Contagion

by David Ryker

  “We cannot stop the slide into anarchy. By the time this probe reaches you, this government will have fallen, and many of those petty dictatorships that have carved up the world for their own good will have fallen too. The center cannot hold. There are too many people and too few resources, and with the last of central control gone, nothing is being conserved. Our scientists predict a mass decline in population within the next ten to fifteen years, but by then this world will be thoroughly destroyed, and even if we were at a tenth of our numbers we could not bounce back. The best case scenario is that a few million scattered humans will survive, feeding off the ruins and what little will still grow. The worst case scenario—and perhaps the most likely one—is that human beings on this Earth will go extinct within two generations.

  “Do not return to Earth. There is nothing for you here. Continue to Terra Nova, and may fortune smile on you, the last hope for humanity.”

  The screen switched back to Commander Loftsdóttir.

  “We have received no further probes from Earth. This was recorded a little over twenty years ago. By now, we suspect that all governments have fallen and the world is a state of anarchy and mass starvation. There is nothing to go back to. The only way is forward. I trust in your ability to bring the Ark Ship Nansen safely to its final destination. I trust that you will do your duty in our current crisis and make it through so that we can settle on a new world. Then we can wake up the colonists and start again. Then we can do it right.”

  The video cut off. A sigh echoed through the corridors of the Nansen. It came from the two technicians standing beside us, it came from a group of crewmembers at a viewscreen down the hall, and it came from me. It even came from Foyle. It came from everyone.

  I turned and shook the hands of both technicians, looking them in the eye. Each of them nodded, their grip becoming firm.

  “Back to work,” I ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” They moved off.

  Foyle and I continued our walk to the shuttle bay. The crewmembers we passed on the way all had a stricken look. Some were weeping. Others looked angry or bitter, but I’m proud to say one look outnumbered all the others, and even shone through in the faces of many who had tears running down their cheeks.

  Determination.

  9

  In the shuttle flying to the station, Foyle, Valeria, Iliescu, and I huddled in the back, putting up a sound screen so the science and engineering team in the front couldn’t hear our conversation.

  “That was a bold choice to tell the crew Earth is lost,” Iliescu said. “I hope it was the correct one.”

  “Qiang told me a story about a Spanish conquistador named Cortez,” I said. “When he came to Mexico he burned his ships and told his crew that the only way to go was forward. They had to conquer or die.”

  “We learned that story in school,” Valeria said.

  “They let you have a national history class?” I asked. That had been banned by the Global Government in an attempt to encourage world unity. It hadn’t worked.

  Valeria smiled. “Oh, it was masked as an afterschool history club. The teacher taught us all about the Maya and Aztecs and the Spanish period, and the time when Mexico was a nation. We had to be careful, though, and cover it up. Our club project was building a model of the Pyramids at Giza. We didn’t dare make models of the Mexican pyramids.”

  I snorted. “I bet Barakat made models of your pyramids and wasn’t allowed to visit his own.”

  “Easy now,” Foyle snapped. “The Global Government was doing that for our own good.”

  I searched for sarcasm in his tone and didn’t find any. Idiot. I did two tours of duty putting my life on the line for the Global Government because they were the best hope for the world, not because I had any illusions that they gave a shit about regular guys like me.

  Iliescu smoothed things over.

  “I think Major Li’s point is well taken. Cortez steeled his men’s will by giving them no other choice. By showing the crew that we have no option but to go forward, they will be that much more determined to succeed.”

  “Unless they break,” Foyle grumbled.

  The chief engineer gave him an annoyed look. “Break? After all the psychological and physical vetting we were put through? And after all we’ve been through already? I don’t think so. The men and woman of the Nansen aren’t the kind of people who break.”

  There was pride in his voice. It’s what we needed to hear right now, and what we needed to feel.

  I hoped the rest of the Nansen’s crew would react the same way. Hearing the news about the two probes was a lot to absorb.

  But what about the third probe, the one that was launched five years after the Nansen? The commander hadn’t said anything about that to anyone, not even the high command. I knew there were three probes. I had been on the bridge when they came alongside. She had gone into a private room to listen to their messages. So why wasn’t she talking about it? What information did it relay that she couldn’t trust any of us with?

  That gave me an uneasy feeling.

  We landed at the space station shuttle bay. After putting on our respirators and translators, we stepped out to find a welcoming committee of several different species. General R’kk’kar stood in front, his face still swollen. I was relieved to see he was fully clothed.

  He threw his arms wide and clanked over in his armor.

  “General Ayers, an honor to see you again.”

  He gave me a bear hug that moved my vertebrae like piano keys. Somehow none of the spikes in his armor gouged me. Maybe the Dri’kai practiced that.

  R’kk’kar let go and studied me. He looked upset. It was hard to tell with an alien, especially an alien wearing a respirator. The station’s atmosphere was still set to that of the Vrimjlen home world.

  “My comrade-in-arms, have I done something to offend you?” he asked.

  “What? No.”

  Besides beating the shit out of me. I didn’t take that personally, though. It happened too often.

  “Then why have you healed your wounds? Why do you hide the marks of our glorious fight?”

