6 May 1890
Nepal
It is hard to believe that in three days I will be leaving this valley forever. The village held a feast tonight in my honor, and bestowed a variety of gifts. I accepted each gift with a sincere thank you, having learned long ago that refusing is a strong insult. I had gifts of my own to give, various knickknacks from Austria.
I tried to give Nyima my book on Buddhist customs. It is far beyond her current reading level, but I thought she would enjoy the many illustrations. However, she grew angry and threw it to the ground. She shouted that she hated me. I have never seen Nyima this upset before, and am unsure whether she is angry that I am leaving, or if there is some other factor at work. Hopefully we can make things good again before I depart. Later in the evening I saw her arguing heatedly with Pratik. Perhaps he is the true target of her anger.
While I am curious whether my companions successfully reached Lhasa, I no longer feel the jealousy I once did. I feel I have experienced the otherness in a way I never dreamed possible. This valley has become a part of me. And I hope that in some small way I too have left my footprint.
National Geographic
January 2057
Survival of the Furthest:
Which Gene Pools Have Dodged the Kunming Catastrophe?
An estimated 10,000 babies are born each day with the full Kunming virus, and as many as 50 million individuals may already be infected. Are any populations immune to this crisis? The answer is yes. Descendants of historically isolated groups, such as the Kalahari Saan, the Andaman Sentinelese, and the Amazon Yanomami may have reason to celebrate.…
12 January 2057
Viet Nam
Lien took a short break to read through her news feed while boiling water for pho. After slurping down the noodles, she returned to her research on global epidemics of the twentieth century. Some of them surprised her. The bubonic plague had hit San Francisco in 1900 and then jumped to China. And I always associated the Black Death with the Middle Ages and Europe. There were less exotic entries on the list. Influenza. Ebola. Zika. But none of these fit the symptom profile she was looking for.
She narrowed her search, putting in the key words “coma and seizures.” She was pleased to see this shortened the list of possibilities significantly. Near the top of the page one blurb caught her eye.
Encephalitis lethargica: commonly referred to as the “sleepy sickness.” Symptoms include high fever, sore throat, head pain, disturbed vision. In severe instances, the patient may become comatose and experience Parkinson-like tremors. Fatal in one out of three cases. Cause unknown.
That is almost a perfect description of the original rats that we exposed to the moths. Lien felt excited now. This was the first major lead she had had in weeks. She clicked the link to read more.
Encephalitis lethargica is estimated to have killed over five million people worldwide between the years of 1915–1926. It swept the globe rapidly, and then disappeared. The cause was never identified, but it is believed to have started in Austria. Because of its historic proximity to the much more deadly Spanish Influenza (1918), the encephalitis lethargica pandemic is often overlooked by historians.
Lien felt a surge of triumph. This is it! This is really it. She did a few mental calculations. The article stated that five million people had died and the disease had a one-in-three mortality rate. That meant there were fifteen million cases worldwide. Her own experience with infected rats had shown that only a tenth of them developed any symptoms at all. That meant the actual infection value was closer to 150 million. Lien quickly looked up the world population in 1920. If she was right, then this virus had entered the gene pool over 130 years ago by infecting 8% of the world’s population. Something had happened in Austria in 1915. And Lien was going to figure out what it was.
8 May 1890
Nepal
I can’t stop my hands from shaking. So many emotions are swirling inside. Rage. Fear. Guilt. What have I done? And what can I do to repair it? I need time to think. But my escorts are leaving in the morning, and so I must decide now.
This afternoon I noticed a crowd gathering near the large juniper tree. Their angry voices carried on the wind. As I drew closer, I saw a small figure huddled in front of the well, concealing her face with a shawl. An elderly woman spat on the girl and shouted. “You bring Mara to us all.” Several men were holding stones. I scanned the crowd desperately for Nyima, needing someone to explain. But I couldn’t see her anywhere. In that moment, I knew.
Ha Noi > Craigslist > Community > Groups
3 February 2057:
Kunming Support Network
Monthly Dinner / Coffee Group
Have you or someone you loved tested LC-8 for the Kunming virus? Know that you are not alone. Come draw on each other’s strengths and counsel with people that know exactly what you are going through. We meet on the first Saturday of each month. All are welcome.
Lien walked slowly down the narrow alleys that snaked between high-rise apartments. Above her head, dozens of long bamboo poles loaded with laundry extended from windowsills. The city was preparing for Tet Nguyen Dan. Bao clung tightly to her pointer finger, toddling alongside. Her other arm was slung with bulging bags in preparation for tomorrow’s festivities. Bao eyed the bright-red decorations with fascination, and several strangers smiled and wished them luck for the new year.
When they reached their apartment building she hoisted Bao to her hip and started up the stairs. He was getting so big. She couldn’t believe he would be turning two tomorrow. And she would be turning twenty-eight. Twenty-eight and a widow.
Shaking herself from the unhappy thoughts, she kissed Bao on the cheek.
“At least you won’t be an orphan,” she said.
Her own pheromone profile had come back LC-6, meaning she carried only six of the eight Kunming strands. She felt sympathy for the millions worldwide that were getting back LC-8 results. Tuan’s death had been hard enough. Lien thought that knowing in advance would have only made it worse.
