L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future 34

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “But not all of the rats died,” Tuan said hopefully. “Only a few that we know of actually developed larvae. My guess is the percentage of fully infected humans is small. Most of us are probably carrying only one or two strands in our genome.”

  “But there are almost ten billion people on this planet. If even one percent of us have the full package in our DNA, we’re looking at a hundred million deaths. And the next generation will be even worse.”

  Tuan fell quiet for a moment. Lien wondered if he was thinking about Bao. The baby was currently napping on the couch. He looked so peaceful.

  “None of this explains how a virus is generating moths in the first place,” Lien said, breaking the silence. “You’re the one that’s got a knack for thinking outside the box. Any brilliant ideas?”

  “There’s a box?” Tuan said, “Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?” His sincere tone was offset by his signature smirk. “Okay, fine. Show me what you’ve got and watch me single-handedly save the human species.” He reached for her tablet and started flipping through the images.

  Any new insights?” Lien asked at dinner. It had been over a week since her return from Singapore, and Tuan had spent hours going through the data.

  “Actually, yes. But you aren’t going to like it.”

  Lien stopped eating. She hadn’t expected a real answer.

  “I think the viral DNA doesn’t code for moths at all,” Tuan said. “It’s just tagging our own genes.”

  “What do you mean?” Lien asked. The assumption that the viral DNA coded for the moths had seemed like a given.

  “Well, ninety percent of the genes found in a fruit fly are also found in a human. I would imagine a moth is similar. The viral DNA doesn’t need to create a moth from scratch. It just needs to activate our own genes in the right order.”

  Lien thought about that for a moment. Tuan was right. Theoretically a human cell had the potential to generate all sorts of earlier evolutionary creatures.

  “So our own genes are being used against us,” she said, stabbing a chopstick into her wonton.

  “Exactly,” said Tuan. “It’s like a good computer virus. You use the system’s own code against itself.”

  15 October 1889

  Nepal

  The sunlit snow is painfully bright, and Nyima has warned me I must squint when outside, to prevent blindness. Being trapped indoors has left me restless. I pass the long afternoons teaching Nyima to read and write. She loves learning new “sound pictures” and shows keen aptitude. Yesterday I caught her tracing her name in the snow with a stick … as well as the name Pratik. She continues to assure me the two are only friends. But I have seen the way they look at each other. It is a pity they are unable to wed.

  27 June 2056

  NIMPE Kunming Virus Report

  Team A: Genealogy

  Siblings and children of Kunming casualties within Viet Nam have been identified. These individuals are believed to have a 99.8% probability of eventual moth infection. Individuals have been notified and discouraged from having children until more is known.

  Team B: Detection

  There is speculation that infected individuals secrete unique pheromones which increase sexual attraction between individuals carrying different strains of the virus. If so, these pheromones may provide an alternate method for diagnosing which viral strains an individual carries.

  Team C: Suppression

  The drug Tryptofluorizine has successfully slowed the growth of Kunming larvae in trial runs. More research is needed to identify potential side effects in the host animal.

  Team D: Activation

  All known victims of the virus have been between the ages of 24 and 28. Current hypothesis is the virus activates when natural aging has reduced the telomeres to a specific length.

  Even in her sleep, Lien’s brain was analyzing the Kunming virus. Frustrated, she sat up, gently moving Bao off her leg. Maybe if she read something it would clear her mind. Tuan rolled over. He had been restless all night. Eventually he climbed out of bed and checked the thermostat.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “My head feels like an angry puffer fish is trapped inside.”

  Bao rolled onto his stomach, then pushed to a sitting position. He gazed at his parents through bleary eyes. Then he flopped once again onto Lien’s legs and immediately fell back asleep. Tuan grinned and walked into the bathroom. Lien heard him fill a glass of water. She could see his face reflected in the mirror. He spit into the sink.

  “Quỷ nhỏ!” he said. Something about his tone filled Lien’s stomach with ice. After sliding Bao off her legs, she hurried to the bathroom. In the sink, crawling in spittle and blood, was a small worm.

  Lien hurried across the NIMPE lab room. She opened a cabinet door, pulled out bottles, and tossed them to the floor. Her shaking hands knocked over some test tubes. Finally, she found the antiparasitic medications. These were the strongest they had.

  Tuan was sitting on the floor, with eyes closed. Bao had crawled over to a low cupboard and was trying to open it. The skin on Tuan’s arms and face was developing red bumps. It looked like a nasty case of the measles. This thing moves fast. His skin had been clear when he woke up an hour ago. She poured a handful of pills into her hand, twice the usual dosage.

  “We’ll start with Albendazole,” she said, handing the pills to Tuan. “And some Tryptofluorizine.”

  Tuan put the pills in his mouth. Lien filled a glass beaker in the sink and handed it to him. She grabbed a plastic bin and started throwing a variety of medications inside. When she was satisfied she had what she needed, she turned back to Tuan.

