"Three hours ago his mind began a surge in activity - mostly meaningless signals," the doctor said to Verena.

"We've seen this before," she replied.

"This time it's different. The signals coalesced. We're able to discern specific concepts and even images from the neural activity." The man stopped, his face pale.

Verena understood the signs on him; he was frightened. Disturbed, even.

Dr. Genson was one of her top doctors in the field of Medical Krahteology, a man with a reputation for being hard to rattle. But he was due for burnout, she thought - few lasted more than ten years in the field, and he was nearing his eigth. But this still had to be severe to be disturbing him so clearly.

"Show me the images."

The man hesitated. "With respects, Doctor-Admiral, after . . . reviewing the mind-scans, I don't recommend-"

"Show me," she ordered.

Genson nodded, just barely tilting his head, and stepped into the side office.

"I gave strict orders for no one else to review them," he said. "There are only these print-outs - the digital records had worrying data signatures according to the watchdog AI, so I had them deleted."

It was a common and frustrating occurrence; data of certain kinds in their field tended to corrupt themselves when stored digitally. There was no accounting for it, but keeping even the corrupted data had been known to cause para-psychological issues in AIs that had access to them.

They had numerous 'watchdog' simulated AIs whose sole purpose was to be exposed to potentially dangerous data and then monitored for corruption.

It made them more akin to the parakeets that miners used to take with them into tunnels than watchdogs, she mused.

Genson took a folder and offered it to her. He turned away.

Opening it, she looked at the images discerned from Michal Denso's brain.

They were, at first glance, merely geometric shapes in various colors; it was common for preliminary mind-scans to give such results, but the time stamps showed these were from well past the point they should have been formulating as proper images.

Unless these were proper images. The longer she looked at them, the more she began to see the detail that she had at first glance glossed over.

The shapes were wrong. Viewing them was causing her heart rate to rise, even though she felt no fear. There was a depth to the image, as if it was not two-dimensional, but deeper than that.

It was all in her mind, of course.

Or . . . was it?

Sometimes she had had cause to think on the changes to her mind, to wonder if the alterations to her brain had affected her in ways beyond mere damage.

Was she seeing more than others?

Because the image no longer looked like an image. It was like a portal into a deeper space, three-dimensional when logic and reality said it was incapable of being that.

And it looked like . . . a place. A ship.

A corridor.

It was on a ship, for certain, but nothing about it was right; wherever she looked at it, it seemed nearly normal, with just some hint of being off, but in the margins of her visions everything seemed to shift, to move in ways that were a mockery of reality.

She moved to the next image. This one was in shades that brought to mind congealing blood; yet even in the parts that were all the same shade there was detail, images hidden in ways that she could not have described.

Something deeper, something further in. She focused harder on it, knowing it was unwise, but lacking the ability to be afraid.

This was not a corridor. No, this . . . it was a room.

A berth on a starship.

Perhaps on the Sunspot?

She struggled to tear her eyes off it, but while she could no longer fear she still knew that she had to continue her work.

There was one last image, and she hesitated before looking at it. A voice in her mind reminded her that there was danger here; very real, and not imagined.

Verena looked at the last image.

This one was not at all like the others; it was as clear as a photograph, clearer than any image she'd ever seen scanned from a mind.

It was a Dessei. Its body was dessicated, as if it had died in the vacuum of space and been exposed to the radiation of a star for an era.

Its eyes were hollow sockets, massive holes that dipped down into the depths of its skull. Its mouth had been detached entirely, leaving just a third empty gaping hole.

"What is this last image?" she asked.

"We . . . we don't know, ma'am," Dr. Genson said. "I've never seen an image so clear, and we have no idea why this in particular would appear in his mind-"

"Has Denso said anything?" she asked. "Or have we detected any mental audio?"

The man swallowed. "No psychic audibles, but he spoke out loud when this incident began."

"What did he say?"

"He said that 'we don't belong here'. No one was actually in with him at the time, so we assumed it was simply an old memory."

Verena said nothing, and stuck the photos back into the folder. "Seal these and store them under my authorization."

