A nimbus of gold surrounded the earth as the sun began to crest the horizon. From his orbital vantage point, 242 statute miles above the surface, Lenny could imagine the oceans were on fire. He tapped the spacebar on his keyboard incessantly, his fragile mind caught in the beauty of the sunrise.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The computer, now dead, could not give a response. Lenny wouldn’t have registered one anyway.

In his few lucid moments, Lenny would ponder the question. Was the answer as important as the question? He wasn’t sure, so he pondered. But as he pondered he found his thoughts would scatter, and he lost any part of the answer he had formulated. Lenny was unaware of this cycle, and could therefore do nothing to stop it.

A shadow seemed to fall across his keyboard.

Herman?

No. Not Herman. The eminent psychologist suspected the madness was a complex by-product of their extended stay aboard the orbital colony named Legend. Herman was also dead. What that said of his reasoning ability almost made Lenny laugh.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The plastic sound of the spacebar echoed through the stale air of the station. Lenny’s eyes were vacant, his breathing shallow. A small vein in his temple seemed to betray some emotion. Whatever feeling it was though, was stifled by the inaction of his virtually comatose body.

SYSTEM ONLINE the screen nearest to Lenny’s left ear displayed suddenly. Two green lights on his keyboard began to alternate their blinking, as if to grab his attention. Tap. Tap. Tap. Lenny paid the computer no mind. He had little to spare. Instead he watched the sun flare to brilliance, a pure, stunning light that lasted a moment, and then it was over. Out his window now, a normal yellow star bathed the African continent in morning light.

Somewhere deep inside the space station a piece of equipment woke up. A deep purr resonated through the floor of the bridge. Above Lenny, the air ducts shuddered and began to funnel in recycled air. Reaching through the haze, the refreshing scent finally grabbed his attention. Pulling his gaze from the encircling windows, he turned his chair towards the terminal.

Lenny shook his head; finger still paused over the spacebar. Acknowledging the monitor, he moved both hands into position over the keyboard. The Question. Surely the computer could answer it! Meanwhile others rampaged through his mind:

‘Why had the system been offline?’

‘Who had turned it off?’

He started with one far simpler; ‘What time had the computer been turned off?’

That wasn’t what he had meant to ask. He needed an answer for the question. Almost instantly the computer beeped and displayed an answer. A long silent moment passed as he considered the characters on the screen.

1500 HOURS.

That must have been when he lured Martin through the air lock. A quick, hard laugh punctured the silence. Lenny put a hand to his mouth, as if to hide his smile. Keeping a chemist on board had been too great a risk, especially one who had a proclivity for creating bio weapons and reanimating corpses. He shuddered at the memory of Julie, who was not Julie, staggering around the corridors of crew quarters. He had never returned to Level 13.

Another memory, more pleasant, wandered into Lenny’s troubled mind.

He thought of Martin walking up the short ramp to the belly of the shuttle, the red strobes flashing all through the bay warning of eminent depressurization. Lenny smiled even now. Through the computer’s eyes, Lenny remembered seeing the chemist ransacking the interior of the damaged vessel for an E-Suit. Yes, that had been a gratifying moment. And Martin walking back down the shuttle ramp and looking up to see Lenny on the shipside of the sealed doors. He had held up the E-Suit then, and thumbed the lock for the outer doors. Martin’s eyes going wide for the split second he still had them.

Standing quickly at a queer echo, almost like footsteps, Lenny staggered down the steps to the center of the room. Blood rushed from his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited out the pain. A single tear leaked from his left eye. As the pain ebbed, Lenny stretched through large, incredibly loud yawn. Footsteps forgotten, he walked to the octagonal door set in the wall. He entered his security code, and the doors were sucked silently into the walls. Walking out into the main corridor, he came to the intersecting transport hub of Legend.

Moments later the lift deposited him next to the Galley. Lenny ambled into the small cafeteria with its chairs lying about on their sides like invalids. He maneuvered the maze of tables to the long counter running between two large freezers set in opposite corners of the far wall. Discarded cans, bottles and plates lived all along the Formica. Scrounging through the mess he came up with a plate somewhat less than half-covered in grime.

Above the counter perched a row of stark white cupboards. Sealed by magnets in case of and accidental loss of gravity, the cupboards were nearly empty. He had just selected the last box labeled Italian Bow Tie when a warning buzzer sounded out in the corridor. A harsh, red light began to strobe a second later, stopping Lenny’s hands short of opening the pasta.

Something about the warning sequence was familiar. Why and what eluded him though. He was bothered that he couldn’t remember. Mechanically, he set the pasta and plate on the round table in front of him. Crouching slightly as if to hide beneath the line of tabletops, he shuffled back out into the corridor. Just as he reached the lift, the warning buzzers stopped.

The freight elevator could take him from the observatory to the docking bays and any of the fifteen floors in between. Most of those were just open balconies ringing the massive greenhouse that was the heart of Legend. Just above the docking bays though, two of the levels were given over to the Bio Lab. Something in the recesses of his mind prodded him down towards those levels.

Heavy, rank air enveloped him as he stepped from the lift. Lenny wondered briefly if the recyclers were turned off in the Lab. The thought was trivial, and with nothing to cling to, exited his mind. As he walked the curving hallway his fingertips slid along the wall. Halfway around the circuit he came to a door plastered with a menacing Bio Hazard insignia.

He hesitated.

Herman had barricaded himself in the remnants of the labs since Lenny had jettisoned Martin. What was he planning here? Surely there would be a trap.

No.

Herman was dead.

And not long after Martin. Where then was that shuffling coming from?

