Wildfire
P.Z. Johns
Copyright © 2020 P.Z. Johns
All rights reserved
First Edition
NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING
320 Broad Street
Red Bank, NJ 07701
First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-1-64801-037-8 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64801-038-5 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Mystery at the Research Center
What to do? What to do? What to do?
Other books published by P. Z. Johns:
The Sum of Small Efforts
“When Strangers Marry” (work in progress)
For Brian,
the Keeper of the Tomes,
thanks for a life of science fiction.
And thank you, Barb, for your patience.
Life isn’t about finding yourself.
Life is about creating yourself.
—George Bernard Shaw
Chapter 1
The Attack
A rescue convoy found us about three days after the attack. Everyone abandoned ship in forty escape pods, and most of them experienced some kind of damage from enemy fire, with some worse than others. Many sustained so much damage that all personnel on board were dead on arrival. My escape pod was one of those, the ones that had taken very severe blasts. When the medics came aboard, they did triage on all of us and pronounced me dead on arrival when they examined me again on board the hospital ship. What’s worse, all the blasts damaged my revive unit beyond the medics’ ability to repair it, so there was absolutely no chance of bringing me back. Technically, I’m telling you my story posthumously.
I also found out dying is easier than completely losing yourself.
*****
Red emergency lights were flashing, and the steel hatch of the escape pod slammed shut. Locks spun into place and sealed us in. A computer voice announced, “Evacuation procedures cannot commence until all passengers strap seat belts securely for safe travel in the emergency cots.”
I was the last one who got to the escape pod, and someone yelled, “Hey, strap in so we can take off!”
I wanted to scream, but there had been enough of that. There was so much smoke in the ship’s corridors I couldn’t see and thought I’d never make it. I settled into my assigned launch cot and strapped up as fast as I could. As soon as I was lying flat, the computer voice announced, “Ignition
