Date: 10.04.2099
Earth – Yatesboro, Pennsylvania
Janelle Brooks smiled reassuringly at the small girl perched on the lab stool. Karen Whitley’s blue eyes stared unwaveringly back at the older woman, showing no fear, despite the needle held in the research scientist’s hand. On a table to Karen’s right were several vials and rubber tubing.
“I promise it will only be a pinprick,” Janelle said, “It will be over quick.”
“I’m okay, Mama took my blood last week, before...” the girl paused, not finishing her sentence.
“Before your mama died.” Janelle said gently.
Karen was only six years old, but she had taken everything in the past few months in stride, so matter of fact, just as her mother would have done. The girl was mature beyond her years, but she would have to be, Karen mused, growing up with a father like that. Janelle briefly wondered whether TJ was still alive.
Karen sat there, watching her expectantly, and Janelle set the needle beside the rest of the supplies, picked up the tubing and fastened it around the little girl’s arm.
“Can you make a fist; show me how strong you are?” Karen clenched her hand closed, the veins in her tiny arm jumping out.
“Wow, you are doing a great job, Sweetheart!” She prepped her supplies, smiled at the girl, “Do you want to close your eyes?”
“No, I wanna watch.” Karen replied.
Her dark blue eyes, edged with gray, held a look of intense concentration. Janelle hadn’t worked with many children, but Karen was definitely not like other kids, her demeanor was one of someone far older than six years. Her curiosity so obviously fed by her mother, Karen seemed at ease with Janelle. The remaining think tank occupants were men, and Karen barely spoke to them, preferring to stay by Janelle’s side. She had taken to sleeping on a cot in a corner of the lab when Janelle worked late into the night. What a pair they were, both sleeping and eating in the same room, and rarely leaving, except in each other’s company.
Karen watched as Janelle inserted the needle into her arm, her eyes never wavering as her blood surged into the first, second and, finally, the third ampule.
“We have the virus, right?”
Janelle answered, “Yes, honey, we have it.”
Her thoughts flitted back to a sleepless night ten weeks ago, just two weeks after she had asked Allen Lagunoff to pull Karen’s mother, Grace, back into the fray. She had meant to do good, she really had. Grace was one of the best, and not just as a researcher, but as a human being. Janelle had asked for her as soon as it was obvious how widespread the virus was - if there was a chance at all that her former student and friend was alive, Janelle was determined that she stay that way. Bringing her here, along with that sad little woman Lila Mathers and her two rambunctious boys, was an easy decision. And yet it had proved disastrous. They had no idea how the virus had spread to the people seemingly safely locked inside, and they hadn’t realized it had until it was too late. Janelle felt as if she had doomed them all.
Knowing that the chances of avoiding infection outside of the bunker were slim to none had done nothing to alleviate her guilt. At the very least, she should have paid for the mistake with her own life. But Janelle, along with Karen and three others, an unusually high percentage compared with the rate of infection among the general population, had contracted the virus and survived.
“But our blood might be special?” Karen asked, pulling Janelle back into the present.
“Yep.” Janelle smiled at Karen, “Yours especially, love, because overall you are an extra-special kiddo.”
She finished with the draw, setting each vial into the waiting tray. It all came down to blood really, Janelle thought as she finished filling the vials, removed the needle and pressed on the small hole with a cotton ball.
“There. All done. You are such a brave girl!” Janelle leaned down after affixing the Band-Aid and kissed the girl’s arm.
She tried at every opportunity to tell her god-daughter how special she was, desperate to fill the hole that Grace’s absence had made in her young life.
“Miss Janelle?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Why did you never have kids? Did you want them?” Karen asked.
Janelle sighed, “Oh yes, I always wanted to have a little boy or girl. It just,” she struggled with the words. How much do you say to kids at this age? “I guess I never found the right person to have kids with.”
In reality it was the husband part of it that had been the problem.
Finding the right female partner had proved especially challenging thanks to her work schedule, its isolated location, and working in a field which was dominated by men.
Besides, Janelle thought, when you set your heart on someone unattainable, it doesn’t help those already astronomically low chances of finding a suitable mate.
In many ways, Grace asking her to be Karen’s godmother had been bittersweet. Grace had never asked, but Janelle wondered if she had sensed it, how much her interest in the younger woman had been personal as well as professional. Was there a dividing line? If so, Janelle had not ever really found it. She had been attracted to Grace in all ways - intellectually, emotionally, and physically. To her chagrin, Grace had appeared strictly heterosexual, although Janelle had held out hope that if she ever left TJ, things could have changed.
“I think you would have made a good mommy, Miss Janelle.” Karen said, her earnest little face peering up at the older woman.
“Really, Sweetie?” her heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah, you have the mommy kiss.”
Janelle’s eyes filled with tears, “The mommy kiss?”
“Yep. All mommies have the mommy kiss. My mom said it is magic and makes things feel better quicker.” She nodded, “And you’ve got it just like Mommy did.”
She hugged the girl close, “Thank you sweetheart.”
She closed her eyes, felt the tears coming fast and hard.
