ordinary groundwater. They were not going to handle the flood.
Especially not when flood waters were seeping in through the ground floor walls and creeping over the doorsills.
According to the meteorological data, the glaciers were melting, and the spring rains were only a couple of months away.
Meanwhile, half a continent away, there was a disaster recovery firm that specialized in data and equipment recovery. They advertised that they could duplicate an existing system in a month, and recover data from devices that had been immersed in saltwater for over a year, or through major fires with extensive smoke damage. Interstellar Teleson was going to need them, and they didn't even know it. Besides, Tia liked the name. Whoever these people were, they had one heck of a sense of humor.
Chuckling to herself, Tia called Lee Stirling and made her investment, then sent out another carefully worded letter to Crash and Burn Data Recovery, Limited.
The public trial of Doctor Haakon-Fritz was a ten day circus, but by then, Tia and Alex had for more serious things on their minds and no time to waste on trivialities.
Tia's recordings, both at the site and in the main cabin, were a matter of public record now, and that was the only stake they had in the trial. The Institute only wanted to keep from looking too foolish. In return for the supply of small arms Alex demanded, they asked that he not testify at the trial, since anything he could say would only corroborate those records. They both knew what the Institute people were thinking: records were one thing, but a heroic participant, who just might sound impassioned, no, that was something they didn't want to see. He was willing, he reckoned it was a small price to pay. Besides, there was little he could add, other than becoming another source of media attention.
So while the media gathered, the quiet Institute lawyers and spokesmen tried to downplay the entire incident, Alex got his arms-locker, and Tia her ethological kit as the price for their non-participation. And as they prepared to head out on a new round of duties, there came an urgent message.
The Institute contract was on hold; CS had another use for them as the only BB ship on base.
And they suddenly found themselves, not only with a new agenda, but an entirely new employer.
'Kenny, what is all this about?' Tia asked, when the barrage of orders and follow-up orders concluded, leaving them with a single destination, an empty flight plan, and a 'wait for briefing' message. So here they were docked with the Pride of Albion, and the briefing orders coming from Doctor Kennet Uhura-Sorg.
'This,' Doctor Kennet replied, grimly, sending the live-cam view of one of the isolation rooms.
Alex gasped. Tia didn't blame him.
The view that Doctor Kennet gave them of this, the pride of Albion's newest isolation patient, was blessedly brief. It had been a human at one point. Now it was a humanoid-shaped mass of suffering. Somewhere in the mass of open sores were eyes, a mouth, a face. Those had been hands, once, and feet
Tia was the first to recover. 'Who is that,' she asked sharply, 'and what happened to him?'
'Who, we don't know,' Kenny replied, his face completely without expression. 'He was from a tramp freighter that left him when he didn't get aboard by liftoff time. We don't know if they expected something like this, or if they were just worried because one of their bogus crew turned up missing, but they burned out of Yamahatchi Station with a speed that simply didn't match their rather shabby exterior. He was under false papers, of course, and there isn't enough of his fingers or retinas left to identify him. And unless he's ever been a murder or crime-of-violence suspect, his DNA patterns could take years to match with his birth records.'
Alex nodded. It wouldn't have been too difficult to deduce his ship; anyone logging into a station hostel or hotel had to list his ship-of-origin as well as filing his papers. That information was instantly cross-checked with the ship; the ship had to okay the crewman's ID before he would be allowed to check in. Passengers, of course, used an entirely separate set of hotels.
'That kind of speed probably means a pirate or a smuggler,' Alex said.
'I don't think there's much doubt of that,' Kenny replied. 'Well, when his logged time at the cheap hostel he'd checked into ran out, they opened the door to his room, found that, and very wisely slammed the door and reported him.'
'What about the hostel personnel?' Tia asked.
'We have them all in isolation, but so far, thank the deity of your choice, none of them are showing any signs of infection.'
'For which favor, much thanks,' Alex muttered.
Just what is it that he's got?' Tia asked, keeping her voice even and level.
