Eureka

(Starspeak)

Avi gave us a break given the morning's progress. Not that it mattered. They could have had us at gunpoint, and we were still going to have dropped everything to make sure Ingrid was okay.

I got the feeling most of the Jack's crew didn't particularly like Ingrid. She'd been frustrating to deal with, and we'd all agreed to disagree over Cadrune.

But she was hardly the first obstinate abductee we'd dealt with, so it wasn't truly a factor. She was an abductee. That was the only factor worth looking at.

I didn't think Avi would have tried to get in our way about that, but I was grateful for the allowance nonetheless.

Because I was missing something.

Some sixth or seventh sense was itching. The absence was palpable in a way that drove me mad. I couldn't articulate exactly what was missing, but I'd stood here too many times not to recognize the feeling of things spiraling away from me.

Ingrid was fine. Unconscious, but fine. It would be a few hours before Nerin or Dyn would know anything concrete about her condition, but the initial prognosis had been definitive.

This wasn't related to her heart.

That, of course, boggled the mind. She'd fallen unconscious with seemingly no warning. It had to have something to do with her convoluted medical history, and yet? It didn't. Even on the other side of the star system, the Flotilla's fine medical minds could interpret the data easily.

No loss of blood flow. No loss of blood oxygenation. No dip in electrical activity around the heart. No fluid buildup in her chest cavity.

One by one they'd gone down the list and crossed off the worst possibilities.

"Could she have sedated herself?" Sid asked.

"What?" I blinked. "Why would she sedate herself?"

"Dunno? Ingrid's done some inscrutable nonsense before. Maybe she's up to something?" he shrugged.

"If she was sedated, why assume she did it to herself? Seems like something that would be more up Cadrune's alley," Nai chimed in.

"Why assume she was sedated at all?" I asked. "We don't know what really happened right now."

"Okay, fair enough…what are the other possibilities then?" Johnny asked.

"You really want to play [House MD] right now?" Madeline snorted.

"I hate that I know what you're talking about…" I muttered.

Before anyone could properly launch into any alternate explanations, Tasser tapped our brakes.

"Am I correct in understanding that, all this is just to distract yourselves from feeling helpless? Agonizing over the worst and most hostile possibilities isn't going to make any of us feel any better."

We all exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"…Definitely," I said.

"It keeps us from feeling any worse," Jordan explained. "Keeps us from feeling like we're spinning our wheels. Because…"

"Because we are spinning our wheels," Donnie nodded.

"Okay," Tasser nodded. "Just wanted to make sure we all knew."

He gestured for us to have at it, and we busied ourselves with every rationalization we could about why Ingrid would just up and fall unconscious.

My leg was bouncing nervously. I was missing something. I knew it. I just knew.

We were good at spinning yarn. Every human abductee was personally victim to one of the greatest conspiracies ever perpetrated across the cosmos. Most of us were American, or at least had enough familiarity with theories like the grassy knoll, or the moon landing. Conspiracy theories came very easily.

It was reassuring that we'd become as skilled at shooting down hair-brained theories as we were at coming up with them.

Evidence got in the way of a theory like solid steel barricades stopped runaway vehicles: jarringly.

"Could be ENVY and CENSOR hitting back for heisting the Diving Bell? Scaring us with some kind of tranquilizer dart?" Johnny suggested.

"Why go for Ingrid then? She was practically the only abductee on this planet not involved in that," Nai said.

I glanced at Tasser, silently querying him.

"Could be a preamble for something else," he offered. "But if it's one of the AI, this seems more like SPARK's work."

"If we're going to assume it's enemy action of some kind, there's no way of telling who it could be. The list is long," Madeline said. "Could be the AI. Could be Capsody Maysh. Could be a friend of Kemon's come to settle the score. Could be someone entirely new for all we know."

When she'd started listing our enemies her voice had been dripping sarcasm, but by the end she'd sounded organizational. Planning.

It was a roadmap of our enemies that we began methodically following.

One by one, we'd propose an enemy, their motive, and explain why they might target Ingrid.

Like ants scouting for food, we were shooting off in all directions until we hit a wall, resetting, and trying again.