  “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  20 December 1889

  Nepal

  The days are short and cold, and I long for spring. Sometimes winter storms prevent me from leaving my hut for days at a time. When this happens, my dear goat Anna is my only companion. When the weather permits, I walk to the Pokhrel family home. They have been teaching me to weave. My first project is lumpy, and the pattern devoid of even the most basic symmetry. But the blanket will keep me warm regardless of how ugly it is. I made the mistake of trying to include both yellow and blue in my design, which I should have realized would bring Mara’s wrath. Unfortunately, the error was not noticed for some time, and I was forced to unpick hours of work.

  Yesterday, I passed Nyima’s courtyard, and was surprised to see Pratik emerging from the ground floor, where large animals are kept. I tried to speak to him, but he said he was in a hurry. Several times he glanced back, a guilty expression on his face. I worried at first that he had stolen something, and had just decided to find Nyima, when she emerged from the same door as Pratik. She was surprised to see me, and seemed nervous. When I asked if everything was all right, she said she had just been feeding the goats. She is not a very good liar.

  28 June 2056

  Viet Nam

  Lien filled the cup with crushed ice and walked back to Tuan’s hospital room.

  “Thank you,” he said, reaching out clumsily to take it. After dumping some ice chips into his mouth, he laid back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Lien snapped a quick photo and compared it with one she had taken on arrival. She was relieved to see the red pock marks didn’t seem to be getting any worse. Maybe the antiparasitics were working. Maybe the trick was just to catch it in time.

  Then she noticed a trickle of blood coming from his left ear. She reached for a tissue. As she bent to wipe it away, she saw a small white worm climbing out of his ear canal. Without thinking she reached for it with the tissue, pulled it away from her husband’s face, and crushed it between her fingers. This isn’t happening, she thought, as she sat back in her chair and started to cry.

  Lien studied Tuan’s medical scans as the do
ctor briefed her.

  “As far as I know, this is the first time anyone has managed to pause the infestation midstream,” the doctor said. “Usually there has been so much damage from the larvae …” he paused, looking at her awkwardly before continuing, “… from the larvae feeding on the host that we know very little about the initial phases.”

  Lien nodded. “They estimate there are only four hours between initial symptoms and death.” She tried to speak calmly, but a slight tremble in her voice gave her away.

  “The drugs you are giving your husband seem to have slowed the progression of the parasites considerably,” the doctor continued.

  Lien waited for the “but.”

  “But the damage to his body is so widespread I think his chances of survival are small.”

  As Lien flipped through the MRI scans she understood what the doctor meant. His body looked like it had thousands of tiny tumors spread throughout every organ system. The doctor pointed to one of the white spots.

  “These moth embryos are small. But there are so many of them spread inside such important organs that his body won’t be able to function for long. His major organs are already shutting down. And in spite of the medications, new embryos are continuing to form.”

  Lien dropped the images on the desk. She was a leading expert on the Kunming moth. If anyone could save Tuan, it was her. But the doctor was right, her husband was a dead man, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  People’s Daily Newspaper (China)

  29 June 2056

  National People’s Congress Passes

  the Protective Lineage Act

  The People’s Congress responded decisively to the Kunming epidemic last night by passing a bill aimed at preventing the further spread of this disease. The bill includes mandatory abortions for unborn children of High Probability Infected (HPI) citizens and recommends abortions for Moderate Probability Infected (MPI) couples. These categories are based on genetic proximity to known victims.

  General Secretary Yang Shangkun has issued a plea for “all the people to unite against this powerful enemy that threatens the purity of our children.” A website and hotline have been created for citizens to report suspected cases of the Kunming virus, as well as to report violations of the Protective Lineage Act. “We must put aside our individual dreams,” General Yang declared, “in order to protect the future dreams of the human family.”

  Lien watched as Bao tottered haphazardly toward her across the hospital tile. His grin was terribly out of sync with the dark heaviness she felt inside. He tumbled roughly to the ground, smacked his forehead, and started to cry. She knew she was supposed to walk over and comfort him. But she stayed in her chair near Tuan’s bed feeling strangely disconnected from it all.

  She had tried everything she could think of for Tuan. And for a brief time she had thought that maybe, just maybe, it had been enough. But it wasn’t. She felt powerless. She liked to believe that she lived in a world where knowledge and skill could protect you. If you just knew enough, if you just worked hard enough, you could be safe. But it wasn’t true. Not when your own DNA was programmed to destroy you.

  Bao’s cries finally pulled her from her thoughts. He had rolled onto his back and seemed confused by her indifference. As Lien looked at her son, she was suddenly filled with anger. No. It was more than anger. Hatred. For a moment, she didn’t see her child at all, but rather the disease inside every cell of his tiny body. The ravenous parasites that would devour everything she loved. As she stared at him she felt disgust. She wanted to shout at him to be quiet. To flee from the hospital, and everything it represented, and never come back.

