Earthrise

by Craig Delancey

  Their enemy, the Ulltrians, had attacked the capital of Galactic civilization with a mysterious new weapon that had caused gravitational waves around the planet, shaking its continents. But biological weapons had always been the preferred tool of the Ulltrians. Called by the Ulltrians KunPaTels, these had been the superweapons of the great Accelerationist War, a war that had nearly destroyed Galactic civilization five thousand years before, when the Galactic Alliance first fought against the Ulltrians, and a thousand worlds were destroyed. Most everyone thought that no such weapon had existed since that horrible time. The weapon was essentially an ecoforming machine. Ecoforming machines primarily worked by distributing into an ecosystem organisms meant to change that ecosystem into a new stable form. What had been special about the KunPaTels was that the payloads had been a wide variety of organisms, some engineered to be super-virulent. The Ulltrians aimed not to ecoform into some stable form, but create ecological chaos, to spread warfare not just among their enemies but among all the organisms of the enemy’s biosphere. For the Ulltrians, warfare was waged not between species, but between clades, between whole life-trees. Once a KunPaTel was fully deployed, it could not effectively be fought. Millions of organisms, once distributed into a biosphere, were very difficult if not impossible to root out.

  “Only one such weapon managed to land on the planet. The Neelee were able to quarantine the weapon,” Yeats explained. “They have shared with us their study of its contents.”

  “Bria, Tarkos,” McDonough said, “Dr. Yeats has examined the Neelee data. She’s Earth’s best person for this kind of thing. And she has discovered something very disturbing. Part of the payload of the KunPaTel weapon was from Earth.”

  McDonough let that hang in the air. Bria leaned forward. “Organisms already off Earth?” she asked in Galactic.

  “No,” McDonough said. “Not legally. Not to the knowledge of Earth authorities or the Harmonizer Corp or the Galactic Life Registry.” He turned to Yeats. “Doctor?”

  Yeats stood and walked to the wall, which lit up with an image of thin worms in a twisting mass. “The weapon’s payload included many nematodes. The majority of their genome is original. These are deep Earth ocean nematodes. Benthic. But this. This. Here.” Another representation popped up, colored lines arranged in aligned rectangles. Tarkos recognized it as a high-level abstract representation of gross genome features. She pointed at it. “This is the genome of one of the organisms in the weapon. It is more than ninety-nine percent identical to our record of the terrestrial organism. The actual organism in the weapon is terrestrial. Perhaps slightly modified, but terrestrial.”

  “What is it?” Bria asked.

  The scientist tilted her head forward. “In English, we call it a ‘water bear.’” She waved at some controls and a magnified image of a translucent, six-legged, bearlike creature appeared. “Subphylum, tardigrada. Microscopic. Very robust. Some people think it’s the toughest animal on Earth. Lives in nearly every terrestrial environment.”

  “It looks like you,” Tarkos said, turning to Bria.

  “Handsome organism,” she hissed.

  “But where is this one from?” Tarkos asked, turning back to Dr. Yeats.

  The scientist smiled without mirth. “That’s the good bit. We’re lucky. This one, it’s a rare subspecies. It exists only in one place. In the upper Amazon forest.”

  “But that,” McDonough interrupted, leaning over the table, “is not the important part. Ready for the clincher? This organism is patented.”

  “Patented?” Tarkos asked.

  “Right. By a corporation right here in New York. Called Genmine. Recently bought by a private equity firm, and managed by the head of that firm.”

  “But how can they patent it?” Tarkos asked. “Isn’t it a wild organism?”

  McDonough raised an eyebrow. “Happens every day, Tarkos.”

  Bria closed her top two eyes. Earth commerce disgusted her. Tarkos let it lie, though he wanted to ask more about it, because he didn’t want to give the Sussurat an even worse impression of Earth.

  “Your mission,” McDonough said, “is to find out how this organism ended up as part of a biological weapon. If you locate any network exporting organisms off Earth illegally, you must eliminate that network. I’d recommend that you start by talking to the people at this corporation that’s patented the tardigrade. Dr. Yeats will be available to help you.”

