Alien Backlash

by Maxine Millar

  He walked out, shaking. All his preparation had paid off. It was done.

  The Security Officer, Maxadifidis, checked the contents of the data recorder. She did not understand it. That was not surprising but it looked familiar and that was reassuring. She paused as the medical staff picked up the man she had come to relieve. One of them was a medical security worker. She handed her the data saying, “I found this. Can you check what is in it please. Quickly. It is urgent.” As the woman left, Maxadifidis looked around. Alone on duty. There should be five of them at minimum. She started work.

  The woman returned after delivering the still unconscious security officer to the hospital. Then she got busy on the disc leaving Maxadifidis to run the shift. She calculated roughly the total amount of data sent and compared it with the amount on the recorder of all outgoing information. The two were the same. Then she opened and quickly scanned through portions of the data. She turned to Maxadifidis. “It is a very detailed description of the virus, a comparison of what it was and what it is now, how it has altered, a description of the effects it has, a description of the treatments that have been tried and their effects. It includes treatments that didn’t work. I have not thoroughly examined it but it looks right. It is what the headings say, but I haven’t checked it all. Where did you get it? What’s the mystery?”

  “I found it. Never mind. It is what I was told it was, not what I feared.” Maxadifidis felt hopeful. She checked for outgoing messages. There had been no message sent in the last hour before she started work although many dispatches had arrived. Nothing came here except urgent dispatches of the highest security level so they were always dealt with as they came in, plus dispatches requested personally by senior staff. In the short time Kumenoprix had been in the control room, and for an hour before that, nothing else had been sent. Kumenoprix might have told her the truth. If not, he had been very careful, clever, and had known exactly what to do. She thought that was unlikely. She doubted he knew that all outgoing and incoming data was logged. And he had admitted what he had done and given her what he had sent. To be in the control room was a death sentence. To have sent anything at all, without clearance, was a death sentence. She doubted he knew that either. Hmm. He wasn’t stupid. He probably did.

  Kumenoprix had not given any prior evidence of wrongdoing in all the hundreds of years he had been here. He did not look guilty. She knew he was exhausted and frantic. He was trying his best to save them, or as many of them as he could. To have done this was in keeping with his attitudes and beliefs, and his propensity for risk-taking. He was known for overstepping the mark; he had done so, many times before. And he was on borrowed time, even more so since Cukudeopul had been ill. The virus had shortened what little time Cukudeopul had left. Kumenoprix was working pretty much around the clock and he looked like it.

  She was exhausted herself. She had contracted the virus but was not critically ill and thought she would survive. She had not been given the inoculation because it looked as if she would survive without it. But she had little energy and felt sick. All her joints ached, her head pounded, she was peeing blood and vomiting it up. But she wasn’t coughing blood, she didn’t have multiple spontaneous bruising and there was no bleeding in her eyes, ears or mouth. Those were the deadly symptoms.

  She had eaten no solid food for many days as, when she tried, her stomachs protested painfully, then ejected their contents. Both ways, with embarrassingly little warning. She had lost a lot of weight and it looked like she was going to lose a lot more. At least she could afford to. Like most Keulfyd, she ate a bit more than her body required. And being large did increase one’s status as well as one’s girth. She liked her food! She was getting heartily tired of thin liquids!

  And there was the small problem that if Kumenoprix was arrested they would lose his services. Then she thought of the huge amount of paperwork involved in documenting a security breach. She was too tired to even think about it. She decided to forget it ever happened and not log it. She checked for incoming mail, picked out the most urgent, and then closed the board down after getting the daily statistics. She was dizzy and light-headed and afraid she too would collapse, leaving an insecure board. She sat down.

  Only then did she remember the cameras. Wearily she staggered up, took them down, ran each one back in turn, and checked them. Kumenoprix had been in the control room alone for less than three minutes and spent most of the time treating the security guard. He had gone to the guard first. If his intent had been treason, she thought, he would have gone to the board first. Maybe it was just chance that he had that data on him. Maybe he was working on it for himself and had sent it on impulse. Or without thinking.

  She restarted the cameras. It would just look like yet another sloppy piece of work or forgotten task. Someone forgot to reset them. Under these circumstances, it was insignificant. With the guard unconscious on the floor when she arrived and one person working instead of five, it was totally excusable. She would say not much of the work had been done and it looked as if he had lost consciousness before he remembered to change the cameras. Or he had forgotten. Not surprising. He would be very sick. He would be unlikely to remember and everyone would believe her not him.

  She wondered how he was. It took a lot of illness to knock out a Keulfyd! Most Keulfyd had a definite attitude to bad health. They refused to tolerate it. She certainly did. They refused to acknowledge it, refused to let it limit them. It was considered weakness to say you were sick or to take sick leave. She thought of the Keulfyd joke that we argue with our Maker as we leave the world of the living. “We probably do too,” she thought. “I will!”

  She opened the statistics file. Planet-wide, the percentage of those who had contracted the virus was up to thirty-five, despite all the quarantines and isolation orders. She read that breaches of these orders were frequent. Keulfyd were such extremes. Some did as little as possible. Often these included the not insignificant criminal class. Most societies had their parasites. However, most put in a fairly good amount of work. They liked good incomes and what that bought. They liked status and recognition. The rest tended to altruism and an excellent work ethic. Unfortunately, they were a slim percentage.