  But as quickly as the strange emotions had formed, they melted away, replaced by a burning shame. How could I think that? She glanced toward the door nervously, afraid some passer-by could somehow hear her terrible thoughts. Then she rushed to Bao and lifted his thrashing body from the floor. She stroked his back, his face, his arms. He wasn’t disgusting. He was precious. He was all she had left. After he had calmed, she looked at the clock on the wall. The nurse would be here soon. “Time to say goodbye to daddy,” she whispered in Bao’s ear, turning them both to face the still form on the bed.

  Ten minutes later, Lien watched as the nurse injected Tuan’s IV line with a stimulant to cut through the heavy pain meds in his system. As the doctor had predicted, Tuan’s major organ systems had continued to shut down. His kidneys and liver were hit the hardest, turning his skin an unnatural shade. Lien knew the stimulant would only buy her a few minutes, and the strain on his heart might even shorten what time he had left. But she had begged the doctors to rouse him. She needed him awake and alert. She needed the closure of an official goodbye.

  Bao was sitting on her knees, gripping the rail of the bed. He peered down at the man in the bed. Lien didn’t think he recognized his own father. After a moment, she reached down and shook Tuan’s shoulder gently. She said his name several times, getting increasingly louder with each repetition. Eventually, his eyes opened.

  Now that the time had come, she didn’t know what to say. “Hello,” she finally said. “I brought Bao to say … hello.” She knew Tuan would notice the pause.

  Tuan looked up at her. “So it’s that bad,” he said. She nodded. He lifted his hand and stroked Bao’s arm with his finger. “I’m sorry.”

  Lien felt genuinely surprised. “Sorry? For what? None of this is your fault.”

  Tuan rested his arm back on the bed. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you,” he said. “And I’m sorry that Bao is … because of me Bao is …”

  Lien didn’t want him to finish that sentence. She was afraid that saying it out loud would make it real. So she finished it for him. “Because of you, Bao is the most adorable baby on Earth.”

  Tuan smiled. “I think he gets that from his mother.” Then his face got serious. “Lien. I don’t want to die. Ever, really. But certainly not like this. So do something for me, okay?”

  Lien felt her eyes tearing up, but she fought it as best she could. She reached for his hand. “Of course.”

  “Figure this thing out,” he said.

  Lien nodded. And she meant it.

  PART III

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  Updated: 2057/01/12

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  Why didn’t I think of that? Lien thought sarcastically as she read the ad. If Tuan had only drunk more peppermint tea he’d still be alive. People believed what they wanted to believe. And right now, they wanted to believe the Kunming nightmare could be avoided. She reached for the mango shake on her coffee table without taking her eyes off the screen, lifted the straw to her mouth, and was surprised to find the cup empty. She had no memory of finishing it. Even with the buzz from the powdered betel nut, she was reaching her limit.

  In the six months since Tuan’s death, Lien had become obsessed with identifying the historic source of the virus. Her hope was that victim genealogies would lead to a common source, a ground zero. But so far, she had found no pattern at all. There were family lines tracing back to every populated continent in every possible direction. Rather than zooming in on an obvious historic source, the genealogies revealed thousands of possible infection vectors to explore. It was time to admit defeat. This approach was a dead end.

  Most of the institute’s funding was being pushed in other directions, the global race for a cure fueling a variety of clinical trials designed to prevent the virus from triggering, or remove it from the genome through genetic therapy. Lien didn’t think they would succeed. Not any time soon. The virus was too complex, spr
eading and branching throughout the natural DNA like an enormous oak tree. It made HIV look like an acorn by comparison, and that had taken more than 40 years to cure.

  If she could just figure out where it had come from, how it all began, maybe it would help. The institute humored her. After all she had done already, after what had happened to her husband, no one dared to tell her no. But she was working solo. That was fine with her. These days she liked to be alone.

  The biggest problem she had encountered was the fact that viral carriers display no outward symptoms. Digging through historic records it was impossible to identify which people carried the virus, or which strands they had.

  If only there was an obvious sign, something that could be traced. She closed her eyes, and let her thoughts drift along the random eddies that precede sleep. Soon she was thinking of Tuan, remembering how they had met, how they had worked together. She saw him in the lab that day, pushing her through the door to protect her, not knowing it was pointless. That he was already a dead man, long before the moth bit him. She remembered the rats being carried away in their cages. The Chinese had been so careful to take every scrap of research with them. But they hadn’t known they were leaving the virus behind. It was already airborne, infecting the other rats in the main holding cage.

  Lien’s eyes snapped open. The rats in the main tank had become sick when exposed to the airborne virus. If the first generation of exposed humans had responded the same way, then maybe she could find evidence of it in historic records.

  When a moth bit you, your body would only replicate the virus and become contagious if you didn’t carry any of the strands yet. This meant that moth bites and the “flu” they generated were only a threat to 2% of the current population. But the first generation would have been virus free. That meant everyone would have been susceptible to the disease. And the symptoms displayed by the infected rats had been unique: seizures, comas, a few deaths. Surely an epidemic like that would have left a trail.