Limbs sprawling, Harris dove to the floor of the control center and slid into a nearby console. After quickly righting himself, he looked back to where Peterson stood, still wielding a rake with dagger-like blades. Harris had been immediately wary of Peterson's unsanctioned visit to the control center, but what tipped him off to the ensuing attack was Peterson's unusual stance. It was clear he was hiding something behind his back. And the tone of his voice somehow sounded threatening. When Peterson reeled back and swung the rake around like a sickle, Harris had already flung himself to the floor.

Peterson yanked at the rake, pulling its imbedded blades from the chair's backboard. Harris realized that if he hadn't moved, he would be bleeding to death from twenty stab wounds. Harris climbed to his feet just as Peterson freed the rake and faced off with the captain.

"Peterson…" Harris's tone was authoritative, irritated. He decided that wasn't the best idea. No need to egg the man on. "Michael, put the rake down. Tell me what's bothering you."

Harris watched as Peterson shuffled forward. He could see that his actions were slightly off, staggered and stiff, but just barely. Then he met Peterson's eyes…his red eyes. Peterson still had pupils, but the whites of his eyes had gone red, as though the vessels within had burst.

The rake came back, readied for the next assault.

"Michael, wait," Harris said. "Don't do this."

"I do only what must be done," Peterson said, his voice sounded different. Scratchy.

"Peterson...what?" This isn't Peterson, Harris thought. He's not himself. Perhaps the sting he received is affecting his mind, causing hallucinations? Harris cursed himself. He shouldn't have let Choi go back to the surface. He needed her here.

"You should not have come," Peterson said.

The rake came around like a picket fence caught in a tornado. Harris ducked just in time, feeling the breeze from the farming tool turned weapon whoosh over his balding head. "Come where? What are you talking about?"

"You," Peterson said with a deathly gaze that stung Harris's eyes, "are not welcome here. You must be—" A gurgling sound rose up from Peterson's throat. "We must be…immunized!" Peterson lunged forward and brought the rake down hard, smashing the view screen above Harris head.

Harris could see that Peterson had gone completely insane. The reasons for his mental state no longer mattered. It was clear that if Harris didn't fight back, he would die. And with this maniac left alone on the ship, who knows what would happen to the others on the surface.

Peterson swung the rake up over his head, preparing to bring it down again. Just as he began his downward motion, Harris bolted forward like a charging ram. The rake flew through the air and clambered to the floor as Harris tackled Peterson around the waist. Both men fell to the floor, a tangled mess of flailing arms and legs.