“You miss Mommy too, don’t you?” Karen’s voice was muffled, her face buried in Janelle’s lab coat.
“Yes, yes I do Pumpkin, more than I can say.”
Things certainly had changed, but not in the way that Janelle had hoped. Two weeks after being evacuated from the house she shared with her borderline abusive and alcoholic husband, Grace had shown signs of the illness, something a blood test that she had helped perfect verified. By that time, Grace had hugged Karen, and Karen had wrestled with Liam and Simon, and the boys had touched their mother, Lila, who was still mourning her husband.
Through it all, Lila Whitley had simply sat there, unable to do much of anything, barely eating, wasting away. The virus, when it activated in her, was akin to creating a mindless zombie. She had been desperate for food then, her stick-thin arms grasping, fighting against the restraints, feverish in her need to eat. They had tried to save the woman, tried to starve the virus out of her. The results had been bloody and horrifying. Lila Mathers had died after trying to consume her own tongue and cheeks, choking on the blood. The sight of Lila’s last moments would occupy Janelle’s nightmares for years to come.
“Miss Janelle?”
“Yes Karen?”
“Why is my blood special and not Mama’s?”
“That’s a great question, Sweetie.”
Janelle began to describe human blood types, sketching a quick chart for Karen to see.
“From what I can tell, all of the people who contracted the virus yet managed to survive it have AB negative blood. This includes you, me and the others here in the facility who are left.”
The girl stared at the chart.
“For you to have AB negative blood, one of your parents would have to be AB. Your mother was AB positive. Now for you to be AB negative instead of AB positive like your mom, your dad must have been either AB, B or A negative.”
Karen was focused on the chart, “What is this O?”
“A different blood type, but one that you can’t possibly have, because O blood type
s come from mixing A, B or O blood types, never the AB types.”
“So if my dad has AB negative blood, he might still be alive?”
Janelle’s throat closed at the idea of losing the little girl. Grace had asked Janelle to find him when she realized she was infected.
“He loves Karen, Janelle. He might be the biggest and most self-centered asshole in the world, but he does love his daughter. Please promise me that you will find him after this. You will find him for Karen, won’t you?”
Janelle had promised and watched the regular reports that came in from refugee camps, scanning the lists to see if the ill-mannered jackass ever showed up on them. He hadn’t. Realistically he had probably drank himself to death, but there was no way for her to find out that.
“I don’t know, Sweetheart. He might be. God knows I’ve tried to find him. But he isn’t at the refugee camps and he would have been evacuated like the rest of the survivors by now, so I’m just not sure what to think.”
Tears began to form in Karen’s sweet blue eyes and Janelle noticed that the girl’s hair hadn’t been brushed today. Did children this age know to brush their own hair? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Who was she to try to care for this little girl?
Janelle hugged her close, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you must miss your daddy.”
The little girl shook her head, “I want to stay with you, Doctor Jan,”
Karen’s voice was muffled, her face buried in her godmother’s lab coat. “Please don’t make me go back to my dad.”
Part of Janelle was surprised at this request, but mostly she was consumed with grief and guilt. She had brought Grace here, asked for her help, had hoped to save her from a loveless, abusive marriage. Instead, she had managed to sign not just her death warrant, but her friend’s, and her friend’s children. But in her arms was the future, whatever future the human race had - a little girl who needed her, wanted her. Perhaps there was a form of redemption here, or at the very least, forgiveness.
“I’m not letting you go, Pumpkin, not for the world.”
Later that evening, when Karen was curled in a ball in the corner of the lab, one small hand straying from the mound of blankets, Janelle finished the workup on the blood samples and sent her findings to the tattered remnants of the CDC.
A response from a Dr. Julie Aaronson popped up within minutes.
Transmission Packet
seattle cdc outpost to research author brooks, dr janelle
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
read your paper on blood typing connection and concur. please send any and all data you used for a verifiable cross-check. we need to meet and collaborate. currently exploring further teratogenic aspects of Esh virus. are you interested in meetup?
/END TRANSMISSION
Janelle’s heart leaped. Dr. Aaronson was well-known, a legend in her field of study. She had mapped the genome and cured leukemia five years before, creating a cure that was instant and effective, saving the lives of countless people in the process.
And she wants to collaborate with me!
Janelle wasted no time responding.
Transmission Packet
research author brooks, dr janelle to seattle cdc outpost
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
it would be a pleasure to meet you and i am honored. attached are full mock-ups of the blood typing and viral indicators. look forward to speaking with you further.
/END TRANSMISSION
Janelle Brooks clicked Send and went to check on Karen. She was sleeping fitfully, her fist clenching, her eyes moving rapidly beneath her eyelids. She looked so much like her mother. Janelle contemplated picking her up and taking her to her cot down the hall and decided against it. Instead, she spread a blanket out and joined the girl on the floor. A few moments of listening to Karen’s steady breathing was all it took to lull her into half-waking dreams of working with the famed Julie Lynn Aaronson.
Janelle’s original message, along with consolidated reports from various agencies and governments around the world combined and eventually found its way to World Geographic’s Terran Planetary Command. Miles away, in another facility with personnel locked far away from the dying populace outside, a message packet was broadcast deep into space.
