“ETH target, 12 minutes,” announced our shuttle pilot over the comms. Specialist Tara had been flying these birds for years. Her tone was a professional blend of confidence and boredom that came with experience. “Research Station Delta is holding steadily on orbit on the far side of the planet. Still no response to our hails.”

  I glanced around the cramped troop compartment at my team—twenty-two men in total. That was all they could shove in here, myself and Harris included. It was not exactly an overwhelming force, but it was enough, I hoped, to handle whatever situation we might encounter. Fortunately, we were only deploying onto a civilian research facility.

  That still left, as an open question, what we’d find when we got inside. We were kind of hoping for scared scientists hiding in closets, not something much worse.

  Harris sat across from me, looking out his own window. Methodically, he checked his morph-rifle for what had to be the fifth time since we’d launched. His perpetual scowl, visible through his helmet visor, was even more pronounced than usual. That was saying something in Harris’s case.

  “I still think this is a shit assignment, sir,” he complained without even looking up from his weapon.

  “Noted and carefully filed,” I assured him.

  “Filed?” he asked, actually glancing at me.

  “Yep, right next to your last complaint about the food, and the one before that about the uniforms, and the general unfairness of military life.”

  His glare came back again in full force. “Don’t forget to tap in the part about me not wanting to get my brain eaten by alien parasites.”

  “Oh, sure, sure. I got all that whining, too.”

  Carlos Otiz was our bio-specialist. He was sort of an ex-best friend, as it was hard to keep a tight friendship with one of your underlings, but still, we had a bond. Despite our long friendship, he was easily the most annoying man in my entire outfit.

  Riding a corner seat, his bio-kit was spread across his lap. He was boredly running diagnostics on various scanning devices. Like Harris, Carlos wasn’t very eager for this mission. The only thing he seemed excited about was the prospect of studying parasitic organisms up close. That hadn’t gotten his scientific blood pumping, mind you, because he didn’t have any. No, no. What he always had was a girlfriend or two—or a potential girlfriend on Blue Deck he was hoping to simp for by providing unusual data from the field.

  Next in line in that long row of seats was Natasha Elkin. She was our top tech specialist. She had a portable little station with her. It was really a computer she carried in a knapsack. It was way more powerful than a simple tapper.

  She was poking at various holographic interfaces as she attempted to penetrate the research station’s systems. She was very excited. She was a techophile, and she wanted to see whatever these research pukes on the station had discovered.

  Her dark hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail, and her intense concentration reminded me of why she was considered the best tech specialist in Legion Varus.

  “Preliminary atmospheric readings of the station look normal,” she reported. “It’s thick, sure. Higher pressure, and hot. But the oxygen-nitrogen mix is breathable. The temperature is within acceptable ranges, too. Whatever happened out here, they didn’t lose life support.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “That’s real good.” I was always the cheerleader in these situations.

  “I’m picking up data streams from the station,” she announced a moment later, her brow knitting together slightly. Was that a frown? Almost. “Automated systems are still running—environmental controls, power distribution, internal sensors—but the communication array, that’s been shut down deliberately from the inside.”

  “Deliberately?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I think so. The shutdown sequence requires command authorization codes. People don’t just type those in by accident. This wasn’t an equipment failure or external damage. No, someone had to purposefully input a code that would turn off their ability to talk to the outside world.”

  Harris was listening in. He perked up, and his rifle was suddenly in the upright and locked position. “Maybe they didn’t want anyone to hear the screaming that must be going on in there.”

  “Always the optimist, Harris,” I said. But privately, I was thinking the same thing. The pattern was becoming familiar. Initial reports about some problems, followed by silence, even though there was evidence of official activity. And now, something very unfriendly was waiting on this station for anyone who dared to come investigate.

  Gazing out through my portal again, I could see our destination growing larger. Research Station Delta was a modular construction, typical of these frontier facilities. There were three cylindrical habitat modules connected together by flexible tunnels. The whole complex was slowly rotating to provide artificial gravity through centrifugal force.

  Sure, it looked peaceful enough from a distance. Even its navigation lights were blinking in regular patterns. Everything was set up to look normal—probably to lure us in.

  “Docking in sixty seconds,” Torres announced. “Sealing up and switching off the internal atmosphere.” The familiar hiss of air cyclers shifted to a closed-loop operation. They were now sucking air out instead of adding it. The sound emptied all the breathable gas out of the cabin. Everyone began their final equipment checks, sealing up biohazard suits, activating air filtration systems, ensuring their weapons were loaded and ready. The mood aboard Razorback was tense.

  “Remember your training,” I called out, mostly talking to the recruits in the group. “We’re here to gather intel and assess the threat. Avoid unnecessary risks, but don’t hesitate to defend yourselves if things go sideways. If you encounter infected personnel, maintain your distance, report immediately—and if they charge you, unload your weapon. I don’t care if some naked chick with bare titties comes at you wanting to kiss. Fire anyway.”