  I thought fast. “Oh, um, as a sign of respect. In human culture, if we face a good foe who hurts us badly, we show them respect by going to the doctor.”

  “Ah, I see! We have much to learn about one another.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Guys are the same everywhere,” Valeria muttered.

  A Vrimjlen came forward. It only came up to our waists, its large eyes studying us and its nose hung down like the sleeve of a coat.

  “Yes, we have much to teach each other,” the Vrimjlen said. “The highest priority is to teach you to use the new technology we wish to share, as well as the data we have retrieved from the Ofran probe. Your science and engineering teams will go with our head scientist.” He or she or it gestured to a tentacled pillar. Poor Valeria and Iliescu. They were going to have to figure out Subine speech for the rest of the day.

  They went off. R’kk’kar and the Vrimjlen led us down a different corridor, one that paralleled the outer wall of the station. After a couple of hundred meters we ended up in another bay.

  But this one didn’t have shuttles in it. It had something far more interesting.

  A row of ten fighter ships – and what beauties they were.

  They were sleek black shards of something that didn’t quite look like metal. On the wings were arrayed a series of small missiles and the nose had what I took to be an autocannon. The top had a small turret with another, smaller autocannon. Every component, every line was part of a unified whole, like the fighter had evolved rather than having been built. This was more than just engineering; this was art.

  R’kk’kar laughed. “You like them, General Ayers? I find reading human expressions difficult, but you look like you want to mate with them.”

  “Yes. I mean, I do like them. What race built these?”

  “The Dri’kai, of course. They are our best models. We call them Shadow Fighte
rs. None of the ships the Nansen faced were equipped with them; otherwise your defeat would have been much quicker.”

  We hadn’t been defeated, but I had a feeling if the Dri’kai had sent these bad boys against us, were sure as hell would have been.

  I went over to the nearest one. I could hear a low humming and whirring coming from within. When I ran my hand along its surface, it felt like glass, but warm.

  “What’s the material?” I asked.

  “That’s classified,” R’kk’kar said.

  Foyle and I exchanged looks. I could practically hear the wheels turning in the executive officer’s head. He wanted to get one of these to the Nansen and analyze it.

  Tempting, but I didn’t think the Dri’kai would give us that chance. At least the good folks back on the ship would scan the hell out of these puppies once they flew out of the bay. R’kk’kar must have known that too, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

  I looked again at the strange material. It was hard to focus on it. I could see the general shape, feel the warm smoothness, but when I tried to look closer it was as if my eyes unfocused on their own.

  “The Shadow Fighters bend visible light,” R’kk’kar explained, “and all other frequencies on the electromagnetic spectrum. That makes them difficult for sensors to pick up. They are not invisible by any means, but they will give you an edge in combat. Enemy ships will have difficulty fixing on you.”

  “We’re honored you’d allow us to fly these.”

  “You have proven your worth,” the Dri’kai said, “and only your best will be allowed the chance. Since you and this other human have come aboard, I presume that the two of you are the two best.”

  “I’m the best fighter pilot on the Nansen,” Foyle said, puffing out his chest. “Best by far.”

  R’kk’kar turned to me. “You have nothing to say, General Ayers?”

  Foyle interrupted, “General? He’s not a general.”

  Dumbass. I could have slapped him.

  “The proper term in our fleet is commander of security,” I said. “Generals only command ground forces.”

  “I see,” R’kk’kar said. “I hope I did not offend you.”

  “Not at all. The two ranks are equal, just in different branches of service.”

  I shot a look at Foyle so he wouldn’t call out my little fib.

  “I am glad I did not demote you!” the Dri’kai said, giving me a slap on the back that nearly made me faceplant against the fighter.

  It was strange, considering the circumstances, but I felt bad lying to the Dri’kai and the other aliens present. It felt like a betrayal of trust. Here they were, hoping we would join them in the fight of their lives, handing over what was obviously secret technology, and Foyle had cornered me into lying. That I had to didn’t make it feel any better.

  Staring at Foyle as if I could hypnotize him into keeping his big mouth shut, I said. “Foyle is the best at flying our fighters. I and another man aboard the Nansen are quite good too. Of course, we haven’t flown this particular model.”

  “You shall soon enough. You honor yourself by being honest about your abilities. One should neither boast nor self-deprecate. It makes the task of organizing an offensive that much more difficult.”

  I blinked. Had that been a jab at Foyle? Could even the aliens see he was an asshole? They had had him in their custody for a few days, after all. They knew him better than any other human they had met.

  And they still gave us the benefit of the doubt? That was nice of them.

  “Commander Ayers, I must make clear to you the terms of our loan of the fighters. We will only loan as many as you have qualified pilots, and you cannot dock them at any human ship or installation. They will be left in the space station bay or a hangar or bay on a Dri’kai installation or ship. You will also promise not to analyze the ships with any close scans, or take anything from them.”

  “Fair enough. So when should we start training?” I asked.

  “Now.”

  I glanced uncertainly at the fighter. “The controls will all be in Dri’kai, and molded for your body type.”

