Over the next week, Nora, Corine, and the rest of the team got to work breaking open the first of the vials and running preliminary analysis, being extraordinarily careful not to open or disturb the other six and leaving them snuggly isolated within their cradle. The first tests were nothing if not monotonous; simple temperature readings, specific gravity, tension and density measurements. The process was slow, drawn-out with intention over several months so as not to waste the samples without careful consideration.

  It wasn’t until Harold started to run a complete spectroscopy utilising the brand new mass spectrometer Nora had received from Oseto a day prior that the first interesting thing happened.

  The fluid samples had actively resisted the poking and prodding that it had been subjected to up until this point, acting thick and viscous until presented with the pointed end of a dropper after which it squirmed as if attempting to flee. However, when starting up the mass spectrometer and passing in the sample, the fluid began to act erratically.

  “Holy–!” Harold drawled as the spectrometer reached full power, beginning to atomize the sample. As it did, the machine started to knock, then shuddered.

  Watching on a terminal feed of the inner chamber cast to the wallscreen, Nora and her team each dropped their own work only to see the sample as stubborn and viscous as ever, suspended in the chamber’s centre and unwilling to break apart.

  “Fascinating,” said Nora and Corine almost in unison. The machine sputtered and began to emit a sort of resonant hum, building slowly. Harold, who had been too mesmerised to act, watched the feed with the rest of them until the machine suffered a crescendo of rattling and sparks before it and its terminal feed went dark.

  “That was unexpected,” Harold drawled. “Suppose that’s coming out of my pay, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Nora, still pondering the implications of the failed test. “If it can’t be atomized, we will have to come up with another way to measure the sample.”

  “You don’t find it alarming that the thing just fought back against the spectrometer?” Corine asked.

  “In a manner, sure,” said Nora. “Let’s just not let that happen again– Harold?”

  “Right,” Harold affirmed with a nod.

  “And what of the sample still inside the machine?” said Corine, concerned.

  “Burn it,” Nora said. “We have six more tries at this. We may have been a little too cavalier with our methods thus far. I’ll have to think about what to do next, though I’m open to suggestions.”

  Harold didn’t wait for an order this time, instead wheeling the spectrometer into the backroom as he had with the self-destructed terminal, toward the incinerator.

  Being careful not to waste any more of the samples, research slowed over the coming weeks to a fraction of the pace it had been. Nora was more cautious now, not wanting to risk her future over being too brash. Director Smythe was counting on her and her team to get results, and she meant to.

  Unable or unwilling to risk any more of the samples nor complicated instruments, Nora opted for a more tried-and-true method. From Oseto she acquired two groups of lab-grade mice to begin organic exposure trials. Usually impossibly difficult to come by, lab mice were a relic of humanity’s origin. These particular mice had to be sourced from The Sovereignty’s naval medical division directly, at a cost she could only hope to comprehend. That was a non-issue in Nora’s eyes, however, as she made the case to Director Smythe before acquisitioning the mice.

  In tandem with her research in the samples, Nora, rather industrially, tasked one of the more junior researchers, a Doctor Qio Wannen – who, being on her team, seemed to have close to ten years of experience – to establish and run a breeding program for the mice, ensuring a constant supply. The breeding program also had the added benefit of alleviating the initial expense of the mice, as the surplus could be then sold off to other teams aboard Belltower and beyond.

  Nora began to develop her relationships with her subordinates, discussing as much detail about each other's lives as their work’s secrecy would allow. She learned Corine and Harold both came from the same world, Chehalis, situated on the Sovereignty’s border with the Odeen. Despite the close proximity in their upbringing, they experienced vastly different childhoods, separated by continents, class division, and a racial divide not seen elsewhere in the Sovereignty.

  “I think we’re ready to start the first round of trials,” Corine said, coming to disturb Nora in her office when everything was ready. The mice were collected, another vial had been opened, and every instrument they had was trained upon the glass enclosure that housed their experiment.

  A test group of twenty mice were to be exposed at differing intervals while a control group lived out their time, ignorant to the plight of their compatriots at the other end of the examination room. Half of the test group were injected with the sample directly, while the others were given it mixed in with their morning meal.

  Prior to the mice, Nora and Corine had each separately tested the sample on draughts of their own blood, each with identical results. The sample, which had been lively and resistant to any form of tampering before, had sat idle in the blood, not reacting; inert. It was then doubly as surprising when Nora and her team began to track the progress of the mice over the next coming days.

