Summary: By Jay Werkheiser Read by Paul Haring Discuss on our forums. First appeared in Analog All stories by Jay Werkheiser All stories read by Paul Haring Thanksgiving Day By Jay Werkheiser Kev’s stomach curled around emptiness, embracing it as a constant reminder that the colony’s Earth food was almost gone. Another three months, four at the outside. Then what? How will we die? He bent down to look into the nearest cage. “Maybe you’ll tell us why the food here is poisonous,” he said to one of the rats inside. It rolled its dull eyes listlessly toward him. Rust-brown clumps matted its fur, and the metallic odor of dried blood hung in the air. Is that how I’ll go, clutching helplessly at alien dirt, coughing up blood? His gut clenched tighter. “They are not going to tell you anything,” Ahmet said from across the toxicology lab. Kev looked up from the cage at the short, dark-skinned man walking toward him. His circular glasses, perched atop a narrow nose, reminded Kev of an owl. “I thought I’d stop by on the way home from the analytical chem lab,” Kev said. “One of the grunts said you were looking for me earlier.” Ahmet nodded. “I was hoping you could run some samples for me. Give me a clue what’s in them.” Kev frowned. “The biochem team has me running Bradford assays day and night, looking for alien proteins. Did you come up with a new lead?” Hope flared in his chest, then died with Ahmet’s reply. “I’m afraid I’m just grasping at straws. My subchronic rats keep developing the same symptoms — nosebleed, bloody stools, and ultimately internal hemorrhaging.” “Subchronic?” said Kev, quizzically. “My field’s spectroscopy.” “The subjects receive daily doses of an alien food source over ten percent of their life span, about three months for rats.” “Three months?” Kev said. “The hydroponics tanks are dying, Ahmet.” “Yes, I understand that. You’re not the only one living on short rations.” Anger flashed behind Ahmet’s glasses, but quickly dissipated. “Toxicology is a slow business. I don’t think we’re going to have results in time.” Ahmet seemed to deflate with his anger. “We came all this way, spent all those years on the ship, to fail before we even get started.” Kev put his hand on Ahmet’s shoulder. “We’re not going down without a fight.” Ahmet nodded, his eyes downcast. “I have learned that mycowood produced the most severe symptoms in the rats.” “Mycowood? They’re those mushroom-shaped tree things, right? Smell minty.” “Yes. The organic team tells me the smell comes from salicylate esters. All the local plants produce them.” Kev connected the dots. Salicylates. Aspirin. “Blood thinners?” he asked. Ahmet’s head bobbled up and down. “But only dangerous in quantities much larger than we find here. Still, I think it could be important.” “All right, send some of your mycowood samples over to the analyt lab. I’ll squeeze them in first thing in the morning.” “Thank you. Thank you!” Ahmet’s Turkish accent was normally muted, but it thickened when he was excited. “That will be most helpful.” “Save your enthusiasm for tomorrow.” A thin smile curled Kev’s lips, his first in a long time. “It’s nearly fourteen o’clock, time to head home for a few hours’ sleep.” The short walk across the colony compound felt longer because Epsilon Indi, settling low on the horizon at this late hour, cast bright sunbeams into his eyes. Two long shadows moved through the glare ahead of him. Kev shielded his eyes with his hand to see who it was — two grunts working[...]