  “Not at all, Commander Ayers,” R’kk’kar said, getting my rank correct this time. “It has been scanning your bodily dimensions and movements and making an estimate of how best to conform to you. Those are the sounds you have been hearing. It’s been adjusting its seating and instrumentation to suit your needs. As for the readouts, we have inputted the human language into it.”

  I shook my head in wonder. The quick translation wouldn’t be too hard for us to do, but a self-adjusting cockpit? I kept getting reminded just how much more advanced these races were. It was like we were the crew of an old sailing ship that had ended up in a battle between aircraft carriers. How the hell had we survived this long?

  The seamless shard of whatever-the-hell-it-was sat there, inviting and intimidating at the same time.

  “Okay, first lesson. How do I get in?” I asked.

  “Just tell it to open. It has been assigned to you and will open on your command. Foyle, the one over there is for you. I will join you in that one.”

  I looked at the fighter, my eyes seeming to slip off the thing every time I tried to focus on it.

  “Open,” I said uncertainly.

  With a low purr, an oval section on the top lifted. Two small steps pushed out of the side at the perfect spacing for my legs. I climbed them and peered inside.

  There was a padded seat of deep red cushioning, and around it several instruments and readouts. Glancing at Foyle, who had just climbed up the side of his own fighter, I clambered inside.

  The seat was like a recliner, with my body eased back and comfortable. As I settled in, there was a soft whirring around me and the various instruments moved a little in or a little away. When they stopped a few moments later, I realized everything was at the perfect distance for me to manipulate it. The scanners must have analyzed my muscle and bone structure to make the perfectly ergonomic cockpit.

  The top lowered and snapped shut, and a helmet lowered onto my head. Readouts ran across my vision.

  “SHIP READY FOR LAUNCHES AT COMMAND THE PILOT GENERAL CORRECTION COMMANDER CORRECTION COMMANDER AYERS.”

  Okay, they needed to work on the translation a bit. I decided to test the AI.

  “Computer, correct readout to ‘ship ready for launch.’”

  The readout changed in the blink of an eye.

  “Computer, identify each instrument starting at the far left of my vision and moving to the far right.”

  It did so, both in a flat monotone voice and with readouts. There were lots of little errors in its English that I took care to correct. I knew it would catch on quick and this learning period would not last long.

  My learning period didn’t last long either.

  “Sealing crew compartment for vacuuming,” the computer said in its flat monotone.

  Damn, even alien computers were annoying.

  “Sealing crew compartment for vacuum,” I corrected.

  The fighter bay was cleared and the atmosphere let out. A giant bay door opened onto the stars.

  My heart thrilled. Besides a few stratospheric drills in the armed forces, I had never been in space before I cheated my way onto the Nansen. We had done our training entirely in orbit, and in all those long months I had never lost the adrenaline rush of looking out into the vastness of the universe.

  Sitting in the cockpit of a Dri’kai ship, I didn’t lose it now. I looked out through the open bay door, out at the vast swath of stars that made up the plane of the Milky Way. All those glittering stars, and so many were inhabited. Just as we had hoped.

  Not all of those inhabitants were friendly, though. From further inside the galaxy, a powerful and ruthless enemy was approaching.

  Time to stop daydreaming and start focusing.

  R’kk’kar’s voice came through my helmet. “Commander Ayers. Foyle. Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, my friend,” I said.

&nb
sp; “Friend?” R’kk’kar said, not sounding pleased. “I thought we were comrades in arms.”

  “We’re that too. I suppose comrades in arms are considered more important than friends in your culture?”

  “Of course.”

  “Right. Well, in human culture we can be both at the same time.”

  “Hmm. Curious.”

  Foyle cut in. “Hey, whatever you name is. You need to address me by my rank.” At this point I rolled my eyes like a teenager. “Address me as Executive Officer Foyle.”

  “My apologies, Executive Officer Foyle. Your superior officer failed to tell me that.”

  I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep my laughter from being heard over the mic. Once I recovered, I asked, “So how do we launch these things?”

  “The shipboard computer has already walked you through the basics. Simply do what feels natural.”

  Licking my lips, I muttered, “Okay, here goes.”

  I eased my foot on the thruster, my left hand (how did it know I was left-handed?) pulling back a little on the yoke to gain a bit of altitude.

  Unlike the first time in any normal vehicle, I did not overcompensate or undercompensate. The programming was that good. My fighter glided effortlessly out of the bay.

  A second later, Foyle shot past me.

  “Let me show you how it’s done!” he crowed.

  His fighter dwindled into the distance. Instinctively I squinted to see it. The computer caught my eye movement and zoomed in on him. I watched as he banked hard, then did several loops.

  I followed, the ship responding to my every movement. I banked, dove, did a loop, and then hit the thrusters at full throttle.

  They must have had some pretty good inertial dampeners on that thing because I sped up so fast by all rights I should have been tomato soup smeared on the back of the cockpit.

  Foyle was coiling around the Nansen, no doubt hoping people were watching in awe. They probably were. I eased off the thrusters because the space station had already dwindled to a bright spot behind me. I banked hard, whizzed past R’kk’kar, and then did a series of complicated maneuvers in less space than any ship had a right to do them.