  “What the absolute hell is that?” Nora said, arriving at the lab the second morning after the test had begun and the samples administered. She had come early in anticipation of something, anything interesting. The black tar-like substance she found in the mice’s place was not what she had been expecting.

  “Oh good,” Corine said, not bothering to look over at Nora as she entered, remaining fixated on the mice or lack of mice, “I was going to call you.”

  “When did you get in?” Nora asked.

  “Just now. Well–” Corine looked at her watch, “oh, an hour ago. Guess I’ve just been staring at them the whole time.”

  “And they were like this when you got here?”

  “Almost. The one on the far right still had a head when I got in,” she said, pointing, “I think that was the one we fed last.”

  Nora looked over at her.

  “So the pathogen, it progresses linearly?” Nora asked in sudden realisation.

  “Yeah, looks like,” Corine admitted. “So, we’re calling it a pathogen now?”

  “Well, look at it,” Nora said, looking back at the horror show in the glass enclosure. “Nothing got out right– it hasn’t breached containment?”

  “Nothing shows up on the readings. I think we’re safe,” said Corine.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Qio as she entered to do her rounds taking care of the mice. “Look over here.”

  Dr. Wannen was across the exam room, standing over the second glass enclosure that housed the control group of mice. Nora and Corine came over to look. Inside, several of the mice had begun to act erratically.

  “Now that ain’t right,” said Harold, who had materialised behind them.

  “Have you seen the other enclosure?” Corine asked Harold.

  “No…” Harold said, turning to walk towards it.

  Nora and Corine continued examining the control group, watching in fascination as a subset of mice were running around their enclosure, trying to escape those that were immobile, writhing on the enclosure floor. One of the mice stopped squirming as they watched, silvery-black tar working its way out of its orifices.

  “Holy shit–!” an aghast Harold yelped from across the exam room. Rushing back over to where Nora and Corine stood with Qio and out of breath, he said, “Doctors– doctors… have you seen this? They all melted!”

  “Dr. Gaul. What do you want me to do with the mice?” asked Qio with concern.

  “We will have to let this play out. Some sort of contamination must have been brought into the control group’s enclosure. It’s safe to say this experiment is a wash,” said Nora.

  “Not entirely, if–” said Corine, before being cut off by an impatient Qio.

  “That’s impossible,” Qio said, indignant. “I tended to these mice myself. There was no possible way these mice could have been exposed to–”

  “And yet it happened,” interrupted Nora. “Look for yourself, Doctor Wannen. One of us, all of us, screwed up.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Dr. Gaul, there’s just no way,” Qio doubled down.

  “Dr. Wannen. Please,” said Nora, “There’s little point in arguing about this. Use your eyes. Unless you’re suggesting that these mice were somehow infected by a pathogen that travelled between ten metres and two reinforced panes of glass enclosure–”

  “No, I–” said Qio.

  “Dr. Lann, I’m sorry. You were saying?” said Nora, finished with Qio’s disruption.

  “If I can salvage,” she started, “some of this mice sludge we may yet have a way of producing more of the sample.”

  Nora audibly shuddered. “Mice sludge…” she said, disgusted.

  “Doctor. And the rest of the mice?” Qio asked again.

  “Once the pathogen runs its course, bring them over to the incinerator,” said Nora to Qio’s disdain. Uncomfortable with the events playing out inside the enclosure, Qio left the exam room with Corine following her out.

  “Shame, that,” Harold said, stepping beside Nora to watch the show. “Poor little bastards.”

  Nora hummed in agreement. “How could this have happened? Upstairs is going to have my hide over another loss like this.”

  “I won’t tell The Director if you don’t,” said Harold, raising his eyebrows as he realised what he had said.

  “That’s not something you should be discussing... or even know,” Nora said, turning to him. “How is it that an engineer knows something like that?”

  “Well, shoot,” said Harold. “Sorry, Doctor. When you’ve been here as long as I have, you tend to know things.”

  “How long have you been here, Harold?”

  “Thirty-seven years, give or take,” said Harold.

  “God, you’re shitting me,” Nora laughed, “how old are you?”

  “An employer’s not supposed to ask that,” he said before leaning in and whispered, “Fifty-two.”

  “You were fifteen when you started here?” asked Nora, now more interested in Harold than the carnage in the mouse enclosure.

  “Sure was,” he admitted, “It was The Director himself that hired me. I have seen him around once or twice over the years. So I figure he’s still kicking it at the top.”

  “Don’t go around sharing that with the others.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t,” he said. “You’re a lot nicer than the last guy, you know.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was an ass, pardon me. Treated us like slaves– most of us. We called him The Baron, though he never knew it.”

