“Then you learn enough about the failure to improve the technique for the next one,” she said. “And keep going until we’ve perfected it. Because we all know we’re going to have to try this at some point. We’re not going to leave them like this.”
“The psychological trauma alone would be massive,” Loi said uneasily.
“Tough. For the record: If you ever find me like this, either wake me up or kill me. Don’t leave me like this.”
“I’m not—”
“There might be a way around this,” Lankin interrupted. “The doctors are hopeful they can recover the Odd One.”
“The Odd One?” Kandara queried. “What the hell is that?”
“Yeah, sorry. My team is a bit on the nerdish side, and they don’t have a lot of imagination. They called him the Odd One because he’s different from the rest.”
“Different how?” I asked sharply.
“See for yourself,” he said. “Next level up.”
I went up the rope ladder after Alik. Three of the hibernation chambers contained the same kind of membrane-wrapped torsos we’d seen before. The fourth…he was intact. There was no restraining membrane. A single umbilical cord was fused to his navel, hanging down to a trio of external organs, larger than those in the other chambers. Shock froze me to the spot.
“That’s not possible,” an equally stunned Yuri said.
“What do you mean?” Callum asked.
“He can’t be here. Not him!”
“Wait! You
“Yes. It’s Lucius Soćko. He vanished when we rescued Horatio Seymore on Althaea.”
—
They made the decision after dinner. Everyone who’d come on the Trail Ranger settled in the base’s lounge to talk it over. Not that it was much of a democracy. Callum clearly had reservations, but in the end he conceded that attempting to revive Soćko was necessary. I didn’t give an opinion; it would be out of character as the mission’s humble administration guy. But Jessika approved, as I thought she would. Kandara didn’t contribute much; she’d made her view clear back on the ship. Loi and Eldlund were a lot more cautious—we should investigate longer, bring in more equipment and specialists, make detailed risk assessments. Typical corporate culture kids. They had no concept of taking responsibility, because that meant consequences—and Legal always hated consequences. Not that their views mattered. Ultimately it was down to Yuri, Callum, and Alik, and they were unanimous.
Lankin sat with us in the lounge as everyone talked it over, but didn’t say anything. When he was given the verdict, he responded with a gruff: “Okay then,” and left to organize the operation. It didn’t take long; his people had been working balls-out to prepare for this ever since they put eyes on the Odd One.
It took them six hours. Remotes cut Soćko’s hibernation chamber out of the ship’s cargo compartment and carefully maneuvered it around the circular passages into the research base. The alien environment laboratory had been converted into an intensive care suite in anticipation.
A small observation room ran alongside, with a broad window looking in. We crowded around it to watch the hibernation chamber arrive. The trollez that delivered it was barely visible, the damn thing was surrounded by so many techs and doctors all in their protective blue suits.
“What’s the atmosphere inside that thing?” Yuri asked.
“Earth standard gas mix,” Lankin told him. “All the hibernation chambers are the same. No alien pathogens inside, either—that we’ve detected.” His knuckles rapped on the window. “But we’re not taking any chances. This lab is quadruple-walled, with positive pressure cavities on individual life support circuits. No bugs are going to get out of there and into my base.”
The revival team slowly sliced around the edge of the hibernation chamber’s transparent lid, allowing remote arms to lift it away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eldlund brace hirself, but Soćko’s body remained inert.
The medics closed in. Monitor patches were bonded onto Soćko’s skin, providing a more detailed picture of his vitals. Fleshmeld blisters were applied above his femoral and carotid arteries, ready to supply artificial blood or drugs if and when they were needed. He wasn’t breathing. The blood generated in the external Kcell organs and fed through his umbilical was fully oxygenated. Artificial saliva was sprayed into his mouth, and they slid an intubation nozzle down his trachea—ready. With the prep done, they moved him out of the chamber and onto a bed.
A crash team stood by, watching and waiting as the extraction team clamped the umbilical cord—and cut it.
No warning went off. His heart kept on beating uninterrupted. Brainwave function remained flat.
The intubation nozzle started to pump oxygen-rich air into his lungs in a slow rhythm.
I watched his chest inflate, sink back down. Rise again. Soćko gave a slight shudder, then another, stronger shiver ran down his body. The revival team tensed up; crash-revival tools were held up ready. Soćko’s shakes continued for a while longer before he went quiescent again.