by David Coy
“You’d better clarify that,” a tall, scrawny man said loudly from within the crowd.
“I will clarify it for you,” Rachel said loudly over the murmurs. “The wasps have been conditioned specifically to prey on humans only. They can’t …
“Hang on!” someone else yelled out. “Go back to the advanced race part. What about them?”
“The ones,” Rachel said, searching the area of the crowd she thought the voice had come from, “The ones we thought were dead, the beings we found in the monolith aren’t extinct —at least some of them are still alive—perhaps large numbers of them.”
“You’re talking about those creatures we’ve heard about that lived in the monolith?” another overwrought woman asked.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “We’re not sure they lived in the monolith. But, yes. Those.”
“So are the wasps going to come back?” a woman up front said in an accusatory voice. The murmurs got louder.
Paul rapped on the table with his pistol. “Let Rachel talk!” he barked.
The murmuring died, and Rachel continued.
“These beings, these Verdians, dropped millions of immature versions of the wasps on the compound. They were in something like a cocoon, in a pupated state, when they were dropped. They hatched out a few hours later, swarmed and then started to hunt for prey. We were sitting ducks for them. We never had a chance. The reason we didn’t is because the wasps had our scent—so to speak.
“In or around the year 2006 these beings came to Earth and took hundreds of people captive. They used the captives as hosts for the wasps and harvested the wasp larva from the bodies of the captives after the wasps laid their eggs in them.”
“How do you know all this,” a wiry Bondsman named Jackson asked.
Paul shot the man a look.
“I know,” Rachel said, “because I have this.” She reached into the satchel slung around her shoulder and pulled out Bailey Hall’s blue notebook. “This notebook has a record of the entire event. It’s a diary kept by one of the captives. Her name was Bailey Hall. She and a few others planned to escape from the Verdian vessel on which this process I just described was taking place. We don’t know if they escaped or not.
“Each of the eight hundred who died two days ago are almost certainly distant relatives of the captives taken by the Verdians over a thousand years ago on Earth. When the Verdians released the wasps, these biological weapons went after the human hosts who possessed the same genetic markers as the hosts they were harvested from a thousand years ago.”
“That’s preposterous,” Jackson scoffed. “It makes no sense at all.”
“Oh, it does,” Rachel said. “Look. You’ve heard of the extinct fish called a salmon, haven’t you,” she said to him.
“Sure. I know what salmon were,” Jackson said.
“Well, salmon as you know, in order to breed, only returned to the stream or river in which they were born. And even though scientists were never able to identify any single factor in the water that could direct them to that stream, somehow, some hidden chemical or scent in the water directed the salmon to the right stream. I think that’s what happens with the wasps. Some scent, something extremely specific to a family chain, something inherited genetically, acted like a beacon for the wasps.”
In the back, a young man, still dressed in funeral black, said loudly, “So, they somehow knew which ones of the ones they killed had this scent, and it was the same as the scent of someone that person was related to a thousand years ago and that the wasp larva hatched out of. Right?”
“That’s basically it,” Rachel said. “I think the Verdians have been using this wasp species for tens of thousands of years, maybe longer. I think they use them as a way to control certain species on Verde that might get out of control for some reason. I think the wasps are a highly specialized form of pest control. They might even be used to control just a single strain, a single lineage within a species.
“When the Verdians discovered us here on their planet,” she went on, “I believe they already had a storehouse of specialized wasps on hand trained just for our scent. They must have preserved them or had them in some kind suspended animation. I’m not sure. That’s my theory anyway. All they had to do was dump them near us and let the wasps do the rest. I think that the wasps can be conditioned to be specialized, but that they can only breed in the host gene pool they were born in. Nowhere else. They can’t just spontaneously jump from species to species or even within species between varieties. They can’t even jump from one lineage to another. If they can’t find more prey of the same lineage as the host they hatch out of, they probably die without breeding again. So each specialized batch of wasps self-extinct in short order. They are perfect for this kind of work. The Verdians, I think, have cultured this species for this particular job for maybe eons. I even doubt whether or not the wasps can live without the specialized conditioning process of the Verdians. They may not be able to live as a viable species without intervention. But that’s just a theory.”
“So the Verdians think we’re pests?” a woman asked, unable to conceive of her place on the planet as anything other than superior.
“Wouldn’t you?” Rachel replied.
“I don’t get it,” Jackson said. “How come we’re still alive then?”
“We’re still alive,” Rachel replied, “because there were no wasps in the batch the Verdians dumped on us that had hatched out of any of our distant relatives. I’m not sure why that’s so. Those are answers I don’t have yet. But I suspect the answer may be as simple as that. None of our own distant relatives were captured or made part of the harvesting process during the visit to Earth. That’s the only thing that comes to mind right now.”
“So the attack on Earth was incomplete?” Donna asked. “They didn’t get enough of the larva harvested?”
“That’s my theory,” Rachel replied. “Bailey Hall makes some notes in her diary that suggests that the Verdians came to Earth to eradicate us as a species. In order to succeed, they would have had to collect members of lineages to a certain inherited depth from all over the planet. I think they failed. Bailey Hall and her group may have had something to do with that. I don’t know. Her diary suggests they did.”