  “Doctor Bowen treated most of you like slaves– what about the others?”

  “Others? No, there was just the one,” Harold clarified, “Doctor Lann and him had a thing for a while, though I don’t suppose I should be the one telling you this.”

  “No, I guess not,” Nora said. “I’m glad you’re doing better now.”

  “Me too, boss,” Harold drawled, “me too.”

  Harold left the exam room, leaving Nora alone with herself, her thoughts, and what was left of the mice. How could it be that the control group was infected, she thought, knowing that she oversaw Dr. Wannen, each group as it was placed into their separate closures personally. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, not wanting to scare them, but it was possible, however unlikely, that there was some other vector for transmission between the mice she wasn’t seeing. Through the air? No, each enclosure had unconnected and separately controlled environmental systems. Through the enclosure walls? Then she would expect to see traces of the dark fluid elsewhere in the exam room. No matter which way Nora phrased it in her head, she had to admit she was stuck.

  Nora spent the rest of the day mulling over that question in her office. Harold and Qio had been hard at work all day, scrubbing the exam room of any trace of the black tar substance – or mouse sludge as Corine called it. Corine herself spent the day staring at a sample of the sludge she had gathered, hovering over a microscope with a confounded look on her face. Holding off as long as she possibly could, Nora finally sent her daily report upstairs before signing off from her work terminal, more tired than she had ever been.

  No sooner had she shut off the lights to her office, she received a bulletin from Tim Dienain. It was text-only and read; The Director would like to see you.

  Now? she sent back.

  Now, he responded.

  When she left her office, Nora locked eyes with Corine, who was only now giving up on her own fruitless day as she cleaned up her workspace. Neither of them spoke, and despite the exhaustion visible on Corine’s face, it was clear to Nora that she was reading her own concern. Corine watched her as Nora walked across the room, opened the elevator, and stepped in. As the door closed, Corine waved a tender wave.

  When the lift slowed and opened to the unwelcoming face of Tim, her expression only soured further.

  “Hi, Tim,” she said sullenly.

  “Dr. Gaul,” he said, “this way.”

  “I know the way, Tim.”

  “Great, well then I’ll just walk myself there while you do the same,” he said, moving on ahead.

  “Dr. Gaul, welcome,” said Hamsen as she entered to find him once again seated behind his desk in the last place she left him. He put down his terminal and gestured for her to sit.

  “Director Smythe,” she said.

  “Thank you for coming. Now, I expect you wish to know why I’ve asked you here.”

  Nora nodded, not wanting to mince words.

  “Well, I’m afraid there’s some news.”

  “Some news, sir?”

  “You remember Dr. Bowen?”

  “Samuel Bowen, the man I replaced?” she asked, confused at this turn.

  “Yes, well, how do I put this,” he started, “The lab he was moved to, it has been lost.”

  Nora took a second, trying to keep up. “You are saying he’s dead?”

  “He and his whole team, I’m afraid. Pity of the thing,” he confirmed.

  “That’s horrible, sir. Can I ask how?”

  “Brigandes, most likely. The orbital habitat he and his team were aboard was attacked, stripped of any and all crew.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say they were taken? If that’s the case, how do you know they are dead?”

  “I’m not willing to go into details, but by the amount of organic debris, it’s safe to say they could not have made it out alive.”

  “That’s unsettling,” she said, shifting in her seat, “Sir, can I ask why are you telling me– did you want me to break it to the team?”

  “Well, no. It’s best for all parties that we keep this matter quiet,” he said. Nora knew she was going to have a problem with that but chose not to rock the boat just yet.

  “The work Doctor Bowen and his team were conducting was deeply vital. Do not mistake me; your work is just as crucial, and you will see an increase in staffing to make up for this, but I need you to pick up where he left off.”

  “I thought you said that Bowen’s station was lost– his whole team? What is there left?”

  “Although tragic and an immense blow to Saturnus and its bottom line, all was not lost. We have retained a sample similar to what we had sent along with Dr. Bowen and his team. I would like you to continue down that path.”

  “Of course,” Nora said. “What of the attackers– are we certain they won’t strike us here next?”

  “You have my assurance that the calamity that befell the other team is an anomaly,” he assured her, “It benefits you to not dwell on this. Come now, you have work to do.”

  “We will do our best.”

  “I need more than that, Dr. Gaul,” he said, “I read the preliminary report you forwarded to me earlier this evening. Your candour in that matter is why you remain in my good graces. Just know that a higher standard will be expected the next time around, especially given recent circumstances.”

  Nora swallowed hard, “Yes, sir.” She knew she was on thin ice. Nora hadn’t come here for anything short of a challenge and now found herself grateful for this second chance.

  “Is there anything else, sir?” she asked.

  “No. I suppose not,” he said, “I’m counting on you. It’s not just you who has someone to answer to. I only count my fortunes on this matter by placing Bowen’s lab where I did, on the orbital station, I mean.”

  “Sir?”

  “I held back placing the damned thing on Bordeaux’s Folly of all places. That would have been two strikes. Even I’m not that unlucky,” he said, seemingly commending himself on a job well done.

  Nora was nauseated by this enough to let a ripple of disgust show in her eyes. Thankfully, the man neither saw nor cared, waving her off.

  “Goodbye, Dr. Gaul,” he said as she left his office, which she purposefully left unanswered.

  Hauntings of pictures of the mice interlaced with the imagined suffering of Dr. Bowen and his team led Nora through a sleepless night, only to have her terminal’s alarm rock her into the new day. Though far larger than she had ever been accustomed to until now, her quarters somehow seemed close-in. Tying her chignon like she did every day, she readied for what she felt was going to be another interesting day. On arriving at the lab, through the usual, rigorous levels of security, she found Corine Lann, again hard at work at her bench.

  “You weren’t here all night, were you?” asked Nora, half-interested in the answer.

  “No, of course not. I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” Corine said.

  “I know the feeling,” said Nora, quickly pouring her morning cup.

  “Sorry, Doctor Gaul,” Corine said, “I just can’t seem to crack this, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “You’re not about to crack on me, are you?”

  Corine laughed, finally looking up from her microscope. Noticing the cup of coffee in Nora’s hand, she said, “Oh shoot, I meant to get you a cup.”

  “You don’t have to dote on me,” Nora said, “I can make a cup of coffee. Besides, you already brewed this batch.”

  “I suppose. How did last night go? I didn’t want to exacerbate things when you were headed out.”

  “Oh, that,” said Nora, taking another sip. Remembering the news of Dr. Bowen and his team, she suddenly felt sick. She put the coffee down on the bench.

  “Something wrong?” Corine asked.

  “No, no…” said Nora, drifting off in nascent thought.

  The familiar slam of Harold’s lunch bag impacting the double doors startled her.

  “What’s wrong?” Harold shouted from across the lab, sensing the situation.

  “Dr. Gaul was just about to share something with us,” Corine said, sardonically.

  “Was I…” Nora said. She considered her following words; she knew the thin ice she walked with upstairs but knew she had come to know these people, like them even. She couldn’t keep this from them.

  “Well?” Harold said.

  Nora exhaled.

  “I got some pretty terrible news, straight from the top,” she said, dropping any preamble, “You’re old boss, Dr. Bowen, had been running an orbital lab that was attacked. All hands lost.”

  Nora looked at the faces of her subordinates, each displaying vastly different reactions to the news. Harold barely masked a grin with a veneer of stoicism. Corine, on the other hand, tried valiantly to hold back tears, her head slumping. Nora could see the moment her heart broke.

  “Oh, come now,” Harold said as he wrapped an arm around Corine, “let it out.”

  Corine wept into Harold’s chest, soaking his lab coat.

  “I’m sorry,” Nora said, unsure how to handle it all.

  “It’s okay, boss. She’s just a little shaken up. Best I take her home now.”

  “Sure, sure,” Nora said, “Take the day. Matter of fact, all of you should take the day.”

  Just as Harold neared the door, Dr. Wannen and a handful of other researchers intercepted them. As Corine waited by the lift, Harold lived up to his fatherly role, breaking the news to the rest of them. As they each heard him and digested the news, they began filtering out one by one until Nora was the only one left.

  That’s when it came.

  A packing crate entered, identical to the one that brought the sample vials and the first cryptic message from The Director. It bustled its way out of the lift and over to Nora, dropping down at her feet. Placing her hand against the terminal, the crate unlocked, hissed, and slid apart, revealing another sealed plastic container. This time, however, a handwritten note was fastened to the top.

  Nora removed the note, studying it line by line. After her initial failures, she had been expecting some sort of reprisal from The Director; a formal reprimand, a demotion, hell, even an outright sacking. The note instead outlined, in explicit detail, her objective over the coming weeks; study the sample, unlock its secrets. Nora placed the note down and peered into the container. Condensation was thick on the plastic shell, but she was able to make out the outline of her new sample.

  Forty-five weeks to the day after her work began, Nora was delivered a human foot.