by Doug Farren
“There have been no reports of a disease similar to what afflicts the dirt-eaters anywhere in the Alliance,” Lashpa said. “Also, I believe that only the Mowry can be used to produce T11-N106.”
“What makes you say that?” Flothir asked.
“Because it makes perfect sense,” Tom replied, before Lashpa had a chance to open her mouth. “If I was the creator of such a disease, I would ensure I had control over the source. If T11-N106 is capable of reproducing in any host, then I would lose that control.”
“And the creators of T11-N106 also genetically engineered the Mowry,” Lashpa added.
“So the Purists would need a bunch of Mowry to act as a bioweapons factory,” Tom said.
“Correct,” Lashpa replied. Looking at Flothir, she said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I also believe that given enough cases of the dirt-eating syndrome, it might be possible for a team of experienced microbiologists to figure out what triggers the pathogen to begin reproducing.”
“It might be possible, but it would take a large number of cases and a great deal of analysis,” Flothir replied. “We’re talking about finding a single molecule in very tiny concentrations. Even with a dedicated facility and hundreds of patients, finding the exact trigger could take decades.”
“That means someone could also look for the trigger by doing the same analysis on those who’ve died from T11-N106,” Tom said.
“Possibly, but it would be even more difficult,” Flothir replied. “By the time the Purists identified such individuals, the disease would have been active for a number of days. Finding the trigger would be nearly impossible.”
Tom rolled his mug between the palms of his hands. “Maybe they don’t need a dirt-eater,” he said. “T11-N106 is everywhere on this planet. Can’t they just extract it from the soil?”
Flothir shook his head. “It looks like and is chemically indistinguishable from a grain of sand unless you grind it into dust. It might be all around us, but extracting it in a viable form would be an impossible task.”
Lashpa took a sip of coffee from her mug which was about twice the size of Tom’s, then said, “While my ship was being repaired, I paid a visit to the local hospital and talked to the Mowry doctors about the dirt-eaters. During the time the Purists were here, they mandated that anyone with the disease was to be turned over to them.”
“So they could already have a significant amount of T11-N106,” Tom said, pushing his already empty mug towards the center of the table.
“Not as much as you might think,” Lashpa said. “Dirt-eating syndrome is rare. By the time the Purists issued their mandate, they had already made a bad impression on the Mowry. According to the doctors I spoke to, they believe that, at most, two or three people might have been turned over to the Purists. The rest were euthanized.”
“I believe the Purists might still have people on Gwon-Go,” Lashpa said, “If they hear of a new case of dirt-eating, they’re going to grab that individual.”
“You want to set a trap!” Flothir said.
“More than that,” Tom said. “She wants to use a dirt-eater to get the Purists to lead us to their hidden facility. But there’s a problem, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Lashpa admitted. “We need to know about it before the Purists, so we can implant a tracking device into that person provided they’ll agree to the procedure. It also means we need to get the word out to the Mowry for them to contact us when a dirt-eater is discovered.”
“And we need to do it without alerting the Purists,” Tom added.
“That means setting up a secure communications system,” Lashpa continued Tom’s thought. “But the Mowry don’t have the infrastructure to do so.”
“Actually,” Tom said, rubbing the back of his neck. “They do.”
“I forgot about that,” Lashpa said, suddenly remembering what Tom was referring to. “The Purists put up communication relay satellites. Because the Mowry are using them, we left them in place.”
“Exactly. And I’ll bet the Purists who are here monitor those communications.”
“That’s how we will spring the trap,” Lashpa said.
“Amazing!” Flothir said, his head bouncing back and forth between Lashpa and Tom.
“It will be more amazing if we’re able to pull this off,” Lashpa said.
“That’s not what I was referring to,” Flothir said. “I’m talking about how you two seem to think so much alike. It’s as if you’re sharing your thoughts. Tom told me you were gragrakch, but I never thought I would be able to see any proof that such a thing even existed.”
Tom and Lashpa looked at each other. Even though they were of different species, born and raised in far different cultures, they had always felt a special connection with each other.
“It’s real,” Tom said with a smile. “I can’t explain it and neither can anyone else. But there’s no denying that it exists.”
“Gragrakch has been recognized by my people for centuries,” Lashpa said. “Tom and I, however, are the first Terran / Rouldian declaration.”
“I did some research,” Flothir said, “All of the members of the Alliance, save one, have a similar concept buried deep in their culture.”
“The Omel are the exception,” Lashpa said, stating it as if it had been something she had known for a long time.
“You’re right,” Flothir admitted. “Like everyone else, we’re capable of love as well as hate. But we’ve never believed that two people are destined to be together for all time. People are not static; they change over time. The person I chose as a mate today may not be who I desire a few years from now. Much of our culture is based on this. We tend to live in the moment but we have long memories and like to plan for the future. We’re also keenly aware of the fact that death is inevitable and we don’t mourn the loss of others as you do. What they did in life and how they died is all that matters.”
“There are some who would envy you,” Tom said.