"Yes, ma'am."

Giving the folder to him, she went back into the other room.

"Has there been any change in his mass?" she asked.

"Yes, doctor," one nurse said. "An increase of 371.4% since this incident occurred; still within structural safety for the room."

She looked at the data herself. The man's body had no apparent change in weight or density, yet gravimetric detectors noted that the mass present in the area he occupied had increased to nearly ten tons.

That much change, in three hours.

"Measure krahteon activity," she ordered.

There was a silence.

"Doctor? We don't have that equipment in here . . ."

"Then bring it," she said.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"With respects, doctor, altered patients have never been known to cause krahteonic emissions . . ." Genson began.

"Be quiet," she told him. "Have you ordered it?"

"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said. "We have a drone with basic krahteon scanners being sent here from the external sensor suite."

Verena did not reply, merely watching Denso. The man was not moving on his bed, his eyes closed. If not for the sensors that said he still lived, she could have taken him to be a corpse.

Perhaps he was, in reality.

The drone arrived.

In silence, it was sent into the room.

"Beginning sensor feed, doctor. Okay, we're getting- oh my god."

The sensor suite on the drone was simplistic, but reliable. It was, in essence, a micro-grid of artificially-created neurons and sensory cells akin to those in human eyes, skin, and nostrils.

The grid functioned by detecting alterations in the artifical cells.

Small amounts of krahteons functioning almost like a cancer; affecting cells that . . . changed.

The effect was typically subtle, but now . . .

Now they were watching the changes in real time.

"Emissions are over 20KR . . ." the nurse said, panic in her voice.

20 KR. Forty times the safety threshold for personnel.

"Everyone, calmly leave the chamber," she ordered. "Send all data to a remote station and take shifts of no more than fifteen minutes observing the feed."

The nurses and doctors almost stumbled over each other to get out of the room, and Verena went last.

Dr. Genson was waiting for her outside, his eyes wide, his face blanched nearly white.

"I want all staff who have been near the patient in the last three hours to get full safety tests," she told him.

"And what about Denso? My god, this is the first time I've seen . . ."

"Focus, Doctor," she chided. "Seal the area. No one goes in without my permission after this."

"Yes, ma'am," the man said.

Verena headed for the door.

"Doctor Urle - where are you going?" Genson asked.

Turning deliberately, she stared at the doctor.

"I must to speak to Captain Brooks," she said.

Emotions roiled across the man's face, panic foremost among them.

She found herself disappointed. The man's emotions were running him, and she no longer had tolerance for that.

"Dr. Genson, focus. Are you capable of carrying out my instructions?" she demanded.

The man saw no pity on her face, and took a moment, forcing himself to calm. Fear was still in his eyes, but he managed to compose his other features.

"Yes, ma'am," he told her.

"Good. Don't disappoint me, doctor."

She left without another word.

*******

As Verena finished talking, Brooks leaned forward over his desk, his hands interlacing in front of his face.

His eyes were unfocused as he took in the significance of what she had just told him.

"How long can you safely contain the krahteons Denso is producing?" he asked.

"At the current rate, indefinitely. But I expect that the emission rate will continue to increase - given that, I have created several projections modelling the outcome. We have six days at the most - as little as twelve hours in my worst predictions," she told him.

"And at that point Denso becomes a direct danger to the staff and residents of MS-29?"

"Yes," Verena said.

"It seems we have little time to act, then." Sighing, Brooks leaned back, rubbing his cheek and looking off to the side. "Do you wish for advice from me, Doctor? I'm surprised you're coming to me with this, and I mean no offense by that. I would not expect you to trust me."

Verena regarded him in confusion. "I believed, when you sent the mission to Terris, that you had made a mistake, that you were . . . running on wild hunches."

"Do you feel differently now?" Brooks asked.

"I have come to see your reasoning. I cannot quantify your hunch, Captain, but I believe your action is at least justified, even if I am not certain it will bear fruit."

Brooks took that in, studying her and wondering. She hadn't answered his question about if she wanted his advice.

