Genetic Drift

by Martin Schulte

  This spacecraft came to Earth on the same vector as the signal received five years ago, just as predicted. General Hawkins knew that the defense system would have to work if anything happened contrary to peace and goodwill.

  “Sir, the spacecraft has established an orbit about 150,000 miles out. We are maintaining a watch and will inform you of any status changes,” Collins reported.

  The General sat at his desk and listened over his intercom in silence. He would occasionally glance at the Main Display hoping for any type of positive action, that the aliens would show that they had come in peace. He knew that the longer the spacecraft sat out in space, the less friendly their actions would be. The phone rang.

  “Mr. Secretary,” the General said as he put the phone to his ear.

  Staff Sergeant Collins watched as the goliath ship came into focus. Its metallic gray hull perfectly reflected the sun with the blackness of space behind it. Collins switched cameras and a different aspect of the image displayed on his screen and the Main Display. The hull was shaped like a three-dimensional trapezoid. It showed no wear on its smooth surface and no openings to launch attacks. There was no command station or physical bridge that he could see. He looked at the rear of the spacecraft and saw no signs of propulsion. “Could it be unmanned?” he thought. He copied his screen and put the pictures in a file at his station.

  “So, what’s going on?” a man stood behind him. He knew that voice and turned around. He was glad to see his relief had arrived.

  “Man, you won’t believe what just happened,” Collins said.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, governments started to inform their citizens that the alien life was right on their doorstep. The word spread through news outlets and it was met with much fanfare. There were parties to watch the spacecraft’s silhouette pass in front of the Moon’s illuminated face. The spacecraft maintained its orbit for a month through all the phases of the Moon. There were no responses to the many attempts to communicate with the craft.

  DAY 275

  HAPPY PAWS MEDICAL CLINIC

  CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA

  Rho felt a heartbeat, felt the rise and fall of the vessel’s chest, felt the movement of the human’s body. Rho had failed and understood that it couldn’t control its host. The human’s mind was too intertwined with its body, too complex. Rho conceded that it shared its life with this human, one body for two beings. The human still controlled her conscious and her basic life functions. But Rho now knew that it needed her.

  “Human, wake up,” Rho called out, “I need you to wake up.”

  “Why are you calling me? What do you want?” she responded to its plea.

  “You and I are one. You must wake for us to live.”

  “Okay, okay, I think I am ready,” she told the voice in her head.

  Finally, Rho would be able to intake the stimulus that it yearned for. Sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste, those senses would be provided by the human. The darkness would be unveiled and Rho would know of the outside world. Quietly, it waited for the human to escape from her dormant state.

  Mac sat behind his desk, the room dark and quiet. Barron sat in a fold-out chair in the opposite corner watching the light from the wall mount flip on and off. Mac stared at the x-ray but he could find nothing abnormal showing on the film.

  “Barron, I’m trying to figure this one out. All I have is this damn X-ray machine and it can’t do the job I need it to do,” Mac said. He looked up at Barron, “How long before those panels are done?”

  “They should be done today,” Barron said.

  “Please go to the lab and see if they have the results,” Mac asked.

  Barron rose from his seat. He folded the chair and placed it firmly in his dark corner. He looked at Mac as the old man’s face was planted in his palms. Exhaustion had caught up to his caffeine-driven energy. Mac, deep in thought, heard the soft steps as Barron exited the room.

  Once outside of the vet clinic, Barron passed by the shopping center. He walked the same path leading to the hospital. The triage area caught his attention as he wondered how Marcus Smith was doing. The doctor and nurses were no longer beside the man. All of the shrapnel was removed and a blood stained gauze wrapped around his torso replaced what was the gory mess he witnessed the day before. Smith was lying on his side. He seemed restful. Barron did not want to cause any problems or make him stir, so he continued to the lab. Barron walked into the lab but this time he felt the need to get done as quickly as possible.

  “Ron, do you have the results from the blood panel?” he asked as he approached Ron with a more serious tone.

  “Yeah, I do,” Ron said as he gathered the papers with the results, “there were some abnormal counts. Is Mac working on someone with a virus?”

  Barron looked at Ron, remembering what Mac had said, “He’s doing some blood work for the militia. I don’t know much of anything else.”

  “Alright, whatever he’s doing, let him know that the test will be sent to billing and is due at the end of month,” Ron shrugged.

  Barron nodded his head in agreeance and left the lab. As he whisked through the hospital hallway, he thought about why there was a bill for the lab tests. It wasn’t like money really had any value anymore. Perhaps it was that people just clung to the old ways, the ways before the Attack. Those thoughts evaporated as he saw Marcus Smith lying still on his hospital bed, quietly, peacefully. He couldn’t afford to waste any time watching over Marcus, there was a patient at the clinic. He scurried out of the hospital and sprinted back to the clinic. Again, he did not see any of the militia on patrol.

  “Mac, do you know that they’re still charging you for these tests?” Barron yelled as he opened the door and rushed into the clinic.

  Mac grinned and took the results. “Red, white, and platelets are low,” Mac murmured as he was reading, “glucose normal, cholesterol normal.” Barron was standing next to Mac peeking over his shoulder to see the numbers. “Barron, I want you to take another blood sample,” Mac said, and his eyes fixed on the newly delivered paper.