“All three of us are from vastly different cultures,” Flothir said, sliding off the Rouldian chair. “On a superficial level, we’re similar enough to allow us to understand each other and to live together in peace. Imagine what the Alliance would be like if this were not so.” Stretching his arms over his head, he continued, “If it’s okay with you, I’m going back to the Orion so I can get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll head up to the Churva to see what we have in the way of undetectable, implantable tracking devices.”
After Flothir left, Tom and Lashpa poured themselves a second cup of coffee. Although they both intended to work out the smaller details of their plan, Flothir’s words still hung in the air giving them something else to think about.
“He’s right you know,” Tom finally said.
“I know,” Lashpa agreed. “Our cultures evolved on two very different worlds many light years apart. Technology allowed us to meet after millions of years. Physically, we’re very different from each other. Yet, on the day we met, I felt a connection with you that’s persisted to this day. How is that possible?”
“I can’t explain it,” Tom admitted. “It’s also hard to explain how all the members of the Alliance, as different and varied as we are from each other, are able to build the society we live in today. It’s as if nature has decided that all intelligent beings must follow a basic cultural pattern allowing them to coexist and understand each other.”
“Coexistence is a matter of choice,” Lashpa pointed out. “We understand the Chroniech and they understand us. But they’ve chosen not to coexist with us.”
“Good point,” Tom said, rolling his cup between the palms of his hands. Even though they were cybernetic, he could feel the cup’s heat as if they were made of flesh and blood. “I wonder if we’ll ever encounter another species that’s so alien we can’t establish a common means of communication or our differences in culture are so vast that it’s impossible for us to coexist.”
“An interesting question,” Lashpa agreed. “I would like to point out that the inab
ility to coexist does not necessarily mean that two such cultures would become enemies. We would just agree not to interact with each other due to our differences.”
“Luckily, we have yet to encounter such a species,” Tom said. “So, how are we going to build this trap of ours?”
Tom and Lashpa spent the next few hours putting the final touches on their plan before calling it a night. Tomorrow morning, they would enlist the help of the Voice of Gwon-Go.
Chapter 19
King Syan stared at the wonders surrounding him. Although he was comfortable talking to the strange people from the stars, this was his first time aboard one of their starships. He had, of course, seen them from the outside and imagined them to be filled with all manner of strange devices. He also assumed that the power to travel between the stars would require an engine almost the size of the ship. He was shocked when he discovered the interior wasn’t as cramped as he had believed.
Although he wanted to ask a thousand questions, the King remained silent as he followed Tom to the conference room. Lashpa was there, standing next to a table with an assortment of food waiting for them.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said.
“I’m honored to have been invited,” King Syan replied. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen the inside of one of your ships.”
“Please,” Tom said, indicating the table of food, “have something to eat. We would like to share the bounty of our home with you.”
“Sharing is the foundation of a strong community,” the King replied. After selecting a large pastry, he added, “It’s good to see you’ve embraced some of our customs. It makes speaking with you so much easier. The cursed ones did not respect our customs as you do.”
“Embracing the customs of others is a sign of respect,” Tom replied.
King Syan took a small bite of his pastry. “This is very good. But I suspect you did not make it yourself.”
“No,” Lashpa replied. “We obtained it from a local bakery. If doing so is not in accordance with your custom, then please- - -”
The King broke out laughing. “I would not have expected you to,” he said. “Many of our people no longer bake at home as much as we used to. I was curious as to how you would react. Now that I’m here and we have food to share, how can I help you?”
“We wanted to talk to you without the possibility of anyone else overhearing our discussion,” Tom told him.
“We suspect there are Purists on your world,” Lashpa said. “They may not be acting like the Purists you’ve seen in the past because they’re looking for something specific to steal.”
“Spies!” the King spat out the word. “What are they after? I’ll make sure we find them and- - -”
“Actually,” Tom interrupted, “we want them to be successful.”
King Syan’s eyes went from Tom to Lashpa and then back to Tom. “Why and what?”
“They want your dirt-eaters,” Lashpa said.
The King’s fingers tightened on the pastry causing it to split. Several crumbs dropped to the floor. “I demand to know why,” he said, locking eyes with Tom. “The cursed ones claimed they were trying to find a cure. They ordered us to bring all dirt-eaters to them. What do they want with them and why are you willing to help?”
“The Star Gods created a disease you call the death of a thousand howling pains,” Tom explained. “We call it T11-N106. It’s caused by a very tiny organism that invades your body. The large mass that develops on a dirt-eater’s stomach is filled with millions of these organisms. That’s how they’re produced. The cursed ones are trying to find out what causes this organism to make a person ill. If they succeed and if they can get their hands on enough of the disease, they’ll turn it into a weapon.”
“So why do you want to help them?” the King demanded, setting his crushed pastry on the table. “And why would I want to help you?”
“We found evidence in the Mountain of the Gods that the Purists took a lot of equipment that was once there,” Lashpa said. “We believe they’ve taken this equipment and what little samples of T11-N106 they have to a secret location where they’re working to turn the disease into a weapon. We need to find it so we can stop them.”
