by R. M. Meluch
He had Merrimack chart a path for them over solid ground to get them closer to the LEN encampment. The ship’s sensor techs plotted the cloke tunnels and sent the locations to Asante’s omni.
There were an ungodly lot of them.
“Any clokes in those tunnels?” Asante asked.
“At current settings our sensors can’t tell the difference between a cloke and dirt,” the tech said.
“Can I suggest you adjust your settings?”
Technicians didn’t take suggestions well.
Colonel Steele bellowed for his squad to move out.
The foxes came along.
The expedition members continued to take their meals all together around the fire pit. The pirates insisted. No one ever knew who was getting a pirate to share his plate.
Patrick Hamilton could never be trusted not to say something inappropriate. He just had to comment on The Ninth Circle’s fondness for leopard spots and leopard paw prints.
“The leopard choice doesn’t make sense,” Patrick said.
Glenn cringed.
Nicanor shot Patrick an odd look. Told Patrick coldly, “The leopard guards the lowest circles of hell.”
“Yes,” said Patrick. “The other way around. The leopard’s not there to protect the lower circles from outsiders. The leopard is supposed to keep the damned in!”
Glenn’s eyes shut themselves, pained. She breathed, “Nox, please don’t kill my husband.”
“The leopard, Dr. Hamilton,” said Nox, chillingly reasonable, “joined the other side.”
When the subject of DNA came up again around the fire pit, Nox asked anyone, “Why is this just coming out now? Your expedition has been rotating scientists in and out of here for seven years. Why did no one notice?”
Peter Szaszy answered hotly, “Because SOMEONE never brought a microbiologist on board.” That directed at Izrael Benet. Benet had little enough to say these days.
Sandy Minyas, who never let an I-told-you-so get by her, said, “Our resident physicians were asleep at the switch. They saw the signs and did everything to sit on it.”
“Alien genetics is not in the scope of our project, and you know it,” said the senior physician, Dr. Cecil. “We weren’t sent here to chase uni-corns.”
Wynans gestured toward Glenn and Patrick. “Before those two went wandering unprotected off reservation, no one caught an infectious microbe. No one had any reason to analyze the base life chemistry.”
“And then you got rear-ended by a unicorn,” said Nox.
“That’s a good summation, sir,” said Wynans.
Dr. Sandy Minyas told Nox, “They’ve known for a long time that Zoe has proteins in common with Earth. And proteins don’t just replicate themselves.”
“You’re out of your area of specialization, Dr. Minyas,” Cecil warned. “There is more than one way to build a protein. Protein doesn’t indicate DNA. Other worlds have other ways of manufacturing sugars, phosphates, and bases. There are as many different ways to build life as there are inhabited worlds. No two of them alike. There was no reason to look for DNA just because we found compatible proteins here. And may I say the question of how we missed it strikes me as trivial, petty, and pointless. That question misses the colossal picture. The real issue is how did this happen.”
“It was my question,” said Nox, cleaning his nails with a stiletto.
Cecil blanched.
“So how did this happen?” said Nox.
“Easily,” said Dr. Minyas. “We are all—all of us, everywhere in the known universe—built from the same basic blocks—the elements. All elements abide by the same rules of construction. Two hydrogen atoms bond with an oxygen atom to make water. Given same pressure and temperature, that combination will behave the same every single time. There is a logic to the universe. An element is, well, elemental.”
“DNA is a little more complex than a water molecule, thank you very much, Dr. Minyas,” said Dr. Cecil, teeth on edge.
“But the DNA macromolecule is still made up of just five common elements from the skinny end of the periodic table. Hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, and phosphorus.”
“That’s it?” said Glenn. “What about iron?”
“Iron is in your blood,” said Sandy Minyas. “Not in your genetic makeup.”
“I don’t understand.”
“DNA is the blueprint for terrestrial life. You’re reading iron off the construction materials list for the finished product.”