  “Alright Mac,” Barron said, and he went to Tulip’s room.

  Barron stood next to Tulip’s bed, stretched into the cabinet and pulled out a ready package. He grabbed the syringe and started to prep Tulip’s arm. He wished there was an easier way to withdraw the blood. Unfortunately, they had run out of capsules to plug into the IV port. He pushed the needle into her arm. The needle tip punctured the skin and he pulled back on the plunger. This time the needle failed to draw any blood.

  “It must have been a bad syringe,” Barron thought. He said, “Sorry Tulip, I’ll get another one and do it right this time.” He grabbed another syringe and swiped her arm with another alcohol pad. He approached the skin with the needle for the second time. Finding a new spot, he inserted the needle into her vein. He pulled back on the plunger and again, no blood.

  “This must be a bad batch,” he said as he moved the needle around the vein to see if it would draw the blood. “Third time is a charm,” he said as he repeated the process the third time. He was determined to get Tulip’s blood. This was such a simple task and Barron was letting his frustration show. “Tulip is just lying there. This can’t be that difficult. A monkey could do this.” He decided to throw the needle like a dart. “What would be the worst that could happen?” he thought. “She has two arms if anything goes wrong.”

  “1… 2… 3,” he launched the syringe from close to her arm. With a sudden jerk, Tulip’s arm moved out of the way as the needle sunk into the bed. He looked at Tulip’s face, but she lay still on the bed, set like a stone. He felt ashamed that he had gotten so frustrated and looked down at the syringe to pick it up.

  “Human, it is time,” Rho urged its host. Her body and mind awoke.

  As his hand grabbed the syringe, he heard, “Don’t call me Tulip.”

  Barron jumped back onto the rolling chair that was sitting behind him.

  “Wh… What did you say?” he
asked as his head shook.

  Tulip turned her head. Her face was streaked with dirt from a failed attempt to wipe her face. Her hair was matted and wild. Unkempt for months, the bonds of grease held her locks together. Her eyes blinked slowly as she processed her new surroundings. Barron had already seen her eyes from monitoring her. He wasn’t in shock when the scarlet eye bore down on him.

  “My name isn’t Tulip,” she said with a groggy voice.

  “Mac! Mac!” Barron called to the doctor, “I think you want to see this, she’s awake.”

  Mac rushed into the room with his eyes fixated on the woman.

  “I’m glad to see that you have come back to us,” he said.

  “You better not call me Tulip,” she said, and focused her eyes on Mac.

  The control of her body was coming back. Tulip felt a tingle in her arms and they moved. She pulled her arms back and pushed. Her torso rose as her arms straightened. A draft of air blew through her open gown. “Where am I?” she thought, and a sense of shock came over her. Her body jerked up, twisting and grabbing, she struggled to escape. Barron jumped and wrapped his arms around her.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay,” his soothing voice whispered in her ear.

  Her body loosened as Barron spoke his words. She placed her hands on the side of the bed as her legs dangled over the edge. Her shoulders carried her weight as she closed her eyes and hung her head. A deep exhale followed. Mac put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re awake, you gave us a scare,” he said, and turned to Barron with a smile.

  “Now it’s time to do some real work. Get some rest, we’ll start tomorrow.”

  DAY 17

  THE MCCLUSKEY HOME

  EAST OF CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA

  As the postal worker approached the residence, an old wooden sign with the name “Dr. Feldman Q. McCluskey III” hung next to the doorbell. The postal worker pressed her finger to the doorbell and she could hear the sound “awoogah” fill the silence of the house. Footsteps soon followed, becoming louder as a person came and opened the door.

  Mac McCluskey was a tall, heavy man. With his white beard and spectacles, he looked like Santa Claus. He was a physician, a world-renowned pathologist. He worked closely with the CDC in strategies and overcoming blood borne diseases. Mac loved the fame and his ego grew as his fame grew. Soon, he found himself catering to anyone who would praise him publicly. That was his life ten years ago.

  He loved the attention, until his pride took him away from home instead of meeting his wife and son at the airport. A dark stormy night, in combination with a rented car, is what caused the accident that killed his wife and son. He mourned their death and his guilt gave him humility. He vowed to never allow his pride to stop him from doing right to others. Alyssa and Joel would have wanted it that way. And he promised them as he watched them lowered into their grave, that he would never let them down again.

  “Oh, a delivery,” his eyes beamed at the package, “I don’t get too many things nowadays.”

  “Yes Doctor,” she said as she glanced at the wooden sign, “all I need is a signature.” The postal worker presented her electronic pad and stylus to Mac.

  “Have you been following that spacecraft on the news? It has been in orbit for two weeks now and it hasn’t sent anyone down to the planet or anything. Isn’t it weird to have traveled through space and not say ‘Hi’ after a stop?” she asked. Mac handed the pad back to her and took the package from her outstretched arms.

  The postal worker grabbed the pad and looked at the Doctor’s signature.

  “Yes I have, it’s not like there is anything else on the news,” Mac said as he backed into his house. Mac became focused on the package and shut out the world.

