by Bodicea
On the highways that linked the settlements, vehicles lay abandoned, strewn, forgotten with their colors fading beneath the weak orange sun. Purple seas lapped beaches of powder pink sands as the ships that once plied their waters turned over and sank in desolate harbors, eventually giving away to the battering of storms and the insatiable hunger of rust and entropy.
Outside the cities lay long expanses of irrigated farmland. The fields had been contoured to the landscape, describing vast ovals, crescents, and whorls, the agricultural fingerprints of civilization, representing rows of corn, rice, beans, wheat, triticale, tarriga, nalafia – one hundred and seventy distinct crop strains were identified from orbit. Where not scarred by erosion, these croplands were now choking with overgrowth, itself an echo of humanity’s voice. Trees, grass, and flowers had never evolved on this world, or at least, had not been a part of the ecology when humans arrived. The colonists had brought grass and flowers, but there were still no trees, and no one to hear should one fall in an empty forest. Many of the hills were covered with thick, leafy, moss that had been the atmosphere’s oxygen generator. A probe tasted a sample of the moss and suggested it might have been laid down as part of a terra-forming scheme.
Even though the humans had gone, their transplanted vegetation would remain to grow, and eventually, perhaps, spread across the surface of this world.
In his conference room, Commander Keeler reviewed the holographic imagery the probes had collected on the planet. Behind his back was the observation portal, where the planet hung, accusingly, over his shoulder, like a ghost demanding vengeance. His top officers, at least the ones who had some expertise to offer, gathered around the table, looking grave.
Keeler stood up, turned toward the planet where so many lives had ended without memoriam, and gave them a kind of eulogy.
“The inhabitants of this world were our brothers. Their lives were not so very different from our own. They achieved a level of human civilization to rival our own, and there isn’t one of them left alive to tell us about it. We owe it to them, and to the rest of humanity, to find out what became of them.”
Keeler turned the meeting over to one of the ship’s chaplains who offered a prayer as the commander took his seat. A gray and white tabby cat curled up on the table near his left arm, sometimes asleep, sometimes pretending to be asleep. In the seat on his left was his first officer, Ex. Cmdr. Lear, looking annoyed at the presence of the cat. They had never gotten along. On Keeler’s right was David Alkema, who got on just fine with the cat as he did with everybody else in the crew. With them were eleven officers from Tactical, Cultural, and other disciplinary Cores to try and explain the data the probes were sending them. Absent was Lt. Commander Miller, whose tactical judgment Keeler wanted the most.
“The best evidence suggests there was a war,” It was up to Marine Lieutenant Honeywell, Miller’s subordinate, to give the post-mortem to the ship’s senior officers. He was a largish officer, with straight, steel gray hair and a face that was hard, with a slight excess of chin.
Honeywell continued, a display of the planet illustrated his comments. “There are nine hundred thirty-five large craters on different areas of the planet, some closely spaced, a few isolated. Over a third of these have patterns of roads and highways leading to them, suggesting these were once the location of cities, destroyed by thermonuclear or, possibly, anti-matter weapons.”
A ship’s geologist, Lieutenant Jol Cianega, a tallish, stocky man with straw yellow hair and a face that was almost perfectly oval, suggested the alternative. “We also can not rule out a planetary bombardment by asteroids.”
Honeywell rolled his eyes, but Cianega persisted. “Only 37% of the impacts were over populated areas. I don’t believe a deliberate attack would have hit so many uninhabited areas.”
“It’s still far too high to be random,” Honeywell said, as though he had made the point a hundred times before already. “And the size of the craters is too uniform for a meteor storm.”
“I only meant we can not rule it out,” Cianega said. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“If it was an asteroid strike,” Keeler said, with strained calm, “then, it’s not of concern to us. It’s an act of nature, but I don’t see how an asteroid bombardment could have killed everybody. There should have been survivors. If someone deliberately destroyed this planet, then that is something we need to worry about. We could be next.”
“Tarmigans?” Lear inquired, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Commander Keeler shook his head. “Those weapons would have been as primitive to the Tarmigans as stone knives and eye-pokes would be to us.” If the Tarmigans ever even existed, he added to himself.
“Isn’t it possible that the technological capabilities of the Tarmigans have been exaggerated through the centuries?” Lear asked, in the condescending tone to which they had become accustomed.
The rear hatch to the conference room slid open, and Lt. Commander Miller entered. His jacket was open to the front, and looked a little more disheveled than usual. Without a word, he took a seat at the rear.
“The Tarmigans,” Lear continued, brushing some gray and white hairs from the front of her uniform, “were known for wiping out entire colonies.”
“The Tarmigans were said to wipe out entire colonies,” Keeler corrected. “Obviously, no one who was attacked by the Tarmigans lived to tell about it. All we know of them is legend. In any case, presuming up front that it was the Tarmigans, or any other aliens for that matter, is putting forth a hypothesis before we have a thorough review of the evidence. Lt. Honeywell, you my continue.”
Honeywell activated a holographic projection of the planet that was far more complete and detailed than that of a few days ago.