When those possibilities exhausted themselves, we moved back to the obvious suspect of health complications.

But we weren't medical experts. Even more than before, it was entirely guesswork.

Could Ingrid have had a stroke?

Maybe, but surely a stroke would affect blood pressure right? Same with some kind of seizure.

In both cases, Ingrid's heartrate was normal, and her blood pressure was comparable to the rest of ours.

That alone confounded all our medical intuition. Ingrid's health nightmares stemmed from her heart. So for her heart to be completely normal…

It would befuddle us, except we still weren't medical experts. So we didn't even know if we should feel befuddled.

"…Gimme a minute," I said, ducking out to a quiet hall, making sure to keep the still-unconscious-Ingrid's hospital bed in sight.

Yanking out my handbook, I sank psionic fingers into it and spun up the long-distance comms, looking for one of my most recent new contacts.

The ring-ring noise it made in my head was purely cosmetic, but even with special alien tech and psionic wizardry at work, it was still just a phone call. So it just didn't feel right without a 'ring'.

<…Hello?> Mavriste answered.

<Do me a favor?> I asked. <Walk me through it one more time.>

<Still hasn't woken up?> he answered, concerned.

<No.>

<Any change in her condition?> he asked.

<Nope, still stable. Breathing. Just…unconscious.>

<I'm sorry,> he said. <And I'm sorry to leave right as this happened. People are counting on us, and we needed to keep our schedule.>

The Missionary Marines were departing Pudiligsto in favor of going north up the coast, seeing what small towns might need emergency assistance in the hurricane's aftermath.

Their timing sucked though.

<Yeah. I understand,> I said. <Just walk me through it again?>

<You and Cadrune went inside. We were talking amicably with Ingrid, mostly just keeping her mind of things. Then she suddenly started slurring her speech and slouching. In just a couple seconds she was unconscious.>

<…It was gradual?> I confirmed.

<No, it was very sudden.>

<But she didn't just go out like a light?> I asked. <Even if it only took two or three seconds, it was still like a slide?>

I sent a simple psionic impression of what I meant by 'slide', and Mavriste exuded a positive hum.

<We're trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with her. Everything we look at says her heart is fine. But I mean…what are the odds?>

<Don't fixate,> Mavriste advised. <You already consulted doctors—and us—and all signs point to her heart being fine. Adept augmentations can do absurd things, and since she hasn't had other trouble before now. Her heart augmentations are very likely functioning perfectly; you're best off assuming this has nothing to do with her heart.>

<I kinda figured,> I said. <We're tossing around the idea that someone sedated her, but it seems impossible.>

<Cadrune?>

<They're on the list,> I said. <But there's some obvious holes in the theory.>

<Motive—lack thereof,> Mavriste deduced. Not a question.

<Yeah.>

<Pardon me for saying it, but how sure are you that you aren't seeing ghosts?> Mavriste asked.

<We're absolutely seeing ghosts,> I said. <Even ignoring Ingrid's medical history, we're on an alien planet. The Flotilla's had six humans die just from bad allergies in the last year alone. And that number is soft. We've gotten so lucky with medicine and health so far, it's shocking this has only happened to Ingrid."

<I can see why that interpretation would appeal to you. But what if it is some prelude to enemy action? Denial is hardly a defense in that case,> Mavriste said.

<You were just asking if we were being paranoid, now you're asking if we're in denial about being under attack?>

<Hey, you called me. I'm just offering contrasting opinions.>

<Fine. Forget contrasting then. What's your hunch; was she sedated?>

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Mavriste paused before answering. When he did, his voice was steady and sure.

<Yes.>

The gears in my brain turned.

I could feel I was missing something. Right now. It was passing by right in front of my eyes, and I still couldn't see it.

<Who then?> I asked.

<…I don't know,> Mavriste said. <I would consider Cadrune an unstable agent, prone to reckless moves like this…but the timing is hard to ignore too. If your AI enemies wanted to get back at you, attacking the abductee you came here to save is likely meant to target specific psychological weakness in you and your crew.>

I paused. There was some truth to that. Was that in CENSOR's nature? I wasn't sure. They were the AI we knew the least of.