Szaszy said, “Sandy, your view is far too simplistic. You’re leaving out the infinite variables, the aeons needed for a solar system to coalesce. You gloss over everything that might happen to the planet as it condenses and cools. There’s no predicting what kind of atmosphere will form or whether it will even stay there. You need some kind of cyanobacteria to organize itself and make the nitrogen atoms let go of each other long enough to bind with carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen to make the formation of organic life possible. Your blithe ‘easily’ ignores the infinite variables and complex orchestration of processes that resulted in that chemical self-organization that is terrestrial life.”
Sandy Minyas said, “The variables are not quite infinite and apparently not random. And it is simple. Even our twenty amino acids are made of only hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, and some have sulfur. These are not exotic ingredients, guys. As for fitting them together, all elements have limited ways of forming bonds. Reactions of amino acids with other amino acids is preferential. It’s a complex game board, but there are rules.”
“And you’re obviously all about rules, Sandy,” Dr. Cecil muttered.
“Could someone burp Dr. Cecil?” said Sandy. “We have an Earthlike planet here. It is not unimaginable that similar forces would come together to create this pattern twice.”
Cecil said, “Except that you’re completely ignoring the fact that DNA and RNA are chemically difficult to produce. And there is a chicken-and-egg conundrum at work here. DNA manufactures RNA, but DNA consists of two strands of RNA. Nucleic acid is needed to make a protein and proteins are needed to make nucleic acid. It’s an informational tail chase. How can a substance spontaneously organize itself into living existence when a living system is required to form those base substances?”
“Suffice to say that it did,” said Sandy Minyas. “Twice. And why not? DNA works. The basic units are simple molecules. Maybe DNA’s particular combination of molecules isn’t the only template to build life, but it’s a really good one.”
Senior xenozoologist Peter Szaszy lamented, “Everything I knew about the origins of life has gone out the window.”
“Out the window? Szasz, what you knew was never in the building.”
“Thank you for that, Dr. Minyas.”
Cecil said, “The rise of DNA was so improbable as to be miraculous. Therefore the first time was a miracle. A second time is fraud.”
“Give it up, Cecil,” said Wynans, who had tested a hell of a lot of Zoen organisms. “This is no fraud. That genie’s already out and granting wishes.”
Sandy Minyas said, “It is precisely because it happened once that a second time is possible. And because it is possible, it is inevitable.”
“Back up,” said Wynans. “How do you figure that? Where are you getting the inevitability from?”
“Because it did happen, that means it can happen, and when something can happen in nature, it will. The same forces that culminated in the first formation of DNA are still at work in the universe.”
Glenn tossed out a word she’d heard once, “Is this Panspermia?”
Pained faces around the fire pit told her it was an ignorant question.
“Panspermia was a bit of a joke really,” said Dr. Minyas. “The chicken-and-egg conundrum was so confounding that the early theorists resorted to importing their eggs from outer space.”
“I don’t get it,” said Glenn.
“According to the theory of Panspermia, the same comets or meteors that salted Earth with amino acids necessar
y for life also scattered those same molecules onto other planets in the Solar System. Which still left hanging out there the question of how those amino acids formed in the first place.”
“How did they?”
“We don’t know. We can make DNA in the laboratory—”
“You can? Can you, Sandy?”
“Oh, back into a unicorn, Cecil. We can make DNA in the laboratory, but we can’t re-create the evolution of DNA in the lab.”
Wynans added, “We’re probably overlooking a strategic variable. The presence of chaos means the smallest critical variation can change the whole picture.”
“So we have the same genetic code as the Zoens,” said Dr. Rose, whose specialty was alien atmospheres. “Does that mean we can mate with them?”
“Can you mate with a dog?” Dr. Minyas asked back.
“That’s been suggested to me,” said Dr. Rose. “More than once.”
“Yes, I think I made the suggestion,” said Dr. Minyas. “I think I suggested baboon though.”
“I dated some of those in college,” Glenn offered.
“I am not touching the recreational mating question,” said Peter Szaszy. “But insemination requires more than a DNA genome in common. Procreation is species specific. The genetic design of a species is complex beyond measure. Not even Sandy Minyas can say duplication of a species is inevitable.”