  McDonough leaned back. He frowned and glanced at Dr. Yeats. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “I don’t think I’ll betray any confidential facts when I tell you that our intelligence is frightening. On the edge of Rinneret space, Galactic ships are disappearing. The Galactic Executive thinks that we’re also in some kind of covert war with hidden allies of the Ulltrians. Our intelligence shows that the few species that remained sympathetic to the Ulltrians and the Accelerationist cause are organizing in secret. We fear there may be other KunPaTel weapons. The Galactic Alliance, and very likely Earth, are in imminent danger. This organism—” he pointed at the projection of the waterbear—“is one of our only leads that might help us find out something, anything, about the enemy’s plans.”

  “One thing, Vice Commander,” Tarkos said. “What about this group that seized the elevator, the TLF—the Terran Liberation Front. Is that something we have to worry about? And could they be involved?”

  McDonough shook his head. “We don’t think so. They’ve succeeded in perpetrating some very embarrassing terrorist acts against commercial interests, primarily Galactic ventures here on Earth, but I don’t think they have the resources to try to hinder the work of the Harmonizers. And, they would have no way to track you down or be aware of your activities. I think we can forget them, and let domestic forces take care of the TLF problem.”

  “We understand,” Bria said, rising. “Lifecode violation. Will identify and punish violators. Start immediately.”

  Tarkos smiled. “Again, no lunch.”

  Bria lumbered out of the room. Dr. Yeats followed without another word. But as Tarkos rose, the Vice Commander caught his eye and made a small gesture, waving him over. Amir went to his side. Bria did not look back; she always expected Amir to follow close behind.

  “You’ll need to take care of both of those two,” McDonough said to him softly.

  “Sir?”

  “Dr. Yeats is important. One of Earth’s best people for whatever it is she does. But she’s not one of us. Her loyalties are to her nation and military. And well, she may even have other loyalties. Be vigilant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And as for the Commander.” McDonough frowned. “Well, this is New York. All’s well here. But there’s a lot of resistance risin’ up against Earth pursuing Galactic Citizenship. Many humans are for it, but there are pockets of very aggressive resistance. Mostly outside the major cities. Some people are angry about joining a vast and ancient government where we’ll be nigh the lowest of the low. Some of those people think every alien is an invader. The referendum on whether to join the Alliance comes in just a few days now. Things are gettin’ hot.”

  Tarkos nodded. “I understand, Sir. I’ll keep watch on both of them.”

  “Good. But I want more than that. I want you to carry a sentient weapon at all times.”

  “I thought that was forbidden on Earth, sir.”

  “Given the situation, I have—confidentially, mind you—arranged permission for you to carry sentient weaponry while on this mission. Dr. Yeats doesn’t know this. No need to inform her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McDonough slapped his shoulder and laughed grimly. “Another impossible mission for you.”

  CHAPTER 3

  A large black van waited for them outside the Galactic offices. People on the sidewalk stopped in midstride and stared, gaping, as Bria walked through the double doors on the side of the building, lumbered across the dirty New York sidewalk, and climbed into the back of the van. The car’s shock absorbers squeaked loudly in protest of her great
mass. Tarkos and Yeats followed her, and the driver—a serious-looking young man in a Galactic Executive uniform, with short-cropped hair who studiously acted as if Bria were just another everyday passenger—closed the doors behind them. Inside, a low pad allowed Bria to sit, and Tarkos and Yeats strapped into chairs along the wall opposite her.

  “I’ve been researching the CEO of Genmine,” Yeats explained as the car pulled away. She pulled the restraints tight. “A man named Alfonso DiAngelo. Aged sixty. He has never been in any legal trouble. He’s not really a manager. He’s a private equity raider.”

  Tarkos turned to Bria, concerned that her translator program might stumble over that phrase. “He buys and cuts up and sells economic organizations,” he explained in Galactic. To Yeats he said, “Unusual for him to stay CEO of this company then.”

