the ensign at the radio station a few feet in front of Commander Abrams said. “You cannot just talk to Dr. Park. You need to clear this channel. CVN-79 out.” Commander Abrams watched him put down the handset, then mutter to the man at the station next to him, “Fucking survivors, man.” “If he was a survivor, how’d he get on an encrypted military channel?” “…That’s actually a pretty good question. He also knew our hull number.” “Ensign Jones,” Abrams said crisply. “Sir,” the ensign replied, twisting at the waist. “What I’d really like to know is… how did he know Dr. Park’s name?” “Yes, sir. That’s not a bad question, either.” Abrams picked up his own phone handset. And dialed the hospital lab. * * * “Who did this guy say he was?” Dr. Park asked, rushing onto the bridge, even before reaching the captain’s station. Abrams gestured down at the ensign on the radios, who looked up and answered, “He claimed to be a bioscientist, from Uzbekistan or somewhere – and he was babbling something about having some designer disease.