“And you need a dirt-eater to help you do this?” King Syan asked.
“Yes,” Tom replied. “It’s the only way the Purists can obtain more of the organism that causes the disease. We’re certain they have people here waiting for a new case of dirt-eating to appear. If we can get to one first, we can put a device inside them that will allow us to track them without the Purists knowing about it. By letting the Purists take the dirt-eater, we can follow them to their facility. But we will not do so unless you allow it. That’s why we asked you to come here.”
“Why are you asking my permission?” King Syan asked. “You are powerful people—as powerful as the Star Gods—why not just do what you want?”
“Because this is your world,” Tom replied.
King Syan stood and stared at Tom, his ears twitching. “Ever since you arrived, some of my people have wondered if you would begin to treat us as the cursed ones did while they were here. You have the power, and some believed it was only a matter of time. Yet, even though your people are being threatened, you’ve asked for permission to put one of our own in danger. The cursed ones would have just done so. There will no longer be any doubt among us—you are a good people.”
The King punctuated his last remark be grabbing a handful of cubed cheese. He held it out in front of him on his open palm. Taking one of the cubes, he popped it into his mouth then offered the rest to Tom and Lashpa. Through a mouthful of cheese, the King said, “We will help you in any way we can.”
Following King Syan’s example, Tom picked up one of the cubes and put it in his mouth. “Thank you,” he said, after chewing a few times. “We need to ask that this discussion be kept secret until the Purist agents are uncovered. If they know of our plan, they will not act.”
Lashpa plucked a cube from King Syan’s palm and threw it into her mouth. “We’re lucky Flothir was not part of our discussion,” she said.
Tom burst out laughing, almost blowing out some of the cheese that was still in his mouth. “I think he would have understood,” Tom began. “But Captain Orflen would have been beside himself.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” King Syan said.
Tom and Lashpa spent a few minutes explaining Omel customs to King Syan focusing on just how repugnant it would have been to eat any food that had been resting on another person’s palm.
“Now I understand how important customs can be!” King Syan said.
“Being tolerant and understanding of others is the foundation of a peaceful society,” Lashpa told him.
“Tell me,” King Syan said, “How can I help you in your quest?”
Tom launched into a short explanation of the plan he and Lashpa had come up with. Afterward, he said, “Our biggest problem right now is trying to figure out how we can be informed of a case of dirt-eating before the Purist spies find out.”
“That will be easy,” King Syan replied. “All of our hospitals have distance-talkers. The Purists gave them to us saying it was so they could help us out during medical emergencies.”
“They’re most likely still monitoring the communications,” Lashpa pointed out.
“Then we’ll need a way to speak openly without the cursed ones knowing what it is we’re talking about,” the King suggested.
“The Alliance monitors the communications network as well,” the Orion’s AI said, causing King Syan to jerk. His ears and his head swiveled around as he tried to locate the source of the voice.
“That’s my ship speaking,” Tom explained. “Orion, explain.”
“Radiation sickness is still a concern,” the ship said. “If a person is believed to be suffering from too much exposure to radiation from the Purist use of nuclear weapons, the Alliance will respond by supplying anti-radiation drugs to help in that pers
on’s recovery. We’ve known about the Purist communications network for some time and we have agreed to maintain it so the Mowry can continue to use it.”
“All we need to do then,” Tom explained, “is to let a few trusted individuals at each hospital know what our secret phrase is. After we’ve implanted the device, we can use the communication network to lure the Purists into grabbing the person.”
“But only if that person has previously agreed to participate,” Lashpa reiterated.
“The hard part will be getting the word out to all the hospitals about our plan,” Tom said. “We can’t use the communications system because we’re hoping the Purists are still monitoring it. If we send ships to the hospitals, the Purists might notice this and become suspicious.”
“If you can provide transportation for one individual to each of our continents,” King Syan said, “we will take care of spreading the word. Given this help, I can assure you that in less than 15 days all of our hospitals with distance talkers will have been informed.”
“We certainly don’t want to alert the Purists,” Lashpa said. “We’ll let your people do this then.”
The discussion continued as the group worked out the specific details of the plan. When they were done, Tom offered to take King Syan back to town. After taking a final sip of his drink, the King stood up and said, “There’s one thing I would like to see before I leave,” he began. “Forgive me if it’s forbidden, but, can I see the engine that powers this ship?”
Tom made a quick silent inquiry to the Orion, “Is this allowed?”
“The rules regarding giving or showing the Mowry advanced technology are still being worked out,” the ship replied. “This is a unique situation and nobody is certain how to proceed. At the moment, there are no guidelines preventing you from doing so.”
Turning to the king, Tom said, “By all means, if you will follow me.”
King Syan reached out and put the palm of his hand against the side of Lashpa’s jaw. “This has been an enjoyable evening. I will make sure that you are able to find this hidden facility the cursed ones have built.”