“Okay,” Jackson persisted. “So are the wasps coming back or not?”
She looked at Jackson and smiled a little. It was a difficult concept to explain without something to write on, and she wished she’d had time to create some visuals to make clearer what she was trying to communicate.
“When the wasps attacked, they reduced our numbers from over a thousand to two four and eleven individuals. The wasps have put our population numbers below the critical breeding mass required for a species to recover without significant inbreeding in two generations—if left to chance. Left alone, with no additional threats, and by paying special attention to who mates with who, we might have a chance to recover as a gene pool. But this planet is dangerous. It’s dangerous from the ground up to the canopy. Something biting, stinging and usually dangerous lives under every leaf. In terms of biological hazards, I’ve just scratched the surface. And if we lose even ten percent of our remaining number…” She put her hands on her hips. “The bottom line is that, if I’m right, the wasps are no longer usable to the Verdians as a weapon against us. Our numbers are too small. Few, if any of us, belong to the same direct lineage so there is no way to condition the wasps against us.”
She took a deep breath.
“Look, the wasps don’t matter. There’s more to worry about than the wasps,” she said. “They’re just the tip of the iceberg.”
22
Smith was being stupid the way Paul figured it. He could stay in the orbiter until he starved to death if he wanted to, but threatening to blow it up in exchange for a full amnesty was a bargaining strategy that was beginning to grate. The orbiter still had supplies and equipment the colony could use, and Paul didn’t want to run the risk of losing any of it. He’d had just about enough of this sh
it from Smith. The worst of it was that with the exception of this single channel, he’d turned off the communications satellites, effectively truncating the colony’s phone service.
As far as they could tell, only four people remained on the orbiter: Smith, his personal assistant Ashwin and two others; one Daniel Wethers and one Ralph Lindstrom, neither of whom Paul knew much about except that they had been employed by Smith since the orbiter arrived over two Verdian years ago. The four had sequestered themselves in the orbiter right after the wasp storm and had refused to come down. Worse, they had closed off the orbiter’s boarding docks from the inside and set them to secure, precluding any attempt to dock with the orbiter in a foray designed to drag them out by force. They had also changed the access codes to all of the orbiter’s systems, making it impossible to reconfigure or redirect any of the orbiter’s functions. Without those codes, the orbiter was simply a dumb, giant hull filled with enough food and water and air to last years.
The holdouts wouldn’t be able to fly the orbiter away, principally because they didn’t have the engineers to do it. The other reason: Where would they fly it to that made any sense? The existing colonized planets were dead or nearly so. Fuji was a mineral-rich ball with few organic resources and dependent on a supply chain from Earth since its opening. With Earth now all but dead itself, Fuji would soon follow. Cunningham Moors, though richer with life, was still dependent on Earth’s now empty supply line. Reports told of widespread starvation there.
The orbiter was built to move enormous amounts of material from one point in space to another and lacked the propulsive resources to act as an exploratory vessel. Even if they had an idea where to go for sanctuary, the orbiter was not capable of making the trip. So, for Smith and his little crew, there was simply nowhere to go.
But in terms of what the orbiter was or wasn’t able to do while it was in orbit over the planet, Smith was clearly holding the cards for now, and Paul didn’t like it.
The two things Paul wanted was to get Smith down to face justice and to safeguard the orbiter and its contents— the latter his first concern.
“Try Smith again,” Paul said to communications specialist. “Let’s see what he has to say today.”
“Looking for more abuse, Captain?” the tech, a fresh-faced young man named Adams, asked.
“I’ve got nothing better to with my time for the moment,” Paul said. “Dial up the bastard.”
The tech punched at the console and the system rang Smith’s number. His slightly disheveled image appeared a moment later on the screen.
“Yes?” Smith said.
“Good morning, Mr. Smith,” Paul said cheerfully. “Are you ready to resume our negotiations?”
“Of course,” Smith said. “Remind me. Where did we leave off?”
Paul grinned a sideways grin. Smith knew precisely where they had left off. “You were telling me when we spoke last that you would do something like blow up the orbiter if I didn’t grant you a pardon for your crimes. Some bullshit like that I think.”
“I will do it,” Smith said.
“I don’t see what you’ve got to gain,” Paul said matter-of-factly. “If I’m not mistaken the blast would kill you.”
“That’s the price I’m willing to pay. You can have the orbiter when you agree to absolve me of all the alleged crimes I am supposed to have committed.”
“Alleged crimes?” Paul asked, with an emphasis on alleged.
“That’s right.”
“I see.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You know, you can stay up there for what? Six years? Maybe nine years, if you conserve resources? Then what?”
“I self-destruct the orbiter.”
“Ah,” Paul said, feigning surprise.
“What have I got to lose?” Smith asked with a frown. “If I come down sooner, you’ll kill me. What’s the advantage?”
Paul knew Smith would be tough. He was obviously dealing with a man who had negotiated things his way his entire life. Such men lied, cheated, bartered and bargained for everything they wanted.