Too many questions, and for some reason he was sure that answers awaited within. Lenny keyed the small, inset terminal and the door slid open. Beakers and culture trays lay broken and smashed all around the room. A giant plant of suspect origins had taken over an entire wall and threatened an invasion of another. Apparently the airflow system was working in here. Instead of the heavy smell of rot, the air held an indefinable, acrid tinge that tickled up Lenny’s nose.

The far wall, from floor to ceiling, was a massive, convex window, much like those ringing the observatory. A vista, opened on the starry depths of space, was spread before him. He stopped, captivated by the window, and was nearly lost again. The warmth of ignorance, or maybe just it was just fatigue, was held in that starscape. What was reality to Lenny? There were moments, strung feebly together, when he could fit some puzzle pieces in. Those were the moments when he asked himself the question. He dreaded the answer, and if he could have been honest, he wasn’t sure if wanted to know. Would it matter if he did? Was it already too late?

For Herman it was too late. Too late for Martin, though Lenny knew he had to accept responsibility for that incident. Maybe both. Maybe all. There had been a dozen members of his team when they docked, what was it now? Three years ago. He really couldn’t afford to have witnesses to his actions.

Or had he set out to stop the actions?

He moved through another door mostly lost amidst a tangle of leaves and vines. Dominated by Bio Lab’s mainframe, banks of monitors hung in every corner of the room. Three chairs complimented an equal number of access terminals. One seat in particular beaconed to him, and indeed above the monitor was fastened a small placard that read LEONARD HADLER.

The worn leather gave a protesting squeak as Lenny lowered himself into the chair. Pushing against the floor with a bare foot, he spun the chair. A small smile grabbed at the corners of his mouth. Seemingly of its own accord, the same foot that had begun the spiraling motion, reached out to stop it against the side of the desk. His face was now inches from the screen, peering through a digital window of the Bio Mainframe.

Muffled grinding, hinted that the computer too was pondering the question. Half of him remembered then why the other half had brought him here.

Yes.

The question had been asked already. Today he should receive an answer.

He smiled at this small victory, but then he remembered what the question was. The smile faded. Scrubbing a hand through his tangled, oily hair, Lenny tapped a few commands on the screen and waited.

Vacant dreaming most likely would have overtaken him, but the room was small and cloistered. The windows of space were forgotten behind a vine-choked door. So he sat, impatient, waiting for the computer to render judgment. Twice his reverie was broken by echoing footsteps. He didn’t bother rousing himself to check. For the moment, he was quite sure he was the only person still on board.

The computer chimed and displayed a prompt:

COMPUTATION COMPLETED

There was an option to display the results or print them. He touched the screen and walked to the printer. A sheet of paper was quickly dispensed, printed side down, onto the waiting tray. With a shaking hand Lenny picked up the printout and left the room. He moved quickly down the corridor and onto the lift. The observatory was on the far side of the station. The trip from the labs took just under three minutes. Never once did Lenny as much as glance at the paper in his hand.

Slow, methodical strides brought him to the chair at the top level of the bridge. He eased himself downward as the cushioning formed around his body. Then he set his arms lightly on the two rests, and for a long moment watched his home world through the windows, paper dangling from thumb and forefinger. Bliss, nirvana; they called to him. A shifting light from the floor snagged his attention. The forgotten paper in his hands was reflecting the sharp, halogen lights from the ceiling. Scattered light danced around the room.

Turning the paper over, Lenny held the edges tightly with both hands. He lowered eyes, heart racing and read the results of his query.

MAY 7, 2120 -- TERMINAL 1B

INTERNAL QUERY OF BIO MAINFRAME.

INITIATED AT 1500 HOURS.

LOGIN: HADLER

RESPONSE WITHIN PARAMTERS SET BY USER.

FLU STRAIN 586 HAS BEEN SUCCESFULLY DELIVERED.

TEST MODELS AND SATALITE OBSERVATION CONFIRM ALL SUBJECTS ARE NOW DECEASED OR INCAPASSITEATED. TOTAL HUMAN ELEMINATION WITHIN TEST AREA 2-5 HOURS FROM QUERY END.

Lenny sighed. He eyes were bloodshot and glossy. His question, the question, was now answered.

“I am the only one left.” Lenny’s mouth formed the words, but they came out as a horse whisper, unintelligible. Martin and Herman, gone. Sweet, smiling Julie was gone as well. The others, many of their names lost in the dark corners of thought, all gone. His eyes traveled back to the paper and slid down. There, in mocking font, the parameters were listed:

TEST AREA: DELIVERED TO NEW YORK CITY.

PARAMATERS OF MODEL INDICATE TOTAL EARTH INTOXICATION WITHIN 10-15 DAYS.

Breathless, his heart stopped, Lenny set the printout on his lap and turned to his computer. With rational deliberateness, he keyed in commands for a total shut down of Legend. He pressed his thumb to the screen when requested. Verification complete.

The observatory went dark all at once. The hum of machinery ceased. No air passed from the ventilation shafts above. Absolute silence descended. A passing military satellite with cameras still functioning, recorded the giant station as the lights flickered off all along the dull metal surface. These images were beamed back to the UN Central Command where only the dead waited to receive them.

Somewhere inside Legend’s mainframe a subroutine started. Default safety measures, circumventing Lenny’s protocol, turned on the life support systems. The computer began a self-diagnostic that would run for 23 hours. At that point all systems could come back online. The Bio Mainframe along with all the lesser systems were backed up and purged. Hard data would have to be downloaded from Legend’s encrypted mainframe.

Lenny savagely crumpled the printout and tossed it into the corner. There it landed on a small pile comprised of a few dozen equally crumpled, eerily similar papers. In the silence, he heard the wadded paper bounce down, scattering the others with its passing.

Lenny leaned back against the soft seat and the headrest, relaxed, and closed his eyes.