My gut said it wasn't ENVY's style, and SPARK wouldn't be subtle about it.

This was a puzzle. Some of the pieces fit perfectly, but then the remaining gaps never fit what I had leftover. Shuffle them around to fill the gaps in the theory and new ones formed.

It all came back to what I already knew: I was missing something.

<I don't know,> I admitted. <None of it quite fits.>

<Well just call if you want to consult us again, we should be in range for the next few days—weather withstanding.>

<Thanks,> I said, hanging up.

I tossed my handbook back in my pocket and thumped my head against the wall.

Was I really missing something?

I was too young to be losing my touch, wasn't I?

I was sure there was something…

So why couldn't I notice it?

The worst part was knowing exactly why. People ignored things all the time. And in a case like this, the big culprit was always denial.

I thought I was better at confronting my own biases than this. Was there something I didn't want to see here?

·····

Back in Ingrid's hospital room, the nine or ten most capable Jack crew members were squeezed into every seat and inch of standing room available.

Strained silence was the evening's musical accompaniment. Hours earlier, we'd been all to eager to distract ourselves with possibilities.

Not so much now.

The quiet broke when the wall-mounted landline started ringing.

Tasser and Nai gave small smirks at we teenagers' momentary confusion. If I were in better spirits, I would have flipped them off or something while I snatched the receiver off the wall.

"Hello?"

"Caleb? Oh good. Are you—I mean…Sorry, I know you're occupied for the rest of today with the other human—Ingrid, right?" Avi's voice crackled on the other end.

I absently checked my psionics, just to see if I'd missed his call there.

"Yeah," I said.

"I know you're busy, but the task force just got word that military flags were raised on your visas," Avi said.

"That sounds serious."

"Not quite yet, but the wind is definitely tilting the boat in that direction. Someone's trying to put pressure on the task force all of a sudden. And…well…" Agent Avi trailed off.

"Yeah. I understand," I said, leaning away from the hospital phone. "How much of that did you guys hear?"

"Nothing audible, but we can see the look on your face," Donnie said.

"Avi says the [sharks are circling]. We're back on the job first thing in the morning," I said. "We need to find Shuma Norshun now."

"What about Ingrid?" Madeline asked, glancing toward her hospital room.

She was still unconscious, even hours later with the sun dipping below the horizon.

"One of us will stay behind and keep an eye on her. Rotate every few hours," I said. "But the faster we find Shuma, the faster we can leave the planet and actually get her to the doctors we've got on the Siegfried."

Everyone nodded. It was painfully clear what was at stake, even when the forces putting us on the clock were invisible and distant.

"Excuse me?" a voice interrupted out dour silence.

One of the doctors we'd been pestering all day was standing in the doorway.

"There is new information on Harpe May's condition," the doctor said in stilted Starspeak.

The rak handed Nai—the only one in uniform—a thin packet of documents. She didn't even bother looking at it and immediately passed it to me.

It was lab work: a full blood panel.

"Her blood samples fit expectations with one major exception," the doctor explained while my eyes scanned over the figures.

One in particular caught my eye.

"Vit psa?" I asked.

"Yes, I—you can read that?"

"I've had aliens draw my blood more times than I can count," I said. "This isn't an error? Six parts per million of vit psa in her blood?"

"We checked the samples twice," the doctor nodded.

"What's vit psa?" Madeline asked.

"It's the human-compatible sedative we developed with the Org," I said. "It's the stuff I shot into Aaron's leg back with the Ramstein kids."

"She was sedated?" Johnny asked, shocked.

"Apparently," I said.

"Not to be a broken record, but…isn't this proof we're under attack?" Madeline asked. "If the AIs went after her…"

"It happened at Cadrune's estate," Nai said. "That can't be a coincidence—at least, it would be an exceedingly improbable one."

"If this is an attack on us, it's not a very organized one," I said. "Sedate one human, then follow it up with…nothing? We've been sitting in this hospital all day. Not exactly the most secure place."

Jordan materialized a small rubber ball and idly bounced it against the wall while our collective brains churned.

"Forget an attack," Tasser agreed. "This isn't someone waging war; it's a crime. Every crime has elements."

