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have no bandages, they’re all decayed. I don’t have a lot of confidence in any of my topicals; I don’t know what five centuries does to antibiotics or antivirals. I don’t even have soap or water. And I don’t have any idea what kind of shape our immune systems are in. But the thing I need you for is that this umbilical cord — if that’s what this is — is not normal. Usually there’s no pain, but this may be different. I need you to be ready to take hold of the sergeant in the event she begins to move around. Can you do that?”

    Mo’Steel nodded, not trusting his dust-dry mouth to form an answer.

    “Okay, Sergeant Hoyle — Tamara,” Dr. Huerta said to her patient, “this shouldn’t be any problem at all. If you feel any discomfort, just let me know.”

    “I’m okay,” Tamara said. She stroked the baby’s head.

    The baby opened its empty eyes and yawned. Mo’Steel saw a mouth full of tiny white teeth.

    Good thing they had a doctor. She could deal with the baby. The baby scared Mo’Steel. Doctors were used to that stuff. Used to giant, silent, eyeless babies.

    Right.

    Doctor Huerta took up position at bedside, kneeling over the young woman. Mo’Steel squatted behind Tamara’s head, arms akimbo, ready to make a grab.

    Doctor Huerta retrieved a piece of fiber-optic cable Jobs must have given her and began to cinch it around the cord, two inches from the baby’s side.

    The baby turned its head sharply to look at her.

    Doctor Huerta began tying off the cord close to the mother’s shoulder. Mo’Steel looked studiously away, suddenly fascinated by the bulkhead.

    The baby stirred and a low, animal moan came from its mother.

    “Did you feel that?” the doctor asked her. She held the scalpel poised in her hand, ready for the first cut.

    Suddenly the baby lunged. Its chubby fist grabbed for the scalpel. Doctor Huerta yanked it away.

    The baby bared its teeth in a dangerous scowl and, as Mo’Steel watched in growing horror, his mother’s face mirrored the expression.

    Tamara made her own grab for the scalpel and caught the doctor’s wrist. The doctor lost her balance and Tamara let her fall.

    Mo’Steel yelled, “Help! Help down here!”

    The doctor fell straight back, hitting her head on the edge of the berth. The scalpel flew from her hand. Mo’Steel lunged for the doctor but he was awkwardly positioned and now, as he tried to lean over Tamara, the baby was clawing feebly at his chest and neck.

    It didn’t take long to realize that the doctor was not moving. Wasn’t breathing.

    “Help! Someone help me down here!”

    Mo’Steel coiled his legs and leaped across Tamara, hit his head on the deck, and came up, brain swimming, swirling. The doctor was still. He fished for the scalpel but was knocked violently off-balance by a kick from Tamara.

    He went facedown and the Marine was on him. They struggled, shoving and pushing to find the scalpel.

    Jobs appeared, tumbling down the stairs. He stepped on the scalpel just as Tamara touched it with outstretched fingers.

    “Cut the cord!” Mo’Steel yelled. He yanked Tamara back with all his strength. He was strong, but the whipcord Marine sergeant was stronger. Her hands closed around his throat and already he was seeing double as she stopped the flow of blood to his brain.

    Jobs knelt, picked up the scalpel. He made a quick, slashing cut, severed the cord, and instantly the death grip on Mo’Steel’s throat loosened.

    Mo’Steel pushed Tamara back and slid out from under her.

    The Marine sat up, then bent forward and began vomiting. The baby lay on its back, gasping, staring blindly.

    More people arrived, running to respond to Mo’Steel’s earlier cries.

    Too late. Way too late. The doctor was dead.

CHAPTER NINE
“WE DIDN’T LAND. WE WERE CAPTURED.”
     

    Miss Violet Blake’s mother was alive. Her father was not.

    Violet had seen her father, and the image had been burned so deeply into her thoughts that she could not