The Altian Plague by DM Arnold (that summer book TXT) 📕

“Luckily for all of us. I suppose enough nuclear bombs could do the job, but I can't believe such a group on Altia could amass enough material.”

“It's a mineral warehouse,” Seymor replied. “They could mine and refine uranium.”

“They would need support from the Altian miners, and from what Dyppa tells me, they are not sympathetic to The Seven's agenda. Besides, Floran's Defense Research Labs keep a tight lid on bomb-making details...” He looked up. “Do you think it possible Marxo was a Seven double agent smuggling bomb-making technology from Earth to Altia?”

“That thought never crossed my mind. Why would you suspect Marxo?”

“He was in Tulsa when he was supposed to be in Scottsdale,” Nyk replied. “We knew he wasn't doing his job there. It would explain the double identity.”

“I figured he was merely inept.” Seymor sat on Nyk's desk. “Lad -- have you ever heard of Heinlein's Razor?”

“No. What is it?”

“Heinlein's Razor states that if you must choose between malice and incompetence as an explanation for someone's actions -- it's most likely to be incompetence.”

“There's plenty of malice surrounding this whole Tulsa business,” Nyk replied.

“I doubt The Seven is a big enough organization to make nukes in the requisite quantities. Even if they could -- they have no way to deliver them.”

Nyk nodded. “You're probably right. They might be able to detonate one, but that would hardly kill a whole planet.” He pondered. “I think if I were The Seven I'd go chemical or biological. Something like the Tulsa virus.” He gasped. “Maybe THAT's what Marxo was doing in Tulsa!”

“You don't seriously think...”

“Marxo was involved in some odd behavior. We know he wasn't doing his job in Scottsdale. His lab looked like it hadn't been tended in weeks. Then there was that cryptic message on his handheld -- pickup 1/15, deliver 1/18.”

“If that is what it meant.”

“There's an Altian connection. The message came from a locator code with an Altian prefix and was coded with an Altian street code.”

“Did you try getting an ID traceback on that locator code?”

“No -- how would I go about doing that?”

“Hmm ... good question. How WOULD you go about doing that?” Seymor stroked his chin. “If it were a Floran code, I could have one of my Internal Affairs contacts do the trace. Since it's Altian -- we'd need a contact within Altian Security. We'd need to go through channels -- up the ladder through the ExoService to some High Legislature subcommittee or other, then back down the other side. It could take months.”

“I wonder if Sirk could track it down,” Nyk replied.

“Who?”

“The Altian security captain who oversaw Dyppa's interrogation. I have his locator code. I'll send him a note...”

“Nyk... Without a stronger case, I'd advise against short-circuiting channels. Those upper- level bureaucrats don't take it kindly when someone starts pissing on their campfire.”

“Seymor -- Marxo was sent to Tulsa to fetch the virus so it could be used as a weapon -- one that threatens the entire Floran hegemony. I'd say that was a strong case.”

“If Marxo was sent to fetch it -- he'd need to know about it first. It surfaced the same day he died.”

“He botched the job! He accidentally exposed himself to it!”

“But Nyk -- Someone would have to know about it BEFORE it emerged in order to send him there to fetch it. How's that possible?”

“Easy -- that someone obtained access to Earth historic records. I'll bet there's a reference to it in the Floran Encyclopedia.”

“The what?”

“Don't you know about the Floran Encyclopedia?” Seymor shook his head. “When the original mission was launched, they carried a database of all significant Earth history -- everything up to the date of the launch, which was ... which will be 2201. That database is preserved at the Floran Museum. Some of the material is classified, but if Marxo obtained access... That has to be it!” Nyk began working the keyboard of his laptop.

“Now what are you doing?”

“I'm sending a message to my friend Korlo Golmya -- he's a curator at the museum in Floran City. I worked with him on my translation of Koichi Kyhana's journal. I'll ask him to see if he can find a reference to the Tulsa virus in the encyclopedia. I'm not pissing on any campfires, am I?”

“It seems to me,” Seymor said, “if Marxo was sent to Tulsa to fetch this virus -- he wound up exposed and dead. The virus died with him.”

“Then, it's a matter of time before they send someone else to get more.”

“If the outbreak is contained -- which it appears to be -- then, there's no more virus to get. I think, Nyk, there's little risk to the hegemony. Worst case it was a window of opportunity -- grab the virus from this outbreak and carry it home. The effort failed and the window is closed.”

“What if there were more than one Agent involved?”

“And, who might THAT be? All North American ExoAgents are present and accounted for.”

“I suppose you're right...”

“Of course I am.”

“Still, I don't think there's harm in asking Korlo about the encyclopedia entry.”

“Fine, Nyk. And, when you're done with that...”

“...tend to my domain of responsibility. Since Marxo was my direct report, this IS my domain. Isn't it?”

“That's one way of looking at it.” Seymor headed toward his own office.

“Seymor! I have a response from Korlo.”

“Already?” Seymor stepped behind Nyk's desk and looked over his shoulder as he opened the message. “No reference to Tulsa virus,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry lad. It was a nice try.”

“Then, what was Marxo doing there?” Nyk rested his chin on his fist.

“Cheer up, Nyk. Why don't you call it a day and go have a nice, quiet evening with that boy of yours?”

Nyk walked into the office. “Good morning, Jaquie.”

“Good morning, Mr Kane. How's that adorable little boy?”

“He's learning to walk. He'll hold onto a table or chair, walk around it and beam a big, proud grin.”

“Bring pictures some day.”

“I will, Jaquie -- I promise.” Nyk stepped into his office and hooked up his laptop. It came to life and he reviewed his messages. He saw one from Senta, requesting a call. The vidphone window opened and he saw her face framed by her red hair.