“She won’t,” said Sandy Minyas.
“Forms of life will vary as much as they can,” said Wynans. “There is a level of complexity above which the probability of duplication is beyond the threshold of chaos.”
Glenn said, “What’s the threshold of chaos?”
“The threshold of chaos divides the inevitable and the impossible,” said Wynans. “Things that will happen and things that happen once.”
Peter Szaszy said, “You can’t find an Earth species duplicated here. And you won’t. You can find something analogous to a bird, but there are no birds per se, let alone a species of bird. Life on Zoe is all similar to life on Earth but not the same. The way dinosaurs were similar to mammals and birds. Dinosaurs seem alien, but they were actually DNA-BASED creatures. They were chordates. Dinosaurs had lungs and hearts and heads and spines and four appendages, a head and brain, eyes, noses, and ears. Skin. All standard construction of the chordate model out of a deoxyribonucleic template.”
Patrick asked, “So who got DNA first? Earth or Zoe?”
“We did,” said Cecil. “Earth.”
“Then this is the Second Creation,” Patrick said.
“Who cares which is first?” Cecil said.
“Scientifically, it doesn’t mean spit,” Patrick said. “Theologically, it could disturb some folks—who came first, Man or foxes. The Biblical Creator has a track record of being disappointed with His heirs and starting over.”
Nox turned to Jose Maria de Cordillera, whom he knew to be a devout Old Catholic. “What does this do to your Creation story?”
Jose Maria answered serenely, “Creation just gets more and more miraculous.”
“What’s happening here doesn’t bother you? A separate Creation?”
“One cannot argue with Creation,” said Jose Maria. “One can only marvel.”
In the morning, the pirate Faunus swaggered out to the fire pit where the xenos sat at breakfast. Faunus waggled a long strip of tape from one stout finger.
“Who is going to die for this? Don’t gawp at me. You look like fish. Tell me who it’s going to be.”
Sandy Minyas squinted at the strand hanging from Faunus’ finger. “What is that?”
“Tape,” several people murmured.
Szaszy whispered to Sandy, “Someone broke into one of the spaceships.”
Faunus boomed, “Who did this?”
Nox quickly rounded on Jose Maria de Cordillera, who appeared about to confess, “NOT you!”
Faunus scanned all the other horrified faces. “Pick someone else.”
“No,” said Director Izrael Benet.
“Yes,” Faunus said back. “Give me someone or you all die. Come on, people, I need someone to die for this.” He gave the tape another shake. It coiled and stuck to itself.
“Her!” Tom Cryscoch cried out, shrill. “She did it!”
His outthrust finger pointed at Glenn.
Glenn inhaled a gasp. Didn’t exhale.
Faunus moved in on Glenn. He bent down to push his face right into hers. “Is this your work?” Wild hairs of his beard grazed her chin. He smelled of last night’s liquor. “Did you do this? Verily?”
Glenn choked, “Yes.”
“Well, then.” Faunus took a step back.
“No!” Dr. Cecil cried.
The machete swung.
With an edge honed nano-fine and a mighty arm behind it, Faunus severed the neck clean through with one stroke. The head rolled.
And came to a rest at Glenn’s feet. Glenn shut her eyes and shuddered.
She opened her eyes. Looked down.
Tom Cryscoch’s head rested against the toes of her boots. His body was doing a fish twitch, pulsing brightest red from its stalk.
Faunus picked up the head by its hair. Talked into its slack face. “Oh, come on. You were just not paying attention.” He tossed the head to Nox, who tossed it to Orissus. Cryscoch’s head made the bouncing rounds of The Ninth Circle until Nicanor threw it into the fire pit. Nicanor told the xenos in a lordly voice, “We control your lives. We control your deaths. Do not make us remind you again.”
Glenn felt fizzy, her nerves dancing. Wondered what she’d ever done to Tom Cryscoch. She didn’t even know him. And maybe that was why he’d picked her to give up for slaughter. He didn’t know her.