  “I think-,” she said as the door gently closed. She watched as the door hit the jamb. Click, the conversation was over.

  “Have a nice day,” she said as she frowned and then spoke under her breath, “I guess.” The postal worker tucked her pad under her arm and turned around. She gave the mailbox a little kick before she got into her truck and drove off to deliver her next package.

  Mac grabbed his letter opener off of his desk and went to sit in his chair. It was occupied by his cat, Fluffbutt, who had claimed it as its throne. Fluffbutt let out a grunt as he shooed the feline to reclaim his seat. He sat down and looked at the envelope. “From the Office of the Secretary of Health and Human Services,” he said to Fluffbutt, “I wonder what Claudia wants now.” He sat back in his chair. He thought to himself that he had not been a practicing physician for about ten years now. He took his letter opener and revealed a letter:

  To: Dr. Feldman Q. McCluskey III

  From: Secretary of Health and Human Services

  Subject: The Office of the Secretary of Health and Human Services, by decree of the President of the United States of America, asks for your assistance in response to Executive Order 2519, Alien Contact Contingency.

  My dearest friend and colleague, Mac, you are one of the greatest physicians that I have ever known. And even though we have not maintained contact over the past years, memory of you and your abilities shall be forever imprinted in my mind.

  In order to protect the well-being of the citizens of the United States of America and the world, it is necessary to plan for any encounters with our new visitors from outer space, whether it be peaceful or in the worst case, hostile.

  You are asked to provide local medical assistance and work jointly with Alan Pritchard (who has accepted the designation as the Local Defense Commander by the Office of the Secretary of Defense). In case of emergency, you are designated as the Charlottesville Chief Medic and representative of this office. You are needed to provide your expertise in health and welfare to those under your care, whether it be disease, impairment, or approaching death.

  This order will not commence execution until declared by the President.

  Mac, I am asking you this personally as I know that there is no one that compares to your genius. Your country needs you. We all need you.

  No matter what happens, you will have my continued faith and friendship.

  My Deepest Respects,

  Hon. Secretary Claudia Alton

  “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that,” Mac told Fluffbutt as she lay on the floor licking her paw. He looked in the envelope and found another piece of paper, titled, “Executive Order 2519.” Mac read the order and understood what the government was planning in case it failed. He thought about how to approach this letter for a second. In that second, he knew that he wouldn’t go back to his prideful ways. He wouldn’t wear it as a badge like he would have ten years ago. He didn’t have to weigh the glory of being the Doctor of all Doctors in Charlottesville. It was his chance to ensure that a new generation, maybe a generation that wouldn’t be as advantaged as he was, would be able to overcome obstacles set in its path. Yes, he humbly thought, it was a way to help people, to help make better doctors.

  He got out of his chair and stood up tall. Should anything arise that needed him, he would be willing to help without question. Fluffbutt jumped back onto its throne. Mac smiled as he put down the letter. He turned on the news and the continued coverage of the alien spacecraft blanketed every channel. “I hope that nothing happens. If I have to do this, then the world is going to be in a bad place,” Mac said. He walked to the kitchen and picked up his phone. “Time to call Alan,” he said, “Local Militia 348.”

  DAY 276 MORNING

  HAPPY PAWS MEDICAL CLINIC

  CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “Do you know what’s happened?”

  “Do you know where you’ve been?”

  “What’s your name?”

  Barron peppered the woman with a barrage of questions, carefully avoiding calling her Tulip.

  “Madison, Maddie, my name is Maddie,” she said. “I remember going skiing during winter break with my friends. We went out to Summerwhite. There
was Catelyn, and there was Damien, and… Bryce,” Maddie said, and jumped from the bed. Tape ripped from her skin as she landed and the painful realization set in, “and I was with Bryce up in the mountains.”

  The heart monitor had flat-lined. She noticed an IV port and pulled it out as well. Blood flowed from her skin. Barron grabbed gauze and held it on her arm. She took her arm from Barron and snatched the gauze out of his hand.

  She looked around the dimly lit room. The lightbulb was about to die. Her eyes scanned any object she could identify in the masses of gray and black. There were tall cabinets and short ones, two trash cans, a chair, and surgery tools on a metal rolling table on the far side of the room. Her eyes swelled at the tools of death. Maddie jumped back against the wall, her hands planted as she readied herself for her next escape attempt. The gauze fell like a heavy feather to the floor.

  “Where am I? Are you harvesting body parts here?” she screamed. Her foot planted and her body tensed for the sprint.

  “Do you really think you would be awake if we needed your kidneys?” Mac asked, and draped a cover over the table. Barron stood in front of the door. There was no escape for Maddie. She resigned herself to leaning against the wall.

  “You need to sit down,” Mac said as he urged Maddie to calm down.

  “Why?” Maddie asked, as she stood with her gown flapping on the sides of her body. Her hands were still planted on the wall. Barron had become abnormally silent during the conversation. The light from the hall shone above his shoulder. He stared at her figure through the thin fabric of the gown. He didn’t see her as a sickly patient anymore. She saw his stare and dropped her hands and looked down.