  “Right,” Yeats said. “He’s been head of Genmine for a year now, running it after he bought it. That’s rare for his kind of investor. He’s known for being tough. He’s infamous in New York for his office, for example. The Wall Street Journal had a story about it. They say he keeps it very cold, and doesn’t sit at his desk, and has only one chair. In meetings, he makes everyone stand there, shivering. It’s his way of forcing all meetings to be short.”

  “Will not be cold,” Bria said. She flexed, making her thick fur puff up. “Will not need chair.”

  Tarkos smiled. “Just looking over the news feeds I can reach with my implants, I see he’s on the board of the Met Opera. He gave one interview questioning the benefits of joining the Alliance. But Genmine Company made most of its profits from selling rights for patented terrestrial organisms to other members of the Galactic Alliance. He is not likely to speak Galactic.”

  “No translationware,” Bria said. She nodded at Tarkos. “Too crude. You speak.”

  “Yes, Commander,” he said.

  Genmine had most of the floors of a narrow but tall glass and steel building that flashed blindingly in the sun. People in suits stopped and stared as Bria crossed the lobby, Tarkos and Yeats flanking her. The two security guards, hands shaking as they punched at buttons and whispered into microphones, glanced nervously at Bria, seemingly afraid she would leap over their little guard station partition at any moment. Finally, they waved toward an elevator that rose express to the top floor. The doors opened onto a reception room, where a severe-looking blond woman waved them into DiAngelo’s office.

  Cold air slapped Tarkos the moment he opened the door. Tarkos felt surprise that his breath did not show white as he exhaled, so cold it felt. DiAngelo stood in the center of the room, before a huge mahogany desk, and behind a tall mahogany podium of matching design. He wore a three-piece pinstripe suit. Wiry gray hair fringed his bald head. He fixed his defiant gray eyes on Tarkos, then Yeats, and finally Bria.

  “Mr. DiAngelo, I am Amir Tarkos, and this is Commander Bria, of the Harmonizer Corp. This is Dr. Yeats. She works for the UN.”

  DiAngelo hooked his thumbs into the vest of his three-piece suit and nodded towards Bria. “What’s this thing? This your pet?”

  Tarkos stopped, mouth open, so surprised he could not speak for a moment. Fortunately, his Predator training took over: when the opponent tries to push you off balance, orient yourself. He stood still a long moment, thinking, forcing himself to look around the room and assess the situation.

  The walls were spare, without a single personal effect. The view from the tall windows looked south down the long avenue, toward Wall Street. There was only one chair in the room: behind DiAngelo’s desk. It was exactly as Yeats had warned. DiAngelo did everything in his power, from the first moment, to make those around him uncomfortable. The cold office without chairs, the naked impersonal space, the crass and immediate attack.

  Tarkos took two breaths.

  Bria stepped to Tarkos’s side, her nails tearing audibly at the carpet.

  “As I said,” Tarkos continued, “Bria is a Harmonizer Commander, and a member of the great and noble Sussurat race, among whom her task as a defender of life is sacred. She is in charge here. I am talking only because of my familiarity with your language.”

  DiAngelo snorted once. “My language? My language? You seem to know it pretty well, kid. I’d guess it’s your language too. You don’t look like someone who was born on Venus or something, speaking Galactic.”

  Tarkos said nothing.

  “OK. I get it. You’ve gone native,” DiAngelo said. He pointed at Bria, “But, here’s my question for you: is that thing supposed to intimidate me?”

  “No,” Tarkos said, very slowly and clearly. “I am the one who’s here to intimidate you. She should fill you with awe.”

  DiAngelo snorted again in mirthless laughter. “Cute. Real cute. Let me tell you something, son. I don’t recognize the galactic empire in this office. Here, I’m the sacred warrior. I’m one of the great and noble race of Wall Street private equity investors. You understand that?” He put both hands on the sides of his podium, as if preparing to leap over the heavy wood pedestal. “You got a ray gun? Big fucking deal. I buy and sell ray gun factories every day. You fly in a space ship? Whoop-dee-doo. I own a spaceship.”

  Bria leaned forward and set a cube on the podium, just before DiAngelo’s face. The man couldn’t help himself: he flinched back. As Bria pulled her hand away, she pulled her long gray claws along the mahogany top. They left six deep, pale scratches in the wood.