"Motive, means, opportunity," Donnie agreed. "Cadrune and the M&Ms were the only ones actually present."

"And there's a really obvious suspect between those two possibilities," Madeline said.

"Cadrune was inside the estate with me when she fell unconscious," I said. "I saw their reaction: genuine surprise. It's definitely in their wheelhouse, but if it was done on their orders? I'd be shocked."

"…So you think it was the M&Ms for some reason?" Johnny asked.

"No," I said.

Too quickly.

"…I don't know," I admitted. "There's no motive for them."

"But Cadrune didn't have the opportunity," Donnie pressed, adding to Johnny's question.

"I hate to admit it, dude, but the M&Ms do seem like the only viable suspect right now," Madeline said.

"Fits their personal style too," Nai observed. "Nonlethal, I mean."

"They're plenty capable of killing people when they need to," I said.

"Yeah, but from everything you've said, it sounds like their preference is not to," Madeline conceded.

"That moral foundation is exactly why they wouldn't do this," I said. "They aren't just going to sedate Ingrid for no reason."

There was an obvious counterpoint to that. It went unsaid.

"I tend to agree with Caleb," Tasser said. "There's no motive, and we still have no real reason not to suspect the AIs' involvement."

"Forget whose motive exactly we're talking about," Johnny said. "What are the possible motives to sedate someone?"

"Medical intervention. Keep someone from stroking out. Something like that," Madeline tossed out.

"Stealth. Knock someone out so they can't raise the alarm," Nai said.

"Experimentation?" Johnny offered.

None of those seemed to fit, and we all knew it.

"Nai's right," Jordan said, bouncing her ball. "Stealth. You knock Ingrid out so she can't raise a fuss. Preventing communication."

"What?"

Everyone shot her confused looks.

"She can't answer our questions as long as she's out," Jordan said. "So, what if there's someone who benefits from Ingrid being unable to answer questions for us right now?"

"Who?"

"Madeline said it," Jordan said. "The M&Ms are the only viable suspects," Jordan explained, face growing taught in a rare moment of excitement strong enough to tinge the corners of her face. "Caleb, you've discounted the idea that it could be the M&Ms because they have no apparent motive. What if they did?"

The pit in my stomach doubled. There was the obvious counterpoint.

"Keep talking," I said.

"Come at it from the reverse: assuming Ingrid was sedated because she knows something, what could she tell us that would be a huge problem for the Missionary Marines?"

Uh oh.

"They left town," I said, lamely trying to steer my brain away from the likelihood.

"Flip it again," Nai offered. "What are we doing that—through some cosmic coincidence—could possibly become a huge problem for the M&Ms, if Ingrid was conscious to speak up?"

There was only one answer to that.

One thing we wanted to solve as quickly as possible, so we could rebuff any political maneuvering to keep us here, and really rub this entire planet's nose in how much we'd helped them.

There was only one thing still keeping us on the planet.

Only one rak.

·····

In retrospect, it was really easy to kick ourselves.

Midnight at the building Avi's task force had taken over, we slipped inside and rifled through the documents. Ingrid had asked to go visit Cadrune's, only to then show little interest in actually talking to Cadrune.

I'd called the M&Ms just for help, but it never occurred to me that Ingrid might have actually wanted to talk to them instead. She'd only wanted to contact Cadrune to act as a messenger. Because she didn't have the psionic chops I did: no advanced psi-radios, no signal reinforcement, no optimizing hardware like the Flotilla's handbooks.

She couldn't just ring someone from her head.

She'd needed to contact Macoru and Mavriste. Confront them.

Because she put something together that we missed.

What had she been looking at right before? We had a rough idea of what information she'd been looking over this morning.

It didn't take long to find the smoking gun.

"Here. This is what Ingrid saw," Jordan said, tossing me a packet of documents turned to the third page.

They were port records identifying ships entering and exiting during the three weeks surrounding Shuma Norshun's initial escape in the Gogathi capital.

Second from the bottom on the page Jordan had turned to was a familiar name, labeled under the 'atypical hull profiles & submersibles' section: the Hebbivene.

Donnie peered over my shoulder and swore.

"[Sonofabitch,]".

My thoughts exactly.

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