“Okay, thanks, Haruki. I’ll buzz Admiral Moore and let him know we’re ready for the patients.”

* * *

The crew of the Mad Astra shuffled out of the elevator in single file. As each stepped up, a voice over the intercom assigned them a room to their right.

“They don’t seem to be especially down,” Dr. Nakamura said.

“They’ve all been in the vessel with Pritchard for weeks. There’s been no indication that the nanites are interested in anyone else. Really, once we have verified that we can detect the little buggers, we’ll probably clear the rest of the crew quickly.” Narang smiled ruefully. “And just as well. Admiral Moore has advised me that Captain Jennings set up a scorched-earth plan. He’s hired some high-priced lawyers, given them a complete briefing, and instructed them to raise hell if he doesn’t check in every day. The implication is clear. We can’t just sweep the problem under the rug.”

Nakamura looked shocked. “But we wouldn’t—”

“I know, Haruki. But a good détente removes the question entirely.”

Narang checked her cheat sheet. All the crew members except patient zero were accounted for. She signaled Samuelson with a gesture, and he closed the airlock to Level 3, the crew area. Another flip of a switch, and the airlock to Level 4 opened, on the opposite side of the elevator. Samuelson spoke briefly into his mike.

It took less than a minute for the elevator to make a round trip. The elevator doors opened, the last crew member walked in, and a collective gasp went up from the ICDC doctors. Ivan Pritchard wore the standard crew onboard outfit of shorts, slippers, and a tee shirt. From his totally bald head to the tips of his toes, he looked like he was made of chrome. But he walked and behaved in a completely normal, human manner, right down to slightly hunched shoulders and a hesitant step that stated clearly he was uncomfortable being center stage.

According to Pritchard’s records, he hadn’t changed in shape or size. He showed clear muscle definition, which indicated that he took good care of himself. If they could paint him in human colors, he would pass unnoticed anywhere.

Pritchard looked around. Narang reached over and nudged Samuelson, who seemed to have locked up in place. He blinked and leaned forward into the microphone. “Mr. Pritchard, you will be in room number one, in the section immediately to your left.”

Ivan nodded without comment and proceeded through the open airlock. As soon as he was through, Samuelson operated the panel and the airlock door closed.

Samuelson checked the remote cameras, looking for any issues, or any crew still wandering around. Satisfied that the crew members were all settled, Narang motioned for the microphone. Samuelson handed it to her, then flipped a switch. “All rooms.”