Even as she was thinking it, Nox seized Glenn by the arm, snarled at her softly, “And you. You really need to figure out who is worth defending to the death.” He threw her arm back at her. His bloody handprint on her sleeve slithered off the slick fabric.
Nox moved back to Faunus. “Problem, O Best Beloved.”
“What problem?” Faunus grunted.
“I don’t think that’s our culprit.” Nox nodded at the head in the fire.
“I’m sure it’s not,” Faunus said. “I don’t give a rat’s ass as long as someone is dead and it’s not Ilsa. Or the smart guy. Or the winemaker. Or your girlfriend. Or the goat. Or the dog.”
The pirates seized food from the xenos’ plates and moved away to breakfast by themselves. Orissus spoke back over his shoulder to the xenos, “Clean that up.”
The expedition members converged to care for the dead man. They retrieved the head from the fire and cleaned the body as best they could and held a hasty, somber little funeral.
Glenn felt a buzzing inside. Thought she might vomit. She murmured to Dr. Cecil, “Thank you for speaking up for me.”
“Wasn’t for you,” Cecil said. “I just don’t participate in human sacrifice.”
Patrick, who seemed to be trying hard not to scream at her, asked Glenn, “What in name of sanity made you admit to a fucking lie?” His lips were rimmed in white.
“I’m a soldier among civilians. It’s my duty to stand between them and enemies.” She swallowed down bile. Confessed, “Just between you and me, I’m glad I’m not dead. I didn’t want to die for Tom Cryscoch.”
Glenn got up in the middle of the night. Got dressed.
Patrick’s voice sounded from the bed. “Babe? Where are you going?”
“Just act like you think I’m having an affair.”
Patrick sat up. Whispered, “Can you get a signal up to Merrimack?”
“I won’t even try. If I go near a com, I’m afraid Nox will kill someone.”
“Nox wouldn’t kill you,” said Patrick.
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
Glenn and Nox lay side by side on a blanket outside the energy dome to stargaze. They had to stay up very late to do it.
Glenn hugged herself, waiting for the starrise.
“You’re upset,” said Nox.
/> “Yes.”
She was lying face up, staring at the black.
Nox was resting on his side, facing her.
“Don’t waste yourself on the dead guy. That was natural selection.”
“I just don’t know what whoever really did it is thinking.”
“I wouldn’t worry about him,” said Nox.
Glenn turned her head toward him. “You know who it is?”
“I’m pretty sure it was Faunus.”
She stared at Nox in the dark. Couldn’t really see him.
She felt his shrug. He said, “Y’all were getting too comfortable.”
They fell silent. She dozed.
Nox nudged her awake. “Glenn. Stars.”
She opened her eyes. “Oh, my God.”
In the hours before dawn, half of the cloudless sky was brilliant with stars, the other half a black bottomless pit.
They talked about John Farragut. The other John Farragut. Nox brought it up. She wouldn’t.
“Your John Farragut never did anything bad to me,” said Nox. He was on his back. Eyes fixed heavenward. “I only saw him a few times. He never called me John John. Senior avoided the house when big John visited. And I avoided him too. I was snotty to him. He was funny, made everyone laugh. He was larger than life. I hated him for my father’s sake. Then I hated him because I was his replacement.
“Then I hated him because I wasn’t his replacement. I was just a shot across big John’s bow.” Nox suddenly rolled over sideways, propped up on his elbow, facing her. “You’re thinking something. Tell me. And don’t lie. I’ll know.”
Glenn confessed exactly what she’d been thinking. “It just sounds so very Farragut.”
“What does?”
“Why light a candle when you can set off a nuke?”
“You can’t be saying we’re alike.”
“No and yes.”
This nut fell from the same tree. John Alexander was born in sunlight. The shadows were much deeper where John Junior fell.
She could see the familial resemblance under the scars, the tattoos, the feathers and bones. But underneath even that, Nox reminded her more of Augustus—a really big gun pointing in an uncertain direction.
