any connection to secure systems aboard the station.
Unless . . .
The aerostat . He looked again at the spy device bobbing near the ceiling of the conference room. Very like the aerostat on the station. How had he described it to Summer? The device had behaved like a puppy, following people through the corridors, hovering in corners . . .
What had it seen?
It shouldn’t matter!
Even if E-3 had spied out codes, identity files, and command scripts, it could not enter any information into the system . . .
Except of course that it had. Somehow it had devised a way.
A new window opened in the wall screen. A woman peered out of it. Faint shadows nested in her creamy skin, accenting the sharpness of her features. She glanced at Panwar, still murmuring to E-3. Then she fixed Virgil with an aristocratic eye. “Dr. Copeland? I am Director Julianna Vallejo. If you’re calling to tell us your L ov s have infested the station, we already know.”
“Infested . . . ?”
Dr. Vallejo’s gaze darted to the right. She nodded. Then a new window opened over her image. Virgil found himself looking at a scabrous, gray-white crust growing along a bundled cable. The crust looked to be made of distinct, dirty grains, packed tightly together.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Vallejo’s voice answered: “ L ov s.”
Virgil glanced at Panwar, but he was so deeply absorbed in his murmured negotiations with E-3 that he did not seem aware of Vallejo. “No,” Virgil said. “That’s not what L ov s look like. It’s not even a liquid medium.”
“I don’t care what kind of medium it is!” Vallejo said. “Those things are L ov s. Tawa: Magnify the image.”
The view dived inward. The grainy crust transformed into a tiled wall of gray disks, each displaying the familiar, intricately perforated architecture of a L ov ’s silicon shell. Virgil could even make out their stubby limbs, wound together to hold the mass of shells in place. And yet these were not the familiar L ov s of Epsilon-3. He thought that these gray L ov s might be smaller, but it was the color of their membranes that truly set them apart. Instead of translucent white, their perforations were guarded by glossy black tissue . . . an adaptation to the drier environment?
He shook his head. “Even if they are L ov s, how could they have gotten out? We have filters to protect the waste system.”
Vallejo’s glare was searing. “The filters didn’t work! And now these parasites have corrupted our fiber-optic lines—”
“You really think they’ve tapped the system?” It seemed impossible. But then nothing E-3 had done in the last few minutes should be possible.
“How much evidence do you need?” Vallejo snapped. “We’ve lost control of the roaches! But we’re working on pumping steam through the conduits. If these things are organic, we should be able to cook them.”
Virgil nodded. “And break any connection back to E-3.”
“It won’t be soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Her gaze shifted, to scan another face, or another bit of data somewhere beyond Virgil’s view. “The L ov s in the lockdown must be sterilized too, Dr. Copeland. Now. Or the entire EquaSys module is going to fall. But we can’t get in there.”
Virgil stared at her in horror. That was the worst-case solution, to send the L ov s into extinction. But wasn’t this a worst-case problem? Not quite. “We can use Lucy, our robotic remote, and cull E-3. That should be enough. But I need a connection . . .”
“Open all of his lines, dammit!” Vallejo shouted to someone off-screen. “I don’t give a shit what his status is!”
Panwar finally looked away from E-3. His eyes widened as he saw the mutated L ov s.
Vallejo said, “Your links are up.”
Virgil used his fingers to tap a quick command to his R osa , Iris. Then he remembered: his farsights were gone. “Hark!” he said, alerting the project R osa instead. “Activate Lucy.” He yanked open a drawer under the
Unless . . .
The aerostat . He looked again at the spy device bobbing near the ceiling of the conference room. Very like the aerostat on the station. How had he described it to Summer? The device had behaved like a puppy, following people through the corridors, hovering in corners . . .
What had it seen?
It shouldn’t matter!
Even if E-3 had spied out codes, identity files, and command scripts, it could not enter any information into the system . . .
Except of course that it had. Somehow it had devised a way.
A new window opened in the wall screen. A woman peered out of it. Faint shadows nested in her creamy skin, accenting the sharpness of her features. She glanced at Panwar, still murmuring to E-3. Then she fixed Virgil with an aristocratic eye. “Dr. Copeland? I am Director Julianna Vallejo. If you’re calling to tell us your L ov s have infested the station, we already know.”
“Infested . . . ?”
Dr. Vallejo’s gaze darted to the right. She nodded. Then a new window opened over her image. Virgil found himself looking at a scabrous, gray-white crust growing along a bundled cable. The crust looked to be made of distinct, dirty grains, packed tightly together.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Vallejo’s voice answered: “ L ov s.”
Virgil glanced at Panwar, but he was so deeply absorbed in his murmured negotiations with E-3 that he did not seem aware of Vallejo. “No,” Virgil said. “That’s not what L ov s look like. It’s not even a liquid medium.”
“I don’t care what kind of medium it is!” Vallejo said. “Those things are L ov s. Tawa: Magnify the image.”
The view dived inward. The grainy crust transformed into a tiled wall of gray disks, each displaying the familiar, intricately perforated architecture of a L ov ’s silicon shell. Virgil could even make out their stubby limbs, wound together to hold the mass of shells in place. And yet these were not the familiar L ov s of Epsilon-3. He thought that these gray L ov s might be smaller, but it was the color of their membranes that truly set them apart. Instead of translucent white, their perforations were guarded by glossy black tissue . . . an adaptation to the drier environment?
He shook his head. “Even if they are L ov s, how could they have gotten out? We have filters to protect the waste system.”
Vallejo’s glare was searing. “The filters didn’t work! And now these parasites have corrupted our fiber-optic lines—”
“You really think they’ve tapped the system?” It seemed impossible. But then nothing E-3 had done in the last few minutes should be possible.
“How much evidence do you need?” Vallejo snapped. “We’ve lost control of the roaches! But we’re working on pumping steam through the conduits. If these things are organic, we should be able to cook them.”
Virgil nodded. “And break any connection back to E-3.”
“It won’t be soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Her gaze shifted, to scan another face, or another bit of data somewhere beyond Virgil’s view. “The L ov s in the lockdown must be sterilized too, Dr. Copeland. Now. Or the entire EquaSys module is going to fall. But we can’t get in there.”
Virgil stared at her in horror. That was the worst-case solution, to send the L ov s into extinction. But wasn’t this a worst-case problem? Not quite. “We can use Lucy, our robotic remote, and cull E-3. That should be enough. But I need a connection . . .”
“Open all of his lines, dammit!” Vallejo shouted to someone off-screen. “I don’t give a shit what his status is!”
Panwar finally looked away from E-3. His eyes widened as he saw the mutated L ov s.
Vallejo said, “Your links are up.”
Virgil used his fingers to tap a quick command to his R osa , Iris. Then he remembered: his farsights were gone. “Hark!” he said, alerting the project R osa instead. “Activate Lucy.” He yanked open a drawer under the
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