The Descent

The  next  angle focused on an image in the mirror.  'This  is  the  backside  of  one  of  the capsules,' Sandwell said.

The  lettering  was  complete  this  time,  though  upside  down.  There  was  a  tiny  bar code,  and  an  identification  in  English  script.  Sandwell  froze  the  image.  'Right  side  up,' he ordered. The  camera angle pivoted. SP-9,  the lettering said, followed by  USDoD.

'It's one of ours?' a voice asked.

'The  "SP"  designates  a  synthetic  prion,  manufactured  in  the  laboratory.  Nine  is  the generation number.'

'Is  that  supposed  to  be  good  news  or  bad  news?'  someone  said.  'The  hadals  aren't manufacturing the contagion that's killing us. We are.'

'The  Prion-9  model  has  an  accelerant  built  in.  On  contact  with  the  skin,  it  colonizes almost instantly. The  lab  director  compared  it  to  a  supersonic  black  plague.'  Sandwell paused.  'Prion-9  was  tailored  for  the  theater  in  case  things  got  out  of  hand  down below.  But  once  they  built  the  prion,  it  was  decided  that  nothing  could  get  so  out  of hand to ever  use it.  Simply  put,  it's  too  deadly  to  be  deployed.  Because  it  reproduces, small  amounts  have  the  potential  to  expand  and  fill  an  environmental  niche.  In  this case, that niche is the entire subplanet.'

A hand  closed  on  January's  arm  with  the  force  of  a  trap.  The  pain  of  Thomas's  grip traveled  up her bone. He let go. 'I'm sorry,'  he whispered, and took his hand away. January  knew  better  than  to  interrupt  a  military  briefing.  She  did  it  anyway.  'And what  happens  when  this  prion  fills  its  niche  and  decides  to  jump  to  the  next  niche? What about our world?'

'Excellent  question,  Senator.  There  is  some  good  news  with  the  bad.  Prion-9  was developed  for  use  in  the  subplanet  exclusively.  It  only  lives  –  and  only  kills  –  in darkness. It  dies in sunlight.'

'In  other  words,  it  can't  jump  its  niche.  That's  the  theory?'  She  let  her  skepticism hang.

Sandwell  added,  'One  other  thing.  The  synthetic  prion  has  been  tested  on  captive hadals. Once exposed, they  die twice as fast as we do.'

'Now there's  an edge for you,' someone snorted. 'Nine-tenths of a second.' Captive hadals? Tests?  January had never  heard of these  things.

'Last   of  all,'  Sandwell  said,  'all  remaining  stocks   of  this   generation   have   been destroyed.'

'Are there  other generations?'

'That's classified. Prion-9 was going to be  destroyed  anyway.  The  order  arrived  just days  after  the  theft.  Except  for  the  contraband  cylinders  already  in  the  subplanet, there  are no more.'

A  question  came  from  the  dark  room.  'How  did  the  hadals  get  their  hands  on  our ordnance, General?'

'It's not the hadals who planted the prion in our ClipGal  corridor,'  Sandwell  snapped.

'We have  proof now. It  was one of us.'

The  video  screen  came  on  again.  January  was  certain  he  was  replaying  the  first tape.  It  looked  to  be  the  same  black  tunnel,  disgorging  the  same  disembodied  heat signatures.  The  hot  green  amoebas  became  bipedal.  She  checked  the  dateline.  The images  came  from  Line  station  number  1492.  But  the  date  was  different.  It  read

06/18.  This video had been shot two weeks  earlier than the SEAL patrol.

'Who are these  people?' a voice asked.

The  heat  signatures  took  on  distinct  faces.  A  dozen  became  two  dozen,  all  strung

out.  They  weren't  soldiers.  But  with  their  night  glasses  on,  it  was  impossible  to  say exactly  who or what they  were.  The  first array  of tunnel  lights  automatically  engaged. And  suddenly  the  figures  on  screen  could  be  seen  yelling  happily  and  stripping  their glasses off and generally acting like civilians on a holiday.

Their  Helios  uniforms  were  dirty,  but  not  tattered  or  badly  worn.  January  made  a quick  calculation.  At  this  point,  the   expedition   had  been   in  its  second  month  of trekking.

'Look,' she whispered to Thomas.

It  was Ali. She had a pack on and  looked  healthy,  if  thin,  and  better  fit  than  some  of the  men.  Her  smile  was  a  thing  of  beauty.  She  passed  the  wall  camera  with  no  idea that it was taping her.

Without  turning  her  head,  January  noticed  a  change  in  the  soldiers  around  her.  In some way,  Ali's smile testified to their nobility.

'The Helios expedition,' Sandwell said for those who did not know.

More and more people filled the screen. Sandwell let his commanders appreciate  the whole potpourri. Someone said, 'You mean to say  one of them planted the cylinders?' Again Sandwell set  them straight. 'I  repeat,  it  was  one  of  us.'  He  paused.  'Not  them. Us. One of you.'