There is no sickness aboard this ship!”
“That is for us to determine, Sir,” said Marc, his voice tinny behind his rebreather mask. “The Pleasure House of Tarma has reported a case of Ceti-6 virus amongst its staff.”
The executive officer paled. “My God! Are they sure?”
“Apparently so, Sir.” The team formed up behind Marc. “By verdict of the Ministry for Public Health, theStella Marisis under quarantine until my decontamination team has determined the vessel is free of the virus,” he continued. “We will need to see the captain.”
Shaken, the executive officer nodded. “Of course. Please follow me.”
So far, so good.
They followed the officer and crew to the bridge of the enormous vessel. At least fifteen crew members were buzzing back and forth, to and from various stations. Aurelian tried to track the positions of them all.
A large man with a precisely trimmed beard stepped forward. “I’m Captain Weir,” he barked. “What the hell is going on? Is there a virus aboard my ship?”
“That’s what we are here to determine, Captain,” said Marc smoothly. “We’d like to go through the ship level by level with our analyzers. We’ll minimise our presence as much as we can, to avoid a panic.”
The captain looked at him.
Marc extended his hand. “We will need an all-access key card, please.”
Captain Weir put his hand to his belt then paused. “That’s not protocol. An officer of the ship must be on hand to escort you everywhere. Where’s your paperwork?”
“Of course, Sir.” Marc reached into the front pocket of his hazmat suit and held out his hand. “Here you are.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “Sound the—” he began to shout, before the nerve gas emitter in Marc’s gloved hand did its work with astonishing efficiency, and every member of the crew dropped where they stood.
“Sleep tight,messieurs,” he chuckled from behind his mask. “All right,mes hommes, quickly now. Lock this ship down.”
Members of the team moved quickly to their stations and took command of the highly automated vessel.
Aurelian, feeling a bit like a fish out of water, said to Marc, “What should I be doing?”
“You,mon brave, should ready your pistol and come with me.” He signaled to the team, and three men jogged forward, taking their flechette pistols from hidden holsters.
“Declan, stay on our comms and let me know as soon as you discover the locations of Kait Pyne and thatcochonHarold Dawes,” ordered Marc. He turned to Aurelian and said, “Let’s go.”
As they jogged forward in their awkward suits, Aurelian asked, “Declan? I thought your whole team was francophone.”
Marc shrugged. “The Irish are so good as to be practically French,” he said generously.
***
