Eden Plague - Latest Edition (29 page)

Skull turned and went away muttering and cursing, defeated by Daniel’s refusal to be intimidated. He didn’t kill him, so on some level he knew Daniel was right.

He understood. He forgave. He was glad, because it meant Skull had a conscience after all.

He was also glad Skull left the door open. Perhaps if he’d been stronger he could have stayed, but Daniel found that given the way out, and the cost of staying, he wasn’t strong enough to remain to be tortured and dissected. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen. Maybe staying would be the coward’s way out after all. Maybe he had more work to do.

He followed Skull out at a distance, past a sad trail of bodies. It grieved him to see Skull’s killing rage, but as someone had once told him, no man can live in another man’s heart.

Elise looked at her watch, dimly visible in the glow of the hangar’s Exit sign. She glanced for the dozenth time at David Markis. His rejuvenated body had settled in at its optimum physical age, and now he looked for all the world as if he was Daniel’s younger brother instead of his father. He shook his head at her, shrugged as if he knew what she was thinking.

She paced up and down, exchanging quiet greetings with Larry and the dozen others that were still with them. She knew many of the Bunker group had simply flown to Buenos Aires on their own passports. Before he died, Vinny had confirmed that those were not on any watch lists, had not been connected with the fugitives. The rest, who might be taken into custody, were here waiting in a small airfield near Tucson, ready for David to fly them south to safety and freedom.

A half hour later the elder Markis finally spoke up. “We can’t stay much longer. It’s almost dawn, and someone is going to notice us stealing this plane and call the authorities. And we don’t want to have to sneak across the border in daylight. I doubt the Air Force is going to respect Mexican sovereignty if they decide to shoot us down. We have to go.”

Everyone was looking at her.
As if I can decide this,
she thought.
But I am his wife. They want my blessing. They want me to let him go, to absolve them of responsibility. Well, all right. They may still make it. Two highly-trained men by themselves might be able to slip across the borders. These people here – civilians, women and children – I can’t risk their freedom for one man.

Even if he is my husband, my heart, my life.

She nodded to David. “You’re right. Come on, let’s go.”

Immediately he clapped his hands. “All right, you heard the lady, load up.” The stairs were already down on the twin-engine turboprop and the people took their places quietly. Elise sat down in the frontmost passenger cabin seat. She ran her hand over the fabric of the cushion next to her, wishing things were different.
Please, God, if you exist, please, bring him back to me.

Larry hit the button that opened the hangar, then ran to shut the fuselage door and take the copilot position. Engines whined to life and David taxied out onto the ramp, turning eastward toward the downwind end of the runway.

As the plane swung through one hundred eighty degrees she heard an exhalation and an exclamation from the cockpit.

“What is it?” she heard David say. “Are we blown?” He pushed the throttles forward and the engines picked up speed.

“I don’t know,” replied Larry. “It’s just one vehicle. No lights. Slow down, man. The Feds wouldn’t come in like this. They’d be all guns blazing and shit. It has to be them!”

David brought the throttles lower, but did not brake the plane. The aircraft and the SUV approached each other on opposite courses, the truck speeding down the runway much faster than the turboprop, heading directly toward it.

At the last second it slewed sideways and two men bailed out, waving frantically. David Markis slammed the throttles back to idle, feathered the props and hit the brakes as wild cheering broke out among the passengers.

Elise couldn’t hold back the tears as Spooky and Daniel climbed aboard. Her husband threw himself into her arms and held on as if he’d never let her go.
And he won’t, not if I have anything to say about it,
she resolved.

As the plane ran down the runway she saw the SUV flash its lights twice in goodbye, then turn and race away across the dusty desert landscape just turning pink in the light of dawn.
Goodbye, Skull,
she thought
. I don’t like you, but right now I love you. I hope I get to thank you sometime.

I

Interstellar space, 1.6 light years from Earth, velocity .17C.

The organisms on the Meme scout ship were known by their functions. Thus,
Commander
was awakened earliest, and was the first to begin processing many thousands of planetary revolutions-worth of stored data from the target world. Some time later, two other organisms joined it in consciousness, to digest with Commander. They were designated
Biologist
and
Executive
.

It was two full revolutions more before they felt the need to confer. The Meme were meticulous beings, and they examined the data in detail, scanning from the moment their Lightbearer probe had deposited the Adversary Worm onto the target world thousands of cycles ago, until the moment of anomaly.

Commander was first to speak, as was proper. “Biologist. Explain the existence of these sentients. Why did the Adversary Worm not corrupt them sufficiently to reduce them to animals?”

“I cannot explain at this time, Commander. We must continue to process the stored data, and analyze. Perhaps the data will yet relate their fall.”

“Noted. Continue.”

A half a revolution later the Commander spoke again. “I am processing data from circa timepoint minus 3000. The sentients formed large collectives, developed symbolic communication, built permanent structures, and made organized war upon each other. They grow more numerous.”

Biologist replied, “I do not yet have sufficient data to form a conjecture. The Watcher probe is limited in its ability to sample at its orbital distance, and it is only transmitting Level One data.”

“Why do we not have Level Two data? Was the Level Two worm not deployed?”

“Unknown. Each perihelion brings more detail. I will continue to process.”

Executive also waited, and listened, and processed.

While the subordinates were by nature creatures of logic and of very even temperament, Commander was by design less so, having been given more flexibility and motivation to address threats, anomalies and irritations. Thus it was only another revolution, a mere moment to the deep-thinking beings, before Commander spoke again, hardly able to contain itself. By the standards of its race, it was agitated. Its protoplasmic body, huge with age and genetic knowledge, shook within its containment tank.

“I am processing data from circa timepoint minus one hundred. The sentients have developed control of basic electrical forces including electromagnetic communications, internal combustion, and atmospheric flight. The level Two worm must have failed.”