“We know at least three hundred eighty two cities were destroyed, and there is extensive evidence of combat having taken place in other areas.”
“Evidence?”
He highlighted several areas. “These areas have burned landscapes, blasted equipment, skeletal remains, and evidence of explosive discharges; typical of what you would find after a battle. In addition, we have found what appear to be large dedicated military facilities at coordinates 41? 19’ N by 90? 21’ W, 35? 22’ N by 131? 44’ W, 16? 44’ N by 64’ W, 37? 34’ S by 67? 09’ E… ” He might have read the whole list if Keeler had not stopped him.
“What is our current status of exploration?” Keeler asked.
The matronly Lieutenant Kennecott from Geological Survey brought them up to speed.
“We have put probes in ten of the remaining settlements. We’re still parsing the information sent from the surface, but from what we can put together of the Medean language, we don’t think the planet was unified, or even necessarily peaceful. We have found what we believe are at least nine regional centers of government, each with distinct dialects and independent defensive capabilities.”
“How do you know they were centers of government?” Keeler asked.
Kennecott deferred to a Specialist from the Anthropology Core, who explained.
“Architectural studies. People design government buildings differently than commercial or residential ones. You find more colleges and libraries and monuments in Government centers.
We have seen different patterns of crests, flags, signage. “
“So they had a war, but they left centers of government intact?” Lear said. “How curious.
That doesn’t make any sense unless someone attacked them from space who did not know the difference between normal cities and centers of government.”
“Or, if the bombardment was random,” Cianega put in, a little desperately.
“They might possibly have done this to themselves,” Honeywell protested. “Government centers may have been left intact for strategic purposes. If the enemy is not decapitated, he can still negotiate, sue for peace.”
Lear asked, her gray eyes burning, voice like shards of ice. “I just can’t believe that humans unleashed weapons
of mass destruction on other humans.”
“I am saying it is one of the possibilities,” Honeywell said. ” I don’t see any space debris in orbit, and I don’t see any non-native technology left behind on the surface. Of course, we don’t know nearly as much as we need to know to make a determination.”
“What else have our probes shown from orbit?” Keeler asked.
Kennecott activated a hologram representation of the planet, a two-meter sphere projected in the center of the table. “The southern hemisphere shows evidence of flash irradiation, as though the entire area was blasted with an instantaneous burst of intense gamma radiation.
This would have incinerated all life down to the microbial level.”
“When did this happen in comparison to the bombing of the cities?” Lear asked.
Kennecott shook her head. “I can’t say as yet.”
Lear persisted. “Are there craters in the irradiated area of the southern hemisphere?”
“There are.”
“Are they also burned, or has sub-surface strata been shot around their margins?”
“Also burned.”
“Then, the bombing must have come first. Compare residual radiation levels at detonation points inside and outside the zones. Calculate a decay constant based on general surface radiation. You should be able to calculate the difference within three years.”
Kennecott, to her credit, kept her cool. “Right. We’ll do that.”
“In my opinion, we are getting a little off the track here,” Lear continued, turning away from Kennecott. “It would appear our best bet for learning what happened here would be teams on the ground. How long before we can dispatch landing parties to the surface.”
“We have just dispatched a half dozen bio-probes to the surface. Radiation doesn’t appear to be dangerous except at the impact craters themselves. We are going to check for pathogens before we can approve human contact. If everything checks out, you can leave in six hours.”
“And if not, seven hours,” Keeler added.
On Pegasus’s bow, several hatches opened, and from these hatches sprang forth additional machines. Some were shaped like darts. Some looked almost like the Aves shuttles Pegasus carried, but smaller, chunkier and stubbier wings. Carried in the bellies of these probes were small land probes; some that looked like spiders, some that looked like insects, some that looked like dogs, and some that looked almost vaguely human. They were sent to scan the ground with their tiny little eyes, sniff the air with mechanical sniffers, and transmit their data back to Pegasus.
A few of the machines powered down on the edge of what had been a city. Its buildings were intact, and they rose into the lavender sky as multi-textured pillars and columns. Such had been the dominant architectural style of the world. Although the architecture here was more plain and unimaginative than they were accustomed to on the home worlds, it still looked more familiar to the crew than that of the other worlds they had visited. The taller and larger buildings were cut through with raised streets and walkways, connecting them on many levels, like the mega-towers of Republic.
The walkways were hung with faded signs and flags covered in pictographs and many angled and curving symbols that had constituted the local alphabet. A number of these had fallen to ground level, where they quivered in the thin dry wind and banged against the sides of abandoned transport pods.
Probe M-9011 glided along the ruined the street, stopping as it was commanded to in front of one of the dead Medean vehicles. It sent out a scanning beam and examined the wreck closely. As Biology Core had suspected, the vehicle was tightly sealed, and there were human remains inside. Although the seal was not airtight, it was enough to preserve the contents almost as they had been on the day all this had ended.
The probe extended a feeler to the vehicle’s window, attached itself, and drilled a small hole through the glass. Extending a tube, it sucked a bit of the air inside into its internal analysis chamber, and began to identify and sort out the molecules it contained.
