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base of the figure’s skull. “I’d recommend the landing party remove all hard lines.”
    Bei nodded. They could minimize response time by keeping the WA online while dirtside. Thankfully, no one had discovered a biological virus with the ability to infect cyberspace.
    Nell rubbed the back of her neck. “Can we caulk the seams of our brain boxes and... and joints to prevent infection?”
    Bei’s gut clenched. No, and Hell no. His wife was staying safe on the ship. She was the glue that held the NSA together.
    “Brilliant.” Mechanic Smith’s dark fingers flew over the keyboard. “I can create just the thing. If you’ll loan me your NDA expertise, I should have it ready before touchdown. Easy.”
    Nell nodded. Her skin had almost returned to normal peach tones. “Whatever you need.”
    Bei pinned her with a glare.
    She set her hands on her hips. “Doc, what magic up your cyborg sleeves will protect your biologic core better than my immune system?”
    Bei snapped his attention to Doc and shot an order through the WA. If you answer that truthfully, Doc, I will unsnap your prosthetic arm and pummel you into a lumpy pudding .
    Every Syn-En at the table winced.
    Nell rubbed her temples. “Elvis’s block prevents you from reading me, not me from hearing your tantrum in the WA.”
    Admirals do not have tantrums. Bei’s response elicited chuckles in cyberspace.
    The feather-face flashed his canines. Thankfully, Amarooks didn’t make a sound when they laughed. Unfortunately, they could unleash large bundles of Smiley faces into the WA.
    Compression alerts flared in Bei’s head. He uncurled his fingers. One day the universe would introduce Elvis to a bitch named Karma.
    Nell stomped toward Bei. Anger and concern crackled in her blue eyes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Syn-En have very few biological bones left, which means their immune system might actually become overwhelmed faster than say a relatively unaltered human.”
    Bei crossed to meet her. “You are not going.”
    His NDA prickled. Everyone in the room watched.
    “Furthermore,” she pointed at him. “your brain box will minimize your immune response so that you can keep working, allowing the infection to grow to lethal levels.”
    Doc leaned back in his chair. She is correct, Admiral.
    Stuff it, Doc. Bei loomed over his wife, using his tenth generation and eight-inch height differential to his advantage. “You are not going.”
    “I never said I was.” NDA gathered under her soles, lifting her to his eye-level.
    Sometimes, he hated technology. “When the Plague finished with Earth, nearly ninety-nine percent of all life had been exterminated.”
    “I know.” She set her hand on his arm. Her bottom lip trembled. “I was there. I survived.”
    Her anguish and loss cast a long shadow in the WA.
    The biologic male, Karl, sputtered. “That was more than a century ago. How is that possible?”
    Nell’s gaze never left Bei’s face. “I took a very long space nap. Look up Rip VanWrinkle or Sleeping Beauty. I have the ability to protect you. Let me.”
    Bei’s logic processors recognized the validity of her argument. His logic processors were obviously malfunctioning. “The virus has mutated. Your antibodies will be worthless.”
    “Then so would yours.” She cupped his cheek.
    But you would still be alive. Clasping her hand, he placed it between them.
    Would I? I don’t think there’s a me without you. She shrugged and shifted away from him.
    He didn’t want to let her go, but this wasn’t the time.
    Captain Pennig cleared his throat.
    The woman, Erin, sniffled. Her companion, Karl, patted her on the back.
    Bei smoothed his uniform tunic. Biologics were damn proficient at reading body language.
    Apollie gathered her braids into a single pony tail. “I realize you may not wish to hear this, Admiral, but Nell Stafford is our best chance of safely extricating those humans and preventing the Surlat strain from becoming a universal