"CHIP, play disk," I instructed the computer.

When I saw Ben's face, I unconsciously ripped my hand away from Nate.

"Agent Benjamin Masters' Log, January 8, 2150...Agent Austin and I have infiltrated Bravo Ait without incident. We are in search of the crew of the Washington. So far we haven't been able to locate them. We, however, have happened upon a compound. It was pretty easy to make it past the guards. We entered the TravelTram, but before we pressed any buttons, the TravelTram plummeted ten or more floors," Ben told his computer, sitting in a large chair in the landing craft again.

Each log we viewed took place in that vessel. I deduced that Austin and Ben must have set it up as a Command Post.

Ben continued, "When we exited the TravelTram, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a deserted basement. Two men approached us. Austin pulled me into a nearby closet. From there, we watched the men enter what looked like a laboratory. It had test tubes, bunts and burners and a locked cabinet. Labeled bottles with a different colored solution in each filled the shelves upon shelves that lined the lab. After we were sure they were in the laboratory, we peeked through the window and eavesdropped on their conversation. They hovered over a set of plans."

Ben looked around as if he thought someone might be listening to his log. He had black circles under his red eyes. What had been keeping him up nights? The plans for the biological weapon? Or something else?

"'Once we finish this weapon, we will fill it with RY-987. We will put one of our agents on every Freedom Alliance StarVessel. Then poof! Every member aboard will be dead,' one of them–a fair-skinned, white-haired man with a British accent– told the two men we saw going in the room. Austin and I will continue to search for the missing Washington officers. Masters out."

Nate and I looked at each other.

"Now we know how Ben stumbled upon–" Something on the computer screen caught my attention.

"Benji," a dark-haired woman purred, draping herself on the arm of the chair Ben was sitting in. The date across the bottom of the screen read September 2, 2150.

"CHIP, stop disk," Nate charged the computer, grasping my hand again.