“I never said I would kill you,” Paul offered. “All I said was that there are some people down here who expect you to pay for what you’ve done to them. That’s all.”
“Being led by the crowd mentality, are we, Captain Kominski?”
“Not at all. I’ve got the final say,” Paul said. “But I do have some other opinions to consider.”
“Playing all the angles?” Smith said with a sniff.
“Look, I’ve got eight of the Bondsmen’s highest ranking council members locked up. The rest, as you know, are dead. If you, Wethers and Lindstrom come down now, I’ll negotiate a reasonable sentence with you. You’ll come out of this alive at least.”
“I don’t want a sentence,” Smith said. “I want a pardon. And in exchange, I’ll leave the orbiter as it is.”
Paul pretended to think it over. He’d made up his mind where this was going before the conversation started. He sucked air through his nose.
“You promise to leave the orbiter intact?” Paul asked. “I wouldn’t want you going back on your word.”
“You have my word.”
“What about Ashwin, Wethers and Lindstom?” Paul further inquired.
“I’ll take responsibility for them,” Smith said. “They were following my orders.”
“I see,” Paul smirked.
“They are my trusted employees and still work for me. They cannot be held accountable for actions, even alleged ones, they may have committed while under my direct supervision now or heretofore.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Paul said. “Bring them down with you.”
“Then we have a deal?” Smith asked.
“We have a deal,” Paul said. “You’ll get your pardon.”
“Fine,” Smith said, self-satisfied. “Then we’ll be down within the hour.”
“Nice dealing with you, Mr. Smith,” Paul said. “You’re a tough man. See you soon.”
“See you soon,” Smith said and closed the connection.
Paul turned and walked over to the two officers standing by the chamber’s entrance. “Smith’s on his way down with his two bodyguards Wethers and Lindstrom and that little puke of a secretary of his, Ashwin,” he said to them. “Greet them at the landing site. Be nice. Get the orbiter’s system codes from Smith then test the codes. When you’re sure they work, lock the bastards up until I decide what to do with them. If they resist, shoot them.”
Paul opened his pad, and checked the item labeled “Get control of the orbiter” off his list.
Plan your work and work your plan, Dad used to say, Paul thought.
* * *
“I thought your report to the council was very good Dr. Sanders,” John said wrapping her tight in his arms from behind. “Very…very… good.”
She wrapped her arms around his. “I think it was accurate,” she said cautiously. “But there are still so many unanswered questions. So much to learn.”
They were standing just outside one of the monolith’s many entrances, the pool she used to bathe in, deep and cool at their feet. The stream gurgled gently out of the pool’s downstream end. “The last time I jumped naked into that pool, I had rifles pointed at my head a minute later,” she shared her frightful memory, then grinned. “I’ll never look at my little pool the same,” she said with mock sadness.
“I don’t think we’ll ever look at anything the same again,” John said. “Everything is changed. Change is good.”
“I’m not so sure about that right now,” she said. “This planet…”
“This planet is fascinating,” he said. “You said so yourself.”
“Yes, it’s fascinating. But it’s also deadly. It’s a very dangerous place, and it will do everything it can to kill us. And it will try at every opportunity. It will never stop trying to kill us.”
“That’s pretty pessimistic,” he said.
“I suppose it is, but I can’t help it. Yo
u’ve seen it yourself. No one could have dreamed that this planet was so hostile.”
“Then we’ll just have to beat the hostility out of it,” he offered.
She squirmed around in his arms to face him. “That’s just it, John. You can’t tame a place like this. It won’t be tamed. And on top of the fact that the entire planet is one enormous hothouse that sprouts plant and animal life from every square inch of it, there are the Verdians, a race of beings we’ve never seen and may never see. And the only thing about them we know for sure is that they are advanced technologically and extremely hostile to other species, including ours—especially ours.”
“Not a pretty picture, I admit,” he relented.
She sighed. “No. Not a pretty picture.” She turned around and faced the deep green and implacable face of the jungle just a few dozen meters away. “Out there are millions upon millions of square kilometers of the most biologically rich environment ever discovered. John, it’s as if the entire planet were alive through and through, just one big organic ball teeming with life forms. We’ll never fully understand it—the systems, the symbiotic relationships, the billions of species, the predators and the prey. It’s an endless ocean of life. You could spend a lifetime here and never scratch the surface.”
She was growing agitated, and that was usually a prelude to the mania, and the mania a prelude to the seizure. He felt her through his arms and the front of his thighs for the telltale twitching. It didn’t come.
“Life is competitive, John. Each life form carves out its niche and struggles to keep it. Now here we are, two hundred thin-skinned, soft-bodied, protein-filled morsels, just waiting to be eaten by something—to be used by another species from the outside in or the inside out. This is not a planet that you colonize, John. It’s one you admire from the safety of an air-tight, bug-proof, flying machine for a few hours—then leave it the hell alone.”
“Well, you certainly seem to have changed your mind about this place,” he said. “I thought you told me once you thought this planet was a paradise. What happened to that?”
