Tiptree woke with a start.
The banging had been going on for at least twenty minutes. She was sure it had just been her dream, but it hadn't quit.
Her dream had consisted of emerald eyes staring down at her, waiting. But it was only a dream.
"Mainframe!" she called, rubbing her eyes.
No one answered. The sleeping quarters were dark, which was normal. In stumbling to the other bunks, she discovered them empty, which wasn't normal.
"Mainframe!" Her voice echoed down the nearest corridor.
A whirring sound preceded the arrival of a bot, Genly Ai to be exact.
"How to assist?" It asked.
She swept her arms about. "Where is everybody?"
"Russ is in a dura-chamber. Samuel is in quarantine ---"
"Whoa, whoa. Why?"
If the bot could've blinked, it would've. "Under orders by Russ."
She tried to follow the bot's logic. "Who is now in a dura-chamber?"
The bot nodded. "Due to contamination, yes."
Sleepiness had worn off, replaced by rising panic. Tiptree rushed to the wash station, rubbing her eyes and checking her reflection. She leaned close and assessed her eyes for hints of green, finding none.
Sighing, she returned to the bot.
"Is Samuel infected?" Tiptree asked, surprised at her plaintive tone.
What did she care about that pompous a-hole?
"No, he is fine," Genly Ai said.
"Is the Captain okay?"
The bot nodded.
"Good."
She dashed to the bunk, grabbed her ansible, and spoke into it as she marched to the hold:
"Captain, I'm checking on Samuel."
~*~
How long had he been in the hold?
For Samuel, it seemed like a long time. Air-conditioning filtered throughout the ship, but somehow missed his tiny square of space.
When Genly Ai had stopped listening to him, he had started pounding on the metal hull in the hopes that someone would hear him. Things were going wrong, very wrong. No one had come to tell him otherwise, and Russ was a straight-shooter. If she was able, she would've come back right away, not send a bot.
Pins and needles ravaged through his hand, but he persisted pounding on the wall. His strength was waning, but so long as he could move his limbs and control something, then he was able to quell the abject terror threatening to take over his senses.
"Samuel?" The greeting drifted into the room, a woman's voice.
"Yes, I'm here," he said evenly in between pants.
Suddenly, he was so damn tired.
Tiptree emerged from around the corner, and he was never happier to see the most annoying crewmate.
Samuel chuckled without humor. "It's you. Where is everybody else? Mainframe is not responding to me."
Tiptree edged closer to the particle barrier between them. She seemed to be deciding.
"Russ is in a dura-chamber, self-induced quarantine of sorts," she said slowly, eyes looking through him.
"What about the Captain, and," he glanced at the empty hold station next to his, "Guin?"
"They're in the control room." Tiptree ushered in someone behind her. "Now, tell me again."
The bot stood somewhat in Samuel's sight-line, but he heard it say, "The scan was negative."
Tiptree's response was mumbled, but there: "You said that about Russ and Guin, too."
"Foreign contaminants are difficult to detect. You may learn of his possible infection after another day of quarantine. However, by that time, the Captain will most definitely be infected."
Never one to beg, Samuel watched Tiptree mull over her options without saying a word. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and finally depressed the release button on the outside wall.
After the particle wall dissolved, Samuel stayed in the hold. Tiptree had one arm behind her back, and he suspected she was armed. Not wishing to be dispatched like an animal in a cage, he waited.
Tiptree hung both hands on her hips. Samuel took a deep breath, craving a cigarette like never in his life.
"Can you identify a cure?"
The question was reasonable, and Samuel gave her an honest answer.
"Not with what I have here. All I've managed to do is conclude how the virus spreads."
Tiptree chuckled with dark humor. "Well," she clicked her tongue, "what do we do?"
He had already decided it was their only chance. Now that he could leave the pseudo-cage, there was a chance he could pull it off. He needed to talk the PTSD-case into helping him, without fucking everything up.
"We need to scour the third planet. Preliminary scans from Control optioned it as a haven for unique compounds and plant life."
"We all know how effective preliminary scans are," Tiptree grumbled. "But, it's something. Let's go." She waved him out of the hold with a rather large ion displacement weapon.
Still hovering in a corner of the containment lab, the bot cleared its non-existent throat. "Ahem, there is an issue with the ship."
Tiptree swung her gaze to the lucite figure. "What's that?"
"It's on course for the second planet on the itinerary."
"Who the hell authorized that?" Samuel wondered.
Nothing was ever easy on this damn ship, as he was slowly learning.
"Captain Guin," the bot said.
"Say-what-fuck?" Samuel asked.
~*~