Lien let Bao push the doorbell. “Only once,” she reminded him.
Her mother opened the door and took Bao, who was eager to cuddle with bà ngoai. Lien carried her bags into the kitchen and started pulling out fruit.
“How was it?” her mom asked.
“Depressing,” Lien answered truthfully. Her mom had insisted she try the group at least once. But she wasn’t ready to talk about Tuan with strangers yet. Lien felt glad her mom didn’t ask any follow-up questions.
Bao started jabbering something indecipherable. Her mom nodded and gave a vague response. “Oh my! Really?” Bao seemed delighted by the attention. He had been spending a lot of time with his grandma since Tuan died. Sometimes Lien felt jealous of their relationship. Lien was the mean one that made him brush his teeth and eat his vegetables. Grandma, on the other hand, was his best friend.
Lien knew it was partly her own fault. She had become obsessive about her work, ignoring Bao as she sifted through data. The answer always seemed to dangle just out of reach. If she spent five more minutes she would find it. But five minutes often turned into five hours. And she was no closer to a solution than before.
Lien felt torn in two directions. She wanted to be with Bao, to take him to the park and eat mangos. But every time she looked at him she saw them. Thousands of tiny, ravenous larvae just waiting to come out. And the clock was ticking. She couldn’t stop until she knew he was safe.
Her mother walked into the kitchen. Bao trailed behind, like a baby duckling.
“Let me help you peel the nhan,” she said.
She placed Bao in his booster seat and handed him some watermelon, then sat and reached for a knife.
“Did you hear about San Francisco?” her mom asked.
Lien nodded. “Cults are crazy.”
Her mom sighed. “Forty-seven Kunming carriers
? Fifteen of them children? It’s one of the biggest mass suicides since Heaven’s Gate.”
Lien was just about to change the subject when her pocket chimed. She rinsed her sticky hands, then pulled up the text. It was from an old school friend that now worked in Germany.
You were right. I found something interesting.
The text came with some attachments. It was a blurry copy of some death certificates from Austria, as well as some rather unusual autopsy reports.
8 May 1890
Nepal
Nyima’s mother tried to calm me. She said it was for the first father to decide, and he was a very kind man. But I was not comforted. The village elder was clearly upset, as were many others. In spite of her words, Nyima’s mother seemed worried as well.
I asked her what Nyima had done. At first she gave a vague answer, saying only that Nyima had angered Mara. But I continued to press, and she told me Nyima had planted a forbidden seed inside of her. She was with child, a cursed child that needed to be destroyed. Nyima’s father must decide now whether to kill Nyima and the child together, or wait until birth and kill only the baby.
And so a group of grown men were standing with stones, while a helpless girl cowered in fear and shame. I have tried to withhold judgments during my stay here. I have tried to see the world from inside this culture’s eyes and accept it as it is. But seeing Nyima trembling on the ground, surrounded by angry men, something inside me snapped.
Forwarded 3 Feb 2057 to [email protected]
Translation of Death Certificates:
Date: 12 November 1915
Place: Klosterneuburg, Austria
Name: Nyima Giri
Gender: Female
Age: 52
Birth Place: Nepal
Cause of Death: Strangulation
Coroner’s Note: Appears to have committed suicide by hanging. The proximity to her daughter’s body suggests she may have been involved in her daughter’s death or else traumatized by its discovery.
Date: 12 November 1915
Place: Klosterneuburg, Austria
Name: Kshyama Giri
Gender: Female
Age: 25
Birth Place: Melk, Austria
Cause of Death: Unknown.
Coroner’s Note: By the time the body was discovered it had been severely damaged by insects. Neighbors claim to have seen Kshyama only two days before her body was discovered. I have never known insects to appear so quickly or consume so completely.
Lien studied the date on the death certificates. November 1915. It was only a few months later that Austrian neurologist Constantin von Economo encountered the first known cases of encephalitis lethargica. This was definitely a piece of the puzzle.
The first victim was a female from Nepal. But what was she doing in Austria? Lien jotted down the names: Nyima and Kshyama Giri. After six months of searching she had finally found Patient Zero.
8 May 1890
Nepal
I pushed my way angrily through the crowd and picked Nyima up. She seemed so small in my arms. I didn’t say anything. Just stood there, glaring at the crowd. Nyima grabbed the front of my coat and buried her face against me, sobbing.
“Please. Take me with you,” she begged. “Take me far away where Mara cannot find me.”
Catholic Digest
5 April 2057
“A Virus Changes Nothing”
by Edward Rowley
Last week’s riots in Frankfurt show how ethically complex this situation has become. After the “Kunming Report” was released by the W.H.O., many people are wondering what the next step will be. Should DNA profiling be mandatory? Will it be public record? Developments in the Chinese Confederacy fuel fears that the USA may adopt a similar “No Tolerance” policy. China’s heavy-handed attempts to “purify the human bloodline” remind many of the tragic mistakes in our own history. And yet, doing nothing seems equally distasteful. Moderates in Washington are currently pushing for a “Full Disclosure Act,” which would require all marriage partners to share viral profiles so that parenting choices are fully informed. Extremists clamor that it isn’t enough. They believe the government should “actively prevent” infected births. The Catholic Church has already publicly taken a stance against extreme measures, declaring firmly, “All human lives are sacred. A virus changes nothing.”