  “McGill knows all about that,” Carlos commented. There were chuckles all up and down the length of the ship. I scowled a bit, but I did not cuff him. If you started beating on Carlos every time he opened his foul mouth, why hell, you’d wear out your hand and turn him into pulp before you got the mission half done. You had to choose your battles with that man.

  The shuttle shuddered slightly as docking clamps engaged with the station’s airlock. Through the hull, I could hear the mechanical sounds of pressure and seal verification. Everything sounded normal, which somehow left me wondering if we’d missed something. Had the enemy managed to break into this place or not?

  “Docking sequence complete,” Torres reported. “Station airlock shows green across the board. You’re cleared to disembark, Centurion.”

  Harris hefted his morph-rifle and moved toward the airlock. I followed him. “Just once,” he told me, “I’d like to board a facility where the people were all inside, happy and drinking boxes of wine, maybe offering to cook us dinner.”

  “Keep dreaming,” I said. “It’s got to happen someday.”

  I followed him toward the exit. The station’s airlock cycled normally enough and led us out into what appeared to be a standard reception area. Clean white walls, functional lighting, and the subtle hum of life support systems created an atmosphere of total normalcy. Sure, there was no one here to greet us, but was that all that weird? Could it be we were mistaken? Could it be that these people were just doing their jobs, and we’d gone off half-cocked? Had Winslade, just maybe, jumped the gun?

  We opened up our helmets after testing the air for contaminants and detecting none. The air tasted slightly metallic through our suit filters, but that wasn’t unusual for a space-based facility. There were no warning signals about nanites or pathogens or anything else dangerous.

  A directory panel near the airlock showed the station’s basic layout. Habitat Module A contained the living quarters and recreational facilities. Module B housed the primary laboratories and research equipment. Module C was designated for administrative offices and communication systems. Below that down on D, well, that was all life support—things like algae tanks that served as bad food and generated stinking oxygen to breathe. Like every space station ever built, this whole thing was pretty much a composting machine meant to recycle waste back into breathable air, while growing edible food and potable water.

  And it all stank and tasted funny. It did. Let me assure you, it did.

  “Natasha, can you tap into their external systems from here?” I asked. There were connecting tunnels between the modules that led into secondary lab storage areas and emergency shelters.

  As we spread out and started walking into the place, I was surprised that no one had come out to greet us yet. What did that mean? Had they all spaced themselves? Were they all dead and huddled up in a mass somewhere deep inside the station? I wasn’t sure yet, but everybody was keeping their guns and their peckers close at hand. That was without me even suggesting they do it.

  Natasha moved to a wall-mounted access panel and began connecting her equipment. “Give me a second to bypass their security profiles. Done. This network architecture is pretty standard Earth Colonial. Nothing exotic. I’m already in.”

  “Of course you are.”

  While she worked, I had the squad spread out in defensive positions. The reception area had three exits: one leading to Module A, another toward Module B, and the third accessed the central hub where the connecting tunnels were. All the passages were well-lit and appeared completely normal, but they were very quiet and very empty. That kind of bothered me. A research station like this one was big, had a couple hundred people living on it. There should be at least some background noise—conversations, equipment running, footsteps. Nope, none of that. Instead, we got the omnipresent hum of machinery, nothing else.

  “I’ve got partial access now,” Natasha announced. “Internal sensors show normal life support throughout the station, but I’m not picking up any movement in the corridors or the common areas.”

  We advanced farther into the facility, shining lights every which way and jump-scaring each other.

  “We’ve got second-tier penetration,” Natasha announced pridefully. “Wait…” She frowned, studying her displays more intently. “That’s odd. I’m now detecting about fifty life signs scattered throughout the facility, but they’re all showing as stationary. Completely stationary. No movement at all.”

  “Sleeping?” suggested Carlos.

  “Hopefully. But we’re at 1300 hours station time. All of them taking a nap at once? Unlikely.” Natasha continued her scans. “Vital signs appear normal. Heart rate, respiration, brain activity, all within acceptable ranges, but none of these people are moving. Not even slightly.”

  Natasha continued her scans. “Vital signs appear normal. Heart rate, respiration, brain activity—all this stuff is within acceptable ranges. There’s one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “About half the crew seems to be missing. I’ve got no sign of them.”

  “Half the crew, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Harris said, shifting his grip on his rifle. “That must be the half that this other half ate for dinner. Hey, McGill,” he said, turning to me, “you think these guys could be restrained somehow? I mean, in their sleep?”

  “What do you mean, Harris?”

  “I mean, like we sneak up on their asses, and get out some zip ties. Maybe we could capture the lot of them. If they’re unconscious, that should be pretty easy.”

  I stopped listening to Harris. Forty-seven people were here alive. All were completely motionless, but showed normal vital signs otherwise.

  “We’ll keep that plan on the back burner,” I told Harris, and I turned to Carlos. “What’s your take on these biosign readings?”

  Carlos studied Natasha’s data, his expression growing increasingly troubled. “The patterns are consistent with normal human physiology, but there’s something strange about the precise uniformity. You know what? They’re all almost identical. That shouldn’t be. Their breathing patterns, too. It’s like they’re all synced up. That’s really weird.”