In one of the lower levels of the command tower, Deck +25 to be precise, was Pegasus’s Secondary Telemetry Laboratory. This was where the biological data collected by the bio-probes was received and analyzed. The probes were sniffing abound the planet at surface level, taking in air, water, and soil and passing it through sensor arrays that tested for viruses, microbes, bacteria, or residue of the foregoing.
When the probe isolated a specimen, it made a scan of it at the molecular level, and transmitted the data to the Deck +25 STL, where the molecular data was assembled into a three dimensional model. From this model, the sample could be matched against existing models for protein and nucleotide structure. The native samples from Medea could be isolated from microbes humans carried with them throughout the galaxy such as E. Coli.
Samples the analysis did not recognize were examined in detail against known models for bacterial and viral behavior and interaction. These could predict how the virus or bacteria would interact with human physiology. This enabled Biology Core to predict whether it was harmless, would give one a mild illness, an allergic reaction, or if it was fatal.
A microbiologist in the Deck +25 STL was processing data on one of the microbial organisms recovered from the atmosphere from the planet by Probe M-9011. Her attention was drawn to a specimen pulled from the sealed air of the vehicle. The structure displayed before her was highly unusual, looking like a great latticework sphere with spikes protruding from the interstices. It was twice the average size of the other organisms the probe had picked up, and a lot scarier-looking.
The Biological Survey braincore had never seen anything quite like it, but suggested it might be a kind of viral pathogen. The microbiologist performed an analysis and then ported the findings into a modeling computer, to see how this organism would interact with a human anatomy.
When she saw the result, she uttered a brief scream and nearly fainted.
Keeler strode into the emergency command meeting dabbing a towel on his wet hair.
“Did we get you out of the shower commander?” asked Alkema, moving out of the commander’s seat.
“Neg.”
“A swim?”
“Neg.”
“Ill-fated practical joke by a smarty-pants cat?”
“Maybe,” Keeler answered. Lear entered at that moment, trailing four specialists and Lieutenant Biologist Kyrie Mastermind from the Biology Core. The Executive Commander walked to the head of the conference table, tension and authority radiating from her. Her mouth was in a tight closed line, and her eyes seemed ready to shoot deadly radioactive heat beams at anyone who looked at her the wrong way.
Lt. Honeywell was there as well, and an earnest Medical Technician named Jersey Partridge had been called to represent the ship’s Medical Core. In the far-most corner of the room, Lt. Commander Miller slumped in a chair, looking sullen and difficult, but, for once, at least sort of interested in the proceedings.
Lear activated the holographic projectors, showing the pathogen from Medea in the full glory of its malevolence.
“Three hours ago, A bio-probe operating at site one-seven-by-fifty-four up-linked data on this viral-form organism to our Telemetry laboratory. Forty minutes ago, we determined the nature of this organism.”
“What you see represented here is a highly potent viral pathogen, designed for simultaneous assault on the human nervous, circulatory, and respiratory systems. It attacks these areas and begins reproducing rapidly. A person exposed to it would feel symptoms within 20 seconds and be dead within four minutes. The pathogen would continue to consume human tissue until nothing remained but the skeleton, making copies of itself that disperse into the atmosphere to infect further victims.” This was demonstrated by a two-dimensional animation. There had not been time to develop a three dimensional construct or add an appropriately maudlin soundtrack.
“Has this pathogren been detected elsewhere?” Keeler asked.
“Preliminary identification at four of the other si
tes, we will have to confirm it,” Lear said.
“I suspect we will find it throughout the planet’s ecosystem. It’s burned through all the animal life forms, but we suspect it can lie dormant in the air and water indefinitely before infecting a new host.”
“I don’t think we’ll be sending any landing parties,” Keeler said, very, very quietly.
Lear agreed. “Our recommendation is to declare 12 822 Equuleus III a Maximum Contagion Quarantine Zone. All equipment currently in the planet’s atmosphere or on the surface will be left behind. No ships, no landing teams to the surface.”
“That seems prudent,” said the commander.
“If you agree to the order, it goes into effect permanently,” Lear reminded him.
He would be closing the door on this planet forever. “I have your assurance that this is absolutely necessary?” He directed his question at the Lieutenant from Exo-Biology.
“There is no chance that the pathogen could survive traveling through the vacuum, radiation, and cold of space,” the Lieutenant sort of answered him. “Nevertheless, I also recommend that the planet be placed under quarantine, and we abandon all the probes we have sent down there. If even one example got through, it could wipe out the ship.”
“All right. I’ll approve it.” He found himself a little in awe of his own power. On his order, an entire world was being sealed off from all human contact, probably forever.
Just for the record, the computer noted that 14 Class One Probes, Eight Class Two probes, 42 bio-probes were already on the surface. Alkema made a note to remind the commander to have the artifactories produce replacements for this equipment.
“We will need to study the pathogen further,” Lear interjected, thinking the moment was right to focus their attention elsewhere. “It would be foolish not to devise a counter-agent, knowing what it can do. Therefore, before quarantining the planet, I recommend we acquire a sample of the pathogen for study”