Transmission Packet
TPC to CCS
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
ESH plague now worldwide, all containment measures have failed. Mission parameters have changed. Establish a permanent colony on Zarmina’s World and access A.R.C. for additional genetic heritage. Under no circumstances are you to return to Earth
/END TRANSMISSION
The Door to Hell
“Think of how many religions attempt to validate themselves with prophecy. Think of how many people rely on these prophecies, however vague, however unfulfilled, to support or prop up their beliefs. Yet has there ever been a religion with the prophetic accuracy and reliability of science?” – Carl Sagan
Ship Date: 01.27.2104
Calypso Colony Ship
Fenton Aaronson always began his day the same way. His wife Joanna had been amused by it. She had teased him about his “intransigent ways.” This woman who had captured his diehard bachelor’s heart was full of large and complicated words.
And while some would use words like that to show off, Joanna did it with the ease and thought of someone who knows more than most and doesn’t see the point in hiding intelligence or flaunting it – simply using it for the strength that it is.
Each morning (although morning on a spaceship was rather subjective), he would begin by stretching each finger, each toe, before moving on to his legs, his arms, back, and neck. He would breathe slowly, intentionally, and although his mind was full of thoughts for the day, plans he had or ideas he wanted to consider implementing, especially now that they were so close to their destination – he would intentionally push all of them aside and focus on his body.
This had served him well. Seven years before departure he had been going through his morning routine and felt something slightly off in his abdomen. This had continued for three days before he decided to go and have it looked at. It had been a small benign tumor, easily removed, and easily dealt with. The doctor had been rather skeptical at first when Fenton had suggested they do a scan. But she had decided to humor the tall, handsome man in her care. The tumor had been small, they had caught it early on.
After he had finished this stretching, meditative few minutes, Fenton typed a short note on his tablet:
INTRA-SHIP COMMUNIQUE
CAP to MESS
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
EARL GREY W/HONEY AND MILK, PROTEIN AND FRUIT OF DAY
TY, CAP
/END TRANSMISSION
Fenton dressed in his blue shipsuit and headed for the Mess Hall.
“Mornin’ Cap,” the cook nodded to him and handed him a tray.
“Thanks Les. How’s the finger?” Fenton asked, nodding to Lester’s left hand. He had cut his finger badly a week ago.
“Nearly healed, thanks to the Doc.” Lester held up his finger which sported an angry red healing line. “She used that new skin graft tech on it.”
Fenton smiled and carried the tray to the nearest occupied table. He made a point of sitting with crewmembers at each meal. It helped keep him connected to what was going on with them, especially since the news of Earth.
He nodded to several others in the room and approached Nathan Zradce.
“Mind if I sit?”
Nathan stared at him silently, blinking for a moment before nodding.
Fenton sat, surveying the contents of his tray. One cup of Earl Grey tea, with a spoonful of honey and a splash of Almost Milk, a protein cube and a small handful of strawberries. It had taken some time, but they finally had recovered from the ‘Ponics Deck failure that had killed off most of their fresh fruits and vegetables.
The only plants to survive had been cabbage and beets, which were hardier than the rest of the plants. Everyone had gotte
n very, very tired of eating the two, no matter how creatively they were prepared. He smiled at Zradce and sipped his tea.
“How are things in your department, Nathan?”
Again there was silence, a couple of seconds where Zradce remained utterly silent and unmoving, the fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Um, fine, sir.”
“Looking forward to planetfall?”
“Um...yes.”
Fenton, having run out of things to say, finished his meal in silence, and bid Zradce goodbye. Nathan nodded his head, avoiding eye contact.
In his ready room a few minutes later Fenton typed a message.
INTRA-SHIP COMMUNIQUE
CAP to Carter, Jacob CM#121
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
update requested on crew response to esh plague. any cm’s that we need to be concerned about?
TY, CAP
/END TRANSMISSION
A short time later the reply flashed on his tablet.
INTRA-SHIP COMMUNIQUE
CArter, jacob cm#121 to aaronson, fen CM#001
/BEGIN TRANSMISSION
currently have one crewmember on suicide watch. Just out of cryo, lost entire family. other than that, four others currently in twice weekly therapy sessions. rest of crew seen on as needed basis with no potential issues or concerns.
let me know if you need any more info, cap.
jc
/END TRANSMISSION
Fenton nodded. Zradce had never been the most outgoing crewmember. When it came to intellectuals, it was a crapshoot. Some were relatively functional introverts, others struggled in their attempts to interact with others.
Carter had explained it once, “Extroverts outnumber introverts almost three to one. However, introverts form nearly seventy-five percent of those people with IQs over 160. This is why we have built in as many extra spaces in Calypso as possible. Our crew is predominated by them.”
Zradce was probably just fine. But still, there had been something about his reactions that seemed...off...somehow.
There was no time to dwell on it further. It was time for the Landing Committee meeting, a go-ahead now that the last of the staff heading it had been revived and given time to recover from the side effects of Cryo. The Committee members filled his ready room and Anton Webster took the floor.
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