“Nykkyo,” she said through the vidphone circuit. “I spoke to Dr Hanri about your virus.”

“You didn't. Senta -- I said I wanted...”

“I posed it as a hypothetical question,” she said. “I didn't describe any specifics.”

“I guess that's all right. What did he say?”

“Well -- he had some ideas, but nothing panned out. What he said started me thinking so I began looking elsewhere.”

“Where elsewhere?”

“At the other end of the genome.” A window opened on his laptop and he saw a diagram of a DNA molecule. “Here,” Senta pointed with a cursor. “Do you see these three sequences?”

“Yes...”

“They form a counter, each activated in turn for each generation. They count from one to six and then reset. Well -- one to eight, actually, but it appears two pairs of sequences are degenerate.”

“Could those be categories I through VI?”

“I think so. Look here...” The cursor moved to another part of the molecule. “Another counter -- these six sequences run from one to sixty-four, with some degenerate codes.”

“That accounts for the variations within each category. How often do you see this sort of thing?”

“For Earth genetics -- never,” she replied. “It IS the basic strategy of native Floran life. Life here exhibits different genetics based on the tissue or organ.”

“Andra told me the animals have a skin DNA, a nerve DNA and so on.”

“The plants, also. It's not DNA, Nyk, but the native Floran analogue. The gamete must differentiate into the genomes for the various tissues, so it includes a counter mechanism. As the organism matures, the counter ticks. That's how it knows when to trigger the next modification. This virus is doing something similar.”

“Are you saying this virus evolved from a native Floran species? I had wondered how long it would take for native microbes to develop a taste for human flesh.”

“Of course not, Nyk. This viral genome is very much based on good old Earth DNA.”

“What are you saying, then?”

“I'm saying this virus was without a doubt man-made.”

“You're sure?”

“Absolutely, and it's why I've been racking my brain. I've seen something like this before, but I can't quite place it.”

“Senta, I have confidence in you. I'm sure you'll get it. You figured out the Ricin plot -- you'll figure out this.”

“Thanks, Nyk. I'm going to take another look at it.” The vidphone session went blank.

Nyk stood and headed toward Seymor's office, but was called back by a vidphone signal from his laptop. He answered the call and saw Senta again. “Nyk! I remember where I saw it. It was in the Ricin genome!”

“You mean...”

“It's not quite the same but similar. You recall in the Ricin case, a gene from the castor bean was spliced into the genome for common lentils. It caused the lentils to produce the biotoxin Ricin.”

“I recall. A single lentil contained sufficient Ricin to kill a man. I also recall how close those tainted lentils came to entering our food supply.”

“You'll also recall that the designer of this genome was cagey. He didn't want to introduce all the genetic changes at once -- even the primitive screening we had at the time would've detected it. Instead, he implemented something like this counter, only it ticked each time two strains were crossed. It would've taken about eight generations to activate the gene and I discovered it in the sixth.”

“I didn't recall those details.”

“Nyk -- this is the same mechanism adapted to the reproductive strategy of a virus. It was undoubtedly created by the same mind as the Ricin genome.”

“I thought we broke up the Ricin ring.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the brains behind it got away.”

“And, he's developed a new weapon.” Nyk's blood ran cold. “Thanks Senta.” He closed the vidphone window. “Seymor! he yelled and ran into his boss's office. “I was close. Marxo didn't go to Tulsa to fetch the virus. He went there to DELIVER it. That's what the message in the Palm Pilot meant -- pick up on January 15, delivery on January 18. I'll bet if you check his shuttlecar log, you'll see a transit on the fifteenth.”

“Nyk -- were you up all night worrying about this?”

“No. I just got off the vidphone with Senta. Do you remember the Ricin crisis?”

“Certainly. What was that? Six years ago?”

“Eight Floran years. Senta was the one who identified the Ricin genome. I asked her to take a look at the Tulsa virus. She believes it shares similarities with the Ricin gene; and, she believes it's man made -- most likely devised by the same mind. I believe the virus was developed by or for The Seven. I think it's their planet-killer, and Marxo brought it here for a field test. Think about it, Seymor -- where else could they test it away from Floran health authorities and media?”

“New viruses emerge here all the time,” Seymor replied. “Earth immune systems are more robust than Florans' -- and, Earth health officials are more experienced at containing an outbreak.”

“There's no other explanation. This virus is highly contagious. Once inside the body, it modifies itself -- fans out on a search and destroy mission. It has a one hundred percent mortality rate, and our medics are powerless to do anything about it. It's a perfect biological weapon.”

“Gads, lad -- I think you're right.”

“They tested it on Marxo. If it killed an ExoAgent with his pumped-up immune system, they know it'll run through our native population like a brush fire.”

“Do you think Marxo volunteered to test it? Maybe he thought he'd only catch a case of sniffles. When his condition deteriorated he went to see Grynnya.”

Nyk pondered. “I think Marxo was deliberately infected, all right -- but, without his knowledge. Then they loosed him into the population.”

“They were testing it's contagiousness.”

“There's more. Who do we know had operations in the Tulsa area?”

“Zander!”

“I'm willing to bet there's a cell of Altian operatives somewhere in the Tulsa area. They're either affiliated with The Seven or sympathetic to it.”

Seymor shook his head. “The way your mind works. What do we do?”

“You tell me. I can put all this into a report -- but, who gets to see it? Kronta?”

Seymor nodded. “Kronta's the man to head up a task force. Nyk -- if I ever again say you should stick to your own domain of responsibility -- slam the door in my face. This is sensitive -- as sensitive as anything I've encountered in my career. I'll set up a meeting with Kronta. Lad -- you may be headed back to Floran.”

“ME? Seymor -- I thought you'd be the one...”

“Oh, no, lad. This