"What a member of the Force Elite would do in such a situation," he said. "I'm looking to see what we're up against."

Eriq rewound the previous digital images for replay, the images Jen downloaded before the room was forcefully broken into.

In the background the alarm continued to go off: Warning: the ship has been breached. Warning: the . . ."

"And can somebody please shut off that damn alarm!" hollered Michelin.

Eriq complied, hitting a single switch.

Thank you, Michelin said to himself.

Images began to show up on the screen as he rewound the digital memory, the figures moving backwards until he pressed the 'play' button, and then everything became clear.

The dead of the ship were wandering about, having freed themselves from their tombs. The skins on some were sloughing off, the meat of their bones rancid with decaying flesh, whereas others, those recently interred, showed little signs of rot.

"How?" asked Eldridge. "How is this even possible?"

Decomposing images played before the cameras as if hamming it up, then ripped them free from their mountings, whereas other cameras continued to memorialize the events as they unfolded.

On the last set of chronicled images, Jen was recording the last moments of her life.

The dead had come upon the comm-center door, pounding against the steel with wispy-thin limbs, and driving fist-sized dents against the metal as they cried out to her. Within minutes they had knocked the door free, and Jen could be heard crying out.

Eriq couldn't watch any more.

He'd seen enough.

"Now what?" the president asked. "I don't appear to be getting much of an answer from you, Mr.-"

Eriq wheeled around on the balls of his feet. "Shut up!" he told him.

President Michelin appeared stunned.

"How's that for an answer?" Eriq returned harshly.

President Michelin didn't appear wounded, however, but he did try to restore his dignity by smoothing the creases of his leisure suit, then straightening his collar. Then: "Very well, Mr. Wyman. Now I see why you're no longer fit to manage a team of elite warriors."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eriq challenged.

"I think it's quite clear. On the day you were dismissed from duty, it was due to the fact that you could no longer follow through on your orders."

"You wanted me to slaughter innocent people!" he countered.

"They were savages!"

"They were people starving to death! And you turned your back to them!"

"I did what I had to do in order to protect the Fields of Elysium. Was it a hard decision? Yes, it was, but one that had to be made, which is something I can't say of you." He leaned forward to emphasize his point. "And you, Mr. Wyman, are incapable of making the tough decision."

"I'm not a butcher," he said.

"You would be if it was your family that was being threatened with starvation." The president retreated a few steps. "I think I've seen enough. I know what I'm up against. Now what I need from you, Mr. Wyman, is to be shown a way out of here without crossing the paths of those things walking the warrens of this ship. Perhaps a map? A schematic? Something to provide me with safe means to Air Force Six without detection."

"You want a map?" he asked him.

"I wouldn't ask otherwise."

"The only map is up here," Eriq said, tapping a forefinger against his temple. "I've been aboard this ship for two years now, and as big as it is, I know every inch of it-top to bottom."

"Normally, Mr. Wyman, I would tell you to piss off, but since time is not a luxury, and since those things out there seem to enjoy their work a little too much when it comes to killing and maiming, I could use the benefit of your knowledge." Then he turned to Father Gardenzia. "How about it, Father? A little prayer to see us though?"

"Of course. God is listening to our prayers already, I'm sure."

"Let's hope so." Then back to Eriq. "It's your show, Mr. Wyman. So get us through."

Eriq nodded. "Follow me."