“Make sure he doesn’t choke on that mess, son,” Jones said as he clawed his way onto his feet. He knew for sure now that they were under attack. No idea by whom or with what, though. You had to figure it was some kind of neural disrupter, given the effects, but those prototypes weren’t even out of the labs in the States. And the dinks were still ten years behind in development. Once you eliminated Beijing, however, what then? Ragheads didn’t have the delivery platforms, and never would.

The ship seemed to pitch beneath his boots like they’d run into a force-niner. But he knew that was his inner ear, because Chen’s coffee rested undisturbed in its mug on the mess table. He fumbled for his flexipad, tried for a link to the bridge, and got nowhere. Same with the CIC, security detail, and the sick bay. Shipnet was unaffected—so there was no electromagnetic pulse—but nobody was answering. Probably all rolling around in their own puke.

Another dense, metallic boom sounded somewhere nearby. The hell with this, thought Jones, gathering his composure and what he could of his balance. Somebody had to get on the stick or their families were all going to be getting a folded flag and a visit from the grief counselors.

“Chen,” he barked. “Can Hannon walk yet?”

“I don’t think so, Colonel. He’s still sort of spasming.”

“Check his air passage for any more crap and leave him. We’ll send someone through to look after him, but we have to get to work. Come on now, son. Let’s hustle before someone catches us with our nuts in the breeze.”

Again, he added to himself.

Chen arranged his friend to rest as comfortably as possible and pushed himself up toward his CO. The steward who had served them appeared from the galley on his hands and knees, a long string of blood falling from his lips.

“You there!” yelled Jones, cutting through the man’s misery and doubling the intensity of his own headache. “You well enough to attend to the lieutenant there?”

The man groaned, but nodded.

“Make sure he doesn’t choke, then. And see to anybody you got back there. Shut everything down. No flames or boiling water. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, Colonel,” the steward croaked as Jones and Chen tottered out of the mess.

There were men and women in various states of collapse all along the corridor. Some were far gone in what looked like the extremes of an epileptic seizure. Others simply appeared to be sleeping. A few were gathering their wits and none, to Jones’s surprise, seemed to have been gripped by the Fear yet.

Probably too fucked up.