Lien slipped her arm slowly out from under Bao and placed a pillow to prevent him from rolling off the bed. Since Tuan’s death he had refused to fall asleep without being held.
She walked into the living room and opened the large manila envelope that had finally arrived. It had taken her eight weeks to track down the contents of this envelope. First she had found Nyima Giri’s immigration records to Austria, as well as Kshyama Giri’s birth records. Both documents mentioned the same name: Alfons von Waldstein.
More digging had turned up a variety of interesting facts. Apparently he had crossed northern India on a failed excursion to Tibet, and had returned a year later with a pregnant girl. He denied being the father, but financially supported both the mother and child until he was killed in a hunting accident in 1912.
Lien was fairly confident the child, Kshyama Giri, was the first victim of the virus. And so she had been delighted to discover that Waldstein had kept meticulous travel journals that had been donated to a museum near Vienna. The museum had scanned the pages for historic preservation, and they were happy to give her electronic access. Lien had immediately sent the file out for translation into Viet. And now she held paper copies of both the scanned originals and the Viet translations. It was a thick stack.
Flipping first through the originals, she admired the tall looping handwriting. She could tell by the dates that he had written in the journal daily. Lien prayed the answers she sought were somewhere in those entries. She reached for the translation and started to read.
As the story of Alfons, Nyima, and Pratik unfolded it filled her with a growing sense of dread. She knew how this story ended—one hundred and sixty years later people would start dying. Nine-tenths of the world would carry Mara’s curse within their DNA. And so Lien watched each inevitable choice building toward catastrophe.
She reached the scene at the well. Nyima clinging to Alfons, begging for the life of her unborn child. Lien knew what Alfons was going to do next, not just because she had seen the immigration records, but because Alfons was a good man. And that irony somehow made it that much worse. The world had been doomed over a hundred years ago, not by hatred or anger, but by compassion.
Lien screamed at Alfons to leave it be, just let the child die. If she could somehow go there, back to where this had all started, she would pick up the first stone herself. And she would throw it. She would hate herself for it, but one death would save them all. Bao. Tuan. Peder. An infected world. Yes. She would throw that stone if she could, and the realization made her sick inside. With an empty sense of despair, she came to the end of an entry.
“I will take Nyima with me. I will take her child far away from Mara’s cursed valley and give it a chance to live free of fear’s dark shadow.”
As she finished the passage, Lien felt a dark knot in her heart. Nyima had not left Mara’s shadow behind. She had carried it with her to Austria. Carried it safely within her womb. And now the shadow had spread across the entire world.
Lien was pulled from her melancholy by Bao crying in the other room. She stood, surprised to find light coming through the curtains. When she reached him, a sharp wave of hopelessness hit her. She slid to the floor beside the bed, hugging her knees tightly against her chest. There were no tears. She was past that. Now there was only a heavy blackness pushing her down. Alfons’s journals had been her last hope. But there was nothing in them that was even remotely helpful. The valley where the disease originated had no magical cure. Their methods of dealing with the infection were comic
ally close to what the world was using now. Selective breeding. There was nothing in that journal that could help Bao.
For a moment she wondered if the cult in California hadn’t had the right idea. What child would want to grow up knowing they were a ticking bomb? That one day their body would devour itself? Maybe it would be more merciful to …
And that was the thought that snapped her out of it. That was absolutely ridiculous. When your child was diagnosed with leukemia you didn’t kill them, you kept fighting and hoping until the end. And that was exactly what she would do.
21 April 2057
Stanford University Delays End of Semester Finals to Help Grieving Students
Stanford announced yesterday that end of semester finals will be delayed “indefinitely” as students work through the emotional fallout of campuswide pheromone testing. Working in conjunction with the US Health Department, students were encouraged to take advantage of free pheromone screenings and received their results last week. Many are having a hard time processing it. “This age group is especially susceptible,” says Waiola Akintola, a psychology professor at Stanford. “Many are in their midtwenties. An LC-8 profile of self or friends feels like a death sentence. Profiles of LC-6 or LC-7 severely limit who a person can safely have children with. Not knowing how far off a potential cure is, these students are being forced to face some very harsh realities.”
Lien signed off on the lab report for the young man and handed it back to him. She motioned for him to take a seat. In the two weeks since obtaining Alfons’s journal entries, neither she nor anyone else had found any breakthroughs in the text. While it was nice to know the historic source of the virus, it did nothing to provide a solution to the current global catastrophe. She had decided the next best avenue was to join the team studying how the transformation initiated.
A facility in Brazil had isolated the Kunming Transformation Steroid (KTS). It only took one cell in the body with shortened telomeres to trigger the transformation. As soon as that cell started pumping out KTS, neighboring cells responded by producing more KTS and soon it flooded the body.
L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future 34 Page 22