Mavericks (Expeditionary Force Book 6)

by Craig Alanson

  “Riiiiiiiiiight. Because you are so good at being patient. When, if, I am able to share my galaxy-spanning knowledge of physics, what are you hoping for?”

  “Oh, uh,” now I was embarrassed, but I had to ask. “You know, you help us build our own starships. Bad-ass warships, not like this piece of crap we’re flying.”

  “What?” He chuckled. No, he snickered, that’s a better way of describing it. “No, Joe, we will not be doing any science-fiction shit like that. I told you before, just bringing Earth’s industrial infrastructure up to the point where humans can build the machines, just to build the machines we need to build other machines to begin constructing a single starship, will take well over a hundred years, if nothing goes wrong.”

  “Ayuh, and I told you humanity doesn’t have any other appointments over the next couple hundred years. We should get started, pronto.”

  “Ugh. Joe, you can forget any nonsense about a single planet of monkeys building a warfleet to take on the whole freakin’ galaxy.”

  “Listen, Skippy, I know the hostile aliens out there have thousands-”

  “Hundreds of thousands, Joe. The Maxolhx coalition alone could easily mobilize thirty thousand warships to throw against Earth, and they would not be straining their resources.”

  “That’s a lot of ships, sure. But we don’t need to take the fight to the enemy. All we need to have is a defense strong enough that the enemy doesn’t want to pay the price of hitting us. With your help, your knowledge of Elder-level technology, couldn’t we build a strong defense in say, a couple hundred years? Assuming we can keep nosy aliens away from Earth that long?”

  “Uh huh, uh huh, that is all a great fantasy, Joey. Except for the teensy weensy little fact that you do not have even a hundred years to get started. The clock is ticking down to Doomsday, no matter what you do.”

  “Like I said, assume we can keep aliens from coming to Earth. We’ve been doing a pretty good job at keeping them away so far.” As I said that, I mentally pictured karma chuckling as it got ready to bite me on the ass.

  “The problem is not simply aliens flying to Earth. The problem, Joe, is the speed of light.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Speed. Of. Light. You dumdum.”

  “I got the dumdum part. What does the speed of li-Ohhhhh shit.”

  “Wow, that time I actually saw the 40 watt bulb of understanding light up in your head. It’s a dim bulb, barely visible, like if it was buried under thirty feet of mud and-”

  “You’re saying light from Earth is radiating outward, and no matter what we do, that light will be seen out in the galaxy? The problem is radio waves?”

  “Correct. You monkeys could not resist blabbing your mouths off after we, or actually I, destroyed the Kristang who were enslaving your planet. Your news programs broadcast reports and images of the Flying Dutchman in orbit, and Kristang sites getting blown up all over your planet. Even without radio and TV signals, the gamