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“What do you see?”
She puffed out a breath and looked up at him. “This is bad. They show the exact same thing. The Apexians have the same inflammation markers in their blood.”
Dallin inspected the results. “We need to run all the samples immediately. Everyone could already be poisoned.”
She nodded. “Then let’s get testing.”
The next two hours were taken up with checking and rechecking samples. Each blood sample was checked under a microscope for the inflammation markers and then run through the analyzer to see if they carried any signature showing the Siblet poison in their system.
The results were grim.
“We need to let Cleo know about this.” Sloane rested her hands on her hips, her expression full of concern.
“Everyone needs to know.” Dallin stared at the test results in front of him. How had this happened? Not all crew left the ship regularly. The crew sent on rescue missions were always at risk of alien pathogens, but they had support staff who usually remained on board, and they had the same markers in their blood. This was a puzzle he needed to solve, and quickly.
Sloane’s hand circled his wrist, and she squeezed. “Are you with me?”
His gaze flicked to her, and he sucked in a breath. “Of course.”
“I’ll tell Cleo.”
“I can do it.”
“This kind of news needs breaking gently. I’ll do it now.” Her fingers slid away from his wrist as she walked to the comm screen in the corner of the lab.
Dallin grunted his acceptance of the fact he lacked a certain subtly that Sloane excelled in. And he hadn’t meant to, but he’d gotten lost in his thoughts, trying to puzzle out the impossible. These brain spasms were happening more frequently, and he knew why. He was a broken experiment, a misfit that should have been put out of his misery a long time ago.
When Dallin volunteered to be a part of the enhancement program, he figured it would turn him into a super alien. He’d always pushed himself, wanting to be faster and smarter than anyone else.
And, at first, the experiments seemed successful. He learned three times as quickly and had no trouble remembering things. But then the malfunctions began. The sleepless nights, the pounding heart, and the headaches. He’d sometimes find himself in odd places, and have no memory of how he’d gotten there, or what he’d done. And that made him a risk to anyone who couldn’t defend themselves against him if he did something dangerous.
Dallin flinched as Sloane touched him again, bringing him back to the cold reality of the lab.
“I just told Cleo the news,” she said. “She’s getting everyone together in the briefing room and asked us to bring the results.”
“I’ll gather everything we need.” Dallin turned away, his hands clenched. He’d recently started losing minutes of time. It wouldn’t be long before he had to give up his position on the Apocalypse and become a hermit. At least that way, he’d never be at risk of hurting anyone, especially not if that person was Sloane.
“Dallin, are you ready? Everyone’s waiting for us.”
“Of course. Let’s do this.”
A few minutes later, he entered the briefing room with Sloane. The entire mission crew were there, and none of them looked happy.
His gaze flicked to Cleo, who stood in her usual position at the head of the table. She nodded at him. “It seems you’ve identified a problem.”
Dallin clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s the Siblet poison making you unwell.”
There were gasps and a few muttered curses.
Sloane touched his arm. “Perhaps I should explain.”
“Just tell us the bad news,” Hunter said. “Is this the reason I’ve been feeling like crap?”
Cleo gestured them forward. “Let’s hear it.”
Dallin lagged behind Sloane as she headed to the front of the table, never concerned when she was the center of attention.
Sloane glanced at him, then faced the room. “Angel alerted us to a sickness that was doing the rounds among some of the crew. That’s why she took blood samples from all of you. We needed to see how infectious it was.”