"I have come to you for another reason, though I will also be willing to listen to your views on this matter. The real issue that the danger Michal Denso represents to this station has already crossed a threshold."

"What threshold?"

"I told you that I was bound by orders to keep Denso alive - against my better judgment and his own interests."

"You mentioned that, yes. I admit - I had been curious why such an order would be given. But you chose not to elaborate on it at the time, and I imagined it was because you couldn't."

Verena nodded. "I am about to violate a part of those orders, and there may be repercussions for us both. Are you willing to accept that burden, Captain?"

"I am," he replied.

"Good. My special orders were given by Director Freeman of the Research Bureau. His department deals specifically with-"

"I know the man," Brooks interrupted.

Knew, and Brooks could not say liked. Director Freeman was an effective administrator, with a keen mind and interest in krahteology . . . but also a man who had opposed Brooks's career advancement repeatedly.

"Very good," Verena continued. "Then I need not explain why he is interested in Denso."

Certainly it made sense that the head of research into Leviathans might want a being like Denso alive. If there was even a chance he was something like an egg of one . . .

"How far back do these orders go?" Brooks asked.

"From before I even headed this facility," Verena replied. "From the first day we took Denso aboard."

"Is this common for victims from Terris?"

"No," Verena replied. "Denso is the only patient with these orders."

Brooks frowned. "So Freeman must have known that there was something unique about the man."

"That is my thought as well. How or why - I do not know. I always found the order peculiar, but only specific medical staff positions can know about the order - I should not have told you, but I require your help."

"You need another ranking officer to help you overrule the command," Brooks realized.

"Yes," Verena replied.

It was a slick yet foolish move Freeman had made here, he realized. Giving such strict orders on who could know would essentially lock the medical commander of the station out of being able to counter-mand those orders.

"Clearly you need to override these orders," Brooks said, as much for the record as for her. "There are few ways to predict how things relating to Leviathans and those affected by them will go," Brooks noted. "I would never have predicted what . . ." he struggled for a word. "What is happening to Denso."

"This is true," Verena agreed. "I am certain Director Freeman did not mean for these orders to put millions at risk. In addition to this, however, they have been unethical from the very beginning. We are now put into the situation of having to make the call on terminating a patient who is not technically terminal nor is able to give consent, nor has any family present or aware of his condition to give consent.

"In such a situation am privy to specific codes similar to your Emergency Action Commands - and in one of them, the station commander may justify the withdrawal of life support from a patient."

"That is convenient, then. So why do you need me?"

"Because unlike the leeway a starship captain has when invoking Emergency Action Commands, a station comander must follow stricter rules. I require at least one other command-level officer to be present."

Brooks knew that the action commands had to be looser for a captain, whose ship might find itself light-years from the nearest friendly ship or port, but for a station commander, it was likely safe to assume that a friendly ship would be on-hand at any time.

Unfortunately, for MS-29, this was not the case. The Craton was the only vessel here, and he was the only option.

"Do I need to simply observe - or is my consent on the order required?" he asked.

"The former, Captain. But you do have the power to veto my decision. Do you object?" Verena asked.

Brooks had to consider. It was easy to hold the opinion of terminating a man when the decision was not in your hands, but now it was in his.

His feelings still told him that this was the only way. Denso was a danger, and he believed potentially an existential danger to hundreds of millions.

But he had to be certain.

Denso was altering, gaining mass, but what he was becoming was unknown. The fact that he was developing into dimensions they could not even observe was intensely concerning, as it limited what they could learn.

Kell had warned them of the danger, but the Ambassador's words alone were not actionable intelligence - not legally.

The fact that he was now emitting dangerous radiation was a whole new wrinkle. It created a danger, and that could grow.

"Verena, if you believe we should go forward with the termination, then I support you fully. However, I believe we should wait at least a little bit longer. You said you believed we have twelve hours - and I expect a check-in from my team sent to Terris in only six hours. When they check in, we'll know more-"

A beeping on his desk caused him to drop his sentence.