1450 HOURS, OCTOBER 12, 2602 [MILITARY CALENDAR]
ABOARD SCIENCE SHIP UNSC BEAKER, INTERSTELLAR SPACE
Captain Manuel Garcia felt nothing but contempt for the sorry lot of detainees chained to the piping in the cargo hold of the transport ship Beaker. All eight of the Beaker’s UNSC crew seemed unnaturally resigned, as if they knew they’d be caught red-handed and had already accepted their fate. The three civilians, including the captain, from the transport ship docked to the Beaker, the Agricola, were completely flummoxed by comparison. Garcia had yet to ascertain their guilt but knew they were in deep trouble as far as the Office of Naval Intelligence was concerned.
As team leader of Task Force Montagu, it was his call to declare whether the suspects were in violation of ONI’s THANATOS Protocol and subject to “indefinite and involuntary quarantine,” as outlined in the protocol's directive. If not, all involved would be given a cover story to explain their temporary detainment and sent on their way. Since it was obvious they were dealing with ONI, none of them would question the story. However, if they were guilty, knowingly or not, then nothing good lay ahead for the violators.
To be guilty of violating THANATOS meant being involved in collecting, trafficking, experimenting, and/or selling the Flood parasite. Being an unwitting bystander did nothing to alleviate the paramount threat such activities posed. Willing participation made one nothing less than the most serious threat in the galaxy.
Emerging from the dark final days of the Covenant War, the Flood was a parasitic organism that could rapidly consume sentient life. Worse yet, it could hijack the bodies of those it consumed, retaining all the knowledge their victims had. It could do anything from chambering an M6 magnum to piloting a starship—and everything in between. Left unchecked, the Flood had the potential to spread its diseased influence across the galaxy. Whether human or alien, it would be game over for everything.
The only saving grace had been the Flood’s defeat by the combined efforts of the UNSC and Covenant separatists at the end of the war. His grandfather had been a part of the allied forces deployed to a far-off artificial habitat called the Ark back in ’52 and had told Manuel’s father and him about what had happened there.
One of the Agricola’s three crew members was babbling through another futile round of questioning when Montagu’s K9 handler, Specialist Gerald Bauer, approached Garcia.
“Got a positive ID from Ol’ Boy,” Bauer said, scratching the chin of the team’s K9 asset. A mix of a German Shepherd and bloodhound, Ol’ Boy was specially bred to root out the dangerous parasite no matter how well-hidden it might be.
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“Show me,” Garcia ordered. He signaled for another member of the task force, Sergeant Aki Yamato, to stand watch over the detainees as Bauer led him to a recently moved crate. Ol’ Boy pawed frantically at a concealed hatch that no doubt led to a hidden cargo compartment.
“Jane, log the presence of an unauthorized compartment on the list of red flags this whole situation has raised,” Garcia commanded. Winking into view in the corner of his helmet’s HUD was the avatar of Jane Doe, Task Force Montagu’s AI operative. Eschewing the usual lifelike human avatars of most AIs, Jane opted for a highly stylized caricature of an ONI field agent: black trench coat, wetwork gloves, and large, face-consuming shades completed her ensemble.
“Already done, Cap,” Jane affirmed. “Bauer already tipped me off, but that still leaves us needing to go below and check. There might still be a chance they’ve got nothing down there.”
A brief pause lingered between the two before both human and AI laughed together. Their initial pursuit of the Agricola had been triggered by the use of the term "Utnapishtim's hand" found in its manifest for pick up back on the world Andesha. Allegedly a medicinal herb, Garcia knew it was bunk and wondered if the crew thought they were being cute using a character from the Epic of Gilgamesh's flood narrative as a cover.
“Nah,” Jane added, “they’re guiltier than shit. Want me to send in Integra?”
“Negative, no signs of a containment breach. Best to keep her in reserve unless we need her.”
“Most days, I feel like she’s like a goldfish you win at the fair and stick in a small jar to endlessly swim in total boredom, you know?”
“The day we need her is a day I hope never to see. All the same, see if they’ve got any electrical systems connected below. I don’t want Bauer and me stumbling in the dark if they’ve got samples of the parasite onboard.”
Jane gave a thumbs-up and blipped off Garcia’s HUD. Bauer lifted the hatch, letting Garcia descend first before commanding Ol’ Boy to sit and stay. Descending a ladder into the hidden hold, Jane quickly chimed in that power was going into the compartment, but no interior illumination systems were available. Clicking on flashlights built into their M95A shotguns quickly revealed where the power was going.
Two rows of cryopods, twelve in total, bathed the hold in an eerie green hue from the contents stored within. Different categories of Flood specimens were suspended in a viscous fluid and appeared inert. The two agents gave Jane ample views of each specimen as she logged their presence and cross-referenced them with ONI’s database.
“Looks like we’ve got four infector pods, one carrier, three combat forms, and five of unknown classification, Cap,” Jane reported.
Garcia heard the report, but one of the specimens, dubbed a “combat form,” left him swinging back and forth between immense disbelief and anger. The specimen appeared to be that of an infected child, likely no older than four. Their small frame looked frozen in fear—at least, the portions not covered in gangrenous biomass pustules.
Calmly, but barely holding back a rising rage, Garcia asked, “Jane, have you ID’d who’s in charge of the Beaker’s operations among the detainees? I’ve got a few words for them.”