  “Cute,” DiAngelo said again. “Real cute.”

  The cube on the podium, a three-d projector of Neelee design, shimmered for a moment. Then an image sputtered in the air above it and solidified into clarity. It looked real there, floating in the air: the image of a waterbear, hugely magnified until it was about as big as a house cat.

  “Tardigrada,” Bria hissed. Tarkos started, surprised by her very passable English—or, in this case, scientific Latin. “Hypsibius dujadini.”

  DiAngelo stared at the image.

  “It’s one of yours,” Tarkos said. “And it has been… used in a lifecode violation.”

  “Yeah? What kind of violation?”

  “A very, very serious lifecode violation.”

  “I said, what violation?”

  Tarkos shook his head, making it clear that this information would not be shared. But he did note that either DiAngelo had great skill as an actor, or the raider felt genuine surprise and shocked curiosity.

  “We must be told who has purchased these organisms from you,” Tarkos said. “Or who bought rights to its use. And also who might have had access to it.”

  “That’s a waterbear,” DiAngelo said. “The whole fucking planet has access to it. They live everywhere. There’s probably one on your shoe right now.”

  “Uh, well, not this one,” Dr. Yeats interjected. She took a step forward. “This one is quite rare. Or, rather, geographically specific.”

  “Who are you again?” DiAngelo asked.

  “Dr. Yeats. I’m a bio-informaticist.”

  “Yeah, well, big deal. My goddamn receptionist has a Ph.D. You can’t pour coffee around here unless you’ve finished your dissertation. So don’t think I’m impressed.”

  “Right,” Dr. Yeats said, seemingly unperturbed. “Let’s call her in, if she’s the brains of this outfit.”

  Tarkos suppressed a smile. He pulled a piece of paper from his belt pocket. “Here is the warrant.”

  DiAngelo took the page. “I’ll have legal look at it,” he said. He tossed it onto the podium. It fell on the three-d projector and the waterbear image disappeared. “I’m sure our lawyers will get back to you before year’s end.”

  “OK,” Tarkos said, losing patience. He was accustomed to even the most ancient and fearsome races of the Galaxy showing respect to the gray uniform of the Predator. And, he was accustomed to everyone, and everything, showing respect to Bria. Tarkos had seen Neelee parliamentarians stamp their hooves in homage before her. He had seen a Kirt ship captain scrape its shell on the floor in deference to Bria as she passed. He had seen giant Hurlkor
floating through the clouds of gas giants inflate their zeppelin bodies out of respect when she spoke, tiny though she seemed standing before them on the hull of her ship.

  “Here’s what will happen before this day’s end,” Tarkos said. “One of two things. Either you give us total access, so that our people can find what they need to find, as fast as they possibly can find it; or, you resist us, and we send copies of that warrant to the press, while some unnamed high-level government sources explain that your corporation is under investigation by the Galactic Harmonizer Corp for horrific, monstrous lifecode violations—and that you are resisting the investigation. That you, personally, Mr. Alfonso DiAngelo, are resisting the investigation. Before closing bell today your equity stake won’t be worth shit, as everyone on this planet dumps shares in your companies because they know—every human being knows, what you, Mr. DiAngelo, are pretending you don’t know: the Predators will get their prey.”

  Tarkos took a step forward. “And after you lost everything, after this company is worthless, after your private equity firm is unable to raise a penny of capital anywhere in this galaxy, after the United States government is working to figure out how to imprison you so they can hide away the embarrassment that you have caused to their efforts to fit into Galactic society, then we still will get in here and find what we need to find.”

  DiAngelo sneered. He looked at Tarkos, then Yeats, and finally Bria. Bria fixed him with her huge green eyes, nose pointed down so that she could peer at him as if he were some kind of noxious specimen. Yeats did not change her expression, but stared steadily at DiAngelo.

  DiAngelo abruptly sighed and turned. He walked over to the window and stood a moment with his back to them. Then he pointed. “What the hell is that?” he asked.