This time it was Executive that responded. “I have been digesting the data as well. I have begun constructing courses of action using the resources at hand.”

“Those resources are very limited. This is a Survey craft, not a Destroyer.”

Executive and Biologist exchanged fleeting thoughts of concern, or perhaps amusement. Commander was sometimes given to redundant statements of well-known fact. The two remained indulgent.

Biologist responded, “Let us continue to digest data. Approximately one hundred target-revolutions will bring us to data-timepoint zero. Then we will have maximum information and can formulate strategy.”

“We must formulate an effective strategy to reduce them to animals. The Race must not Blend with fully sentient beings, or we shall lose who we are. Yet they must be clever enough to be trained to serve. We must prepare Level Two phages for deployment.”

But it was only a fraction of a revolution later that Commander, after processing data from only some fifty cycles ago, exclaimed, “They have harnessed atomic forces for weaponry and research!”

“Yes. Adjusting projections and strategies. These sentients have grown dangerous.” Executive mused momentarily that it itself was now beginning to make obvious and pointless restatements of known fact.

“Artificial orbiting objects! Interplanetary probes! Nuclear weapons numbering thousands! Digital computing devices! Biological informatics and life-code engineering! We must prepare Level Three phages!”

“Calm yourself, Commander,” soothed Biologist. “We have now processed the record until target-data timepoint zero. They are still primitive. Even now, Executive is developing strategies. I am digesting data from our Watcher. And even better, I have an ever-growing store of information from the sentients themselves, broadcast by electromagnetic carrier waves into space.”

“But we are still at least fifteen revolutions from arrival. In that time, who knows what capabilities they will have developed? Remember Species 447? It consumed thousands of revolutions of time and untold racial resources to reduce them to animals. I do not wish to be brought before the Assembly for failure to subdue this species.”

Executive interjected, “Let us continue to study and plan. It appears by my preliminary trend analysis that these sentients may still reduce themselves to animals of their own volition between timepoint zero and our arrival. If not, we will assist them to do so. And we have yet to gain access to the more recent Watcher Probe logs. Their records end some 4000 cycles ago.”
For unknown reasons.

“I agree with Executive, Commander. Let us apply our best efforts and we may yet avoid censure.”

Commander released the Meme equivalent of a long sigh. “Accord. I will compose a lightspeed communication burst to the nearest Conglomerate ship, detailing the situation and requesting advice, along with all of our data. We should receive an answer in approximately seven revolutions. Biologist, what is the designation of this new sentient?”

“Commander, designation is Species 666.”

---

End of
Eden Plague, The SecondEdition

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Infection Day Minus One.

Jill Repeth, Sergeant, United States Marine Corps, stared out over the rail of her upper cabin balcony aboard the cruise ship
Royal Neptune.
The object of her gaze was the frigate USS
Ingraham
, keeping station to windward at about two nautical miles distance. Beyond, hull up on the horizon at perhaps twelve miles, was a Landing Platform/Dock amphibious assault ship, probably the USS
Somerset
. It was this ship that held her frustrated attention.

She lowered herself down from her hold on the railing; she had been perched there with her hands taking all her weight. She settled into the comfortable deck chair and picked up her small 5X optical binoculars; she cursed herself for not bringing her 18X electronic monsters, but she hated to carry a month’s pay around on a Caribbean cruise.

The LPD leaped into view, the angled, radar-deflecting planes of its superstructure identifying it as one of the most modern ships of the US Navy. She was familiar with the type, having served a Fleet Marine Force tour on her sister ship, the USS
Arlington
.

Twelve miles.  Just sitting there for the last two days.

Food aboard the cruise ship was getting low; Jill had recognized the impending problem as soon as they had been detained. She had taken pains to smuggle everything that would keep back to her cabin and stash it in anticipation of making a break. But her stock would run out shortly, and there was no sign of them being allowed to land or disembark. She was hungry all the time.

The announcements aboard ship had said they were quarantined because of a ‘dangerous disease’; that dangerous disease had apparently cured cancer, blindness, even old age among those aboard, and had started to regrow her legs.

She looked down at the strange pink skin down there, contrasting with the tan that ended just below her knees. The nubs couldn’t bear her weight without excruciating pain, and they wouldn’t fit her prosthetics anymore, so she had used the wheelchair service a lot. Reaching down to scratch the itchy growth, she pushed aside thoughts of
why
it had happened, or even how, and concentrated on what she had to do.

Night was starting to fall over the Atlantic. Making her final preparations, she wrote a letter to her parents in Los Angeles, leaving it addressed on the table for the steward to find. She ate as much as she could hold, and put the rest into the waterproof bag, along with her combat uniform, her wallet and ID, and the jury-rigged prostheses. She had ripped the expensive electronic guts out of them and she now had something that she could use, if barely. Padded with pillow-stuffing and cut-up blankets, they strapped onto her stumps and allowed her to stand, even walk gingerly, as long as she could take the pain, and look somewhat normal in her uniform.

A bottle of ibuprofen went in as well, and a few other odds and ends. Then she sealed it up and put it in her rucksack. Wet suit on next, a stylish blue and green never intended for clandestine work, but it was all she had. Then the scuba gear, combat knife, rucksack strapped in reverse to sit over her belly. Lastly the swim fins, reconfigured to fit her regenerating stumps.

Levering herself up to the rail, she looked out between the slats at the two ships, now visible mainly by their navigation lights. Earlier she had seen hovercraft embarking and disembarking out of the combat well at the back of the LPD. Now she could see a strobe and running lights from a helo landing on the flight deck at the rear, one of a continuous droning above and around the ships. She had seen Hornet and Lightning naval fighters high overhead earlier in the day, so there was a supercarrier out there somewhere too, running combat air patrol.