  “Maybe it’s a meditation session?” Harris suggested sarcastically.

  “Or something else,” Carlos replied. “Something nasty. These readings remind me of what we observed with the infected personnel back on Scorpio. Enhanced coordination. Shared neural patterns. If the parasites are involved here, they might be maintaining the hosts in some kind of standby mode.”

  None of that was what I wanted to hear, but it did fit what we’d seen before, and what we were seeing now. These artificial organisms seem capable of putting their human hosts into various operational states depending on the situation. They’d all come awake and actively engage us if there were threats present. But right now, they were dormant because they weren’t needed. Hell, who knew? There might be more modes we hadn’t yet discovered.

  “I’m announcing a change of plan,” I said over tactical chat. My voice invaded every helmet in my entire platoon. “We’re going to proceed now with extreme caution. Assume that all these personnel are potentially hostile unless proven otherwise. Minimal contact, maximum observation. If we encounter anyone, maintain a safe distance and verify they’re unaffected before letting them get close.”

  I divided the platoon into three teams. Harris took eight men and investigated Module A, looking for signs of what had happened in the station’s crew. Carlos led the nerds to the end of Module B, focusing on laboratory areas where we might detect some evidence of these parasites’ activities. I took the remaining group and explored Modules C and D below it, hoping to gain access to their communication logs and administrative records.

  “Comms check in every ten minutes,” I ordered. “If anyone encounters infected personnel, report immediately and fall back to the docking area. Do not make out with any infected scientists. Got it?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!”

  “We’re not here to be heroes, people.”

  “Don’t need to worry none about that,” Harris mumbled to himself.

  The platoon moved out, splitting up to explore their various assigned areas. My team headed down a couple of ladders to Module C. There was a connecting tunnel that curved gently as we followed the station’s rotating structures. Emergency lighting cast everything into a pale blue glow, creating long shadows that seemed to shift and slide away from our arms and legs as we moved. The tunnels leading down to the modules in the lower decks were lined with access panels, storage lockers, and emergency equipment stations. Everything appeared to be in perfect working order, showing no signs of combat or a hasty evacuation. If something had gone wrong aboard this station, it must have been either very sudden or very subtle.

  We reached Module C at last without incident and began exploring the administrative section. There were offices, conference rooms, workstations that were empty but showed no signs of disturbance. The facility was pretty large overall, the size of a large office building at least. I imagined, however, that if you had to live here for years, it would seem relatively limiting. Personal items were still on the desks, coffee cups sat half-full next to computer terminals, and papers were scattered about in a casual disarray of people who had stepped away temporarily but expected to return.

  “Sir,” called out Specialist Yama from a nearby office. “You should see this.”

  I found him standing near a large workstation displaying what appeared to be the station’s roster and duty schedule. According to the records, close to two hundred personnel had been aboard when the communications ceased. The duty assignments were all routine: research, observations, equipment maintenance, administrative tasks. Nothing was here that suggested any kind of crisis or emergency.

  “Look over here, too,” Yama pointed to a series of log entries, timestamped just before the communication blackout. Activity reports for all the departments were filed right on schedule, environmental systems normal, research projects proceeding according to plan, no safety concerns, nothing.

  “And then, really nothing,” I observed. “They stopped reporting.” I studied the abrupt cutoff in the records. “It’s like they all just stopped and logged off simultaneously.”

  Yama shrugged. “It could just be a system malfunction. Maybe their computers crashed, and they couldn’t restore communications.”

  “Yeah, sure, maybe…” I said, but I didn’t believe any of that for a second. The station’s automated systems were clearly functioning perfectly. Something else had caused all these people to suddenly become motionless and silent.

  My tapper crackled, and I heard Harris’s voice. “McGill, you got to hear this, man. I found something in Module A.”

  “What kind of something?”

  “The crew quarters here are all occupied. Every bunk has someone in it, perfectly still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. They’re breathing, but they don’t respond to any stimulus. It’s like they’re all in some kind of trance or something. It’s freaky.”

  Carlos’s voice joined the conversation, “I’m seeing similar readings from Module B. Multiple individuals in the laboratory area, all showing the same pattern, normal vital signs but complete absence of voluntary movement.”

  I felt a frown growing on my forehead. This was a mystery, and I hated mysteries. All the personnel on this station, all conscious but unresponsive. They were scattered throughout the facility and should have been bustling with normal activity. The parasites, demons, riders, whatever the hell you wanted to call them, they were definitely involved here, but their behavior was somewhat new and different. This was no raving horde of berserkers like I’d met up with on Blue Deck back on Scorpio.

  “All teams, maintain your positions. Do not make physical contact with the personnel. Carlos, can you take readings from a safe distance?”

  “Already on that,” came the reply. “Scanning for metallic traces that we saw on the affected specimens back on Scorpio. Microscopic nanoparticles have integrated with their nervous systems, but the concentration levels here seem much higher. These people aren’t just infected. They’re completely saturated with those little frigging things.”