  She read on, occasionally closing her eyes to rest as the words swam. The statistics made grim reading. Only 0.5 percent of the population had been inoculated but that figure was rising daily. It appeared the fatality rate was around sixty-four percent of those who contracted it. This was thanks to the plasma going to essential personnel and the treatment done by the Okme. Every Keulfyd in the third stage who could afford it was trying to get treated by the Okme, but there were too many and not enough Machines to heal them. She wondered how her family were.

  Maxadifidis forced her mind back to the job. So about nine percent more were surviving thanks to intervention and the rest naturally — and that would increase as those recovering provided more plasma, so the statistics would get better not worse. She sank down, exhausted with the effort of standing. She saw the daily news update on the virus was about to start and turned up the sound. She hadn’t watched the news in days. The news reader was reporting the status of the planet and Max noted the statistics were being doctored. The incidence was over twice that reported. Then the woman read, “As more and more people are being inoculated, the incidence of those who catch the virus is reducing and the reduction planet-wide is becoming significant.”

  “What rubbish!” Maxadifidis muttered.

  The woman went on, “The inoculation is making a difference. The incidence of those who die of the virus is still high. Few in the bleeding stage are given the plasma because it takes three times the amount to treat them and the cure rate is only twenty-eight percent. There isn’t enough plasma yet. Small children do receive it as they require less, so they will survive.”

  There were going to be a lot of orphans, thought Maxadifidis.

  “Outside this city, the decision was made at first to inoculate only those who did not have the virus in or
der to make the doses go further. That altered when more plasma became available. The only exceptions at first were essential personnel and a few others.”

  Maxadifidis turned it off in disgust. It was a mixture of truth and lies. She should have received the plasma but she had made it on her own. Kumenoprix had told her she was lucky, because she had had a relatively mild dose but also because she was young and strong. She had even been able to continue working. He told her she was remarkable. Privately, she doubted that. She thought it was probably because she was more conscientious and had the typical Keulfyd attitude to illness. She refused to give in to it. But she felt rotten! She had no energy, struggled to concentrate, the pain in her stomachs was sometimes enough to stop her in her tracks, and she felt dizzy and light-headed, sometimes struggling to stay conscious. She thought probably she could perform her job only because she knew it so well she was running on automatic.

  The truth was that inside this city, thanks to Kumenoprix, they were doing a lot better. Although forty-seven percent of those in the central city had so far contracted it, a staggering fifty-five percent of those were surviving and the percentage was going up sharply as Kumenoprix and others inoculated. Of those who had not contracted it, a third were inoculated and presumably safe. And there were some who were obviously immune. Not for the first time, Maxadifidis noted that a large proportion of the medical staff appeared to be immune or not so badly infected. She wondered, was that sneaky doses or a consequence of working with so many ill people? Did the immune system get more practice and so work better?

  Because she was one of the few who were very sick but could work, she had been living and sleeping in the staffrooms, so she and Kumenoprix had been talking a lot. He told her, “Cukudeopul is alive and doing well. He has had his antibodies harvested and he was a lot less sick than most others. He had a mild dose and did not require Healing Machine time for the virus itself, just because of his delay in restarting his medication. His illness did not advance to the bleeding stage. The fact that he had previously contracted this virus several times was, I think, the reason for his high antibody count. His immune system did indeed remember the virus. What was more, it worked and minimized the disease.”

  She again dozed over night in the staff room, still in pain despite the analgesics and anti-inflammatories and the next morning dragged her exhausted, pain-racked and protesting body back to the control room. Alone again, she noted as the woman she relieved left saying, “Two have offered to come in but say they won’t last more than a few hours. Do you want them?”

  “No. I’ll manage,” she replied. So she was present when Cukudeopul entered the security quarters for the first time in the two weeks since he had contracted the virus. Maxadifidis looked at him carefully. The virus looked to have taken a huge toll considering his poor state of health generally. He looked very weak and shaky. Checking to see no one else was around, he said, “My vision keeps blurring. Have you prepared the statistics of those who have contracted the virus and the current death toll?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

  “Please.”

  “It makes for grim reading. The virus has now spread to seven of our planets plus two others, although doctors are making progress on understanding its evolution and have found a combination of antivirals that has some effect on it.”

  “How has it spread when I had ordered a stop on all Keulfyd? None were allowed to travel off an infected planet.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but although your orders have slowed the exodus they have by no means stopped it.”

  “Stupid, selfish idiots!” He stopped for a fit of coughing and Maxadifidis quickly got him a drink. “Put the report down. I’m too angry to hear any more.”

  Maxadifidis kept a wary eye on him as he sat for some minutes catching his breath. When he got up and looked for other reports she saw him pick up the report marked Torroxell. She had just finished that and he had requested it but it was marked “Non Urgent”, so she wondered why it was sent here now. She watched as he sat down again and started to read. She noticed he was struggling to read it and continually blinking.

  Cukudeopul read that an Alliance of five Races had successfully fought off the Attack Force. Bugger! He read that the Races were Priskya, Cats, Terran, Niseyen, and Okme. Okme? They didn’t fight! And Priskya? How could fish fight? Who were the Cats and the Terrans? The Niseyen were the only ones he knew of who could fight. There must have been a lot of them! But why had the Niseyen included all the others in the Treaty? Well, they could enjoy their part-ownership of another world. It wouldn’t last long. He checked the date and said sharply, “This report is several weeks old!”

  “I’m sorry, sir, the receiver obviously thought it was not important and you were ill.”

  He paused, realizing no one else would think it important. He got himself another drink then carried on. His stomachs may not have bled but they were still upset and cranky. As was he! Fluids were all he could manage. Better reports would have helped his temper. He sat back down and continued reading. There were no reports coming in from Torroxell itself. All this information was from his spies. Now, in appalled shock, he read a report from Petislay compiled from several sources. It stated the Terrans were believed to be the original Race the Niseyen had descended from. Two Terran sisters were believed to be pregnant by two Niseyen brothers. All had been on Torroxell and these four had been part of the force that defeated the Attack Force. They were now on Petislay with several other Terrans.

  The Niseyen scientists had not been able to prove where they came from but had not been able to disprove their claim either. Wherever they were from, they were from a population isolated from the main Niseyen population for hundreds of years or more and their genes were not damaged! Oh no, Cukudeopul thought. That would give the Okme their master copies! This was terrible! He checked through. Maxadifidis had got this information from several spies and validated it, saying that all the reports were basically the same. It was all over the news on all of the Niseyen planets and on several others. Two other reports were from Keulfyd scientists working with the Niseyen. Their grants included the requirement that they inform him personally of any significant advances in treatment or significant setbacks. They had no knowledge of what they were a part of, nor the significance of this news for him.

  Cukudeopul sat and thought. Kumenoprix could at least figure out how bad this was. But he would have to get a grip on himself first so Kumenoprix would have no idea of his true feelings. Abruptly he left and headed for his quarters.

  Puzzled, Maxadifidis watched him leave. She wondered why that report had so upset him.

  Cukudeopul took a decent dose of a major tranquillizer then called up his aide for the day. “Where is Kumenoprix?”

  “In the hospital doing rounds. He is sorting out more who need the Healing Machine.”

  “Has he eaten recently?”

  “Not today.”

  “Tell him to join me for a meal in approximately an hour. I will be in my quarters. Tell him I said he must look after himself better. We need him.”

  A hour later, an exhausted Kumenoprix turned up as summoned.

  “I’m told you haven’t eaten today,” said Cukudeopul. “Help yourself. I have ordered some of your favourites. I must confess, however, that I had an ulterior motive for calling you here today, I want your advice. Get some food and then we’ll talk.”

  Kumenoprix looked at the selection and his mouth watered. He had forgotten how hungry he was. He helped himself and tucked in as Cukudeopul served himself, the waiters hovering. Ever watchful, Kumenoprix noted that Cukudeopul got only fluids but was going to try some thicker soup which held more nutrients. The virus obviously damaged the stomachs even if there did not appear to be any bleeding. Were there micro-bleeds? An awful lot of Keulfyd were going to slim down. They could mostly do with it. Food was the high point of all their celebrations and ceremonies. Unlike some other Races, it did them little dam
age. Their muscles grew larger, their organs compensated by growing larger, their joints and ligaments strengthened where necessary, so extra bulk had little effect. Just as well. They couldn’t celebrate anything without huge amounts of food. In contrast, Okme frequently forgot to eat and then wondered why they were working inefficiently and running out of energy. Like himself, now.

  Kumenoprix ate quickly, keen to get back to his work. He wondered what Cukudeopul wanted. Had Maxadifidis told him about the data he had transferred out? If so, his demise would be hastened. Kumenoprix didn’t really care. Most Okme were not prone to anxiety and Kumenoprix thought it a waste of energy. What would happen would happen. Worrying about it would just make him inefficient and even more exhausted than he was already.

  Cukudeopul wondered how to put this. He began. “There has been some startling news from one of my friends, a doctor who lives on Petislay. She is a gynaecologist helping the Niseyen with their infertility problems. Some people have arrived on Petislay who say they are the fabled Originators. She doesn’t know if their claim is true but their reproduction genes are undamaged. I believe you would call them master copies. Could the Okme use them to reprogram the Healing Machines? Could the problems of the Niseyen genes be fixed? If so, how fast? How would you go about doing this?”

  Kumenoprix sat in shock. What should he say? The truth mostly, he thought. “This is wonderful news!” he said. “I hope it is true. We would need only two master copies, a male and a female. We could heal the Niseyen Race with that. Of course, it would take time.”

  “How long?”

  Kumenoprix thought quickly. He had to stop Cukudeopul ordering these Terrans killed. “If these people will co-operate and give samples… but they must already have done so, for their story to be checked. Nothing else is needed. If this is true we have the data now, if the Okme were allowed some samples and that is probable. The Niseyen doctors will almost certainly have asked the local Okme to duplicate their tests. Our equipment is superior and faster and we will have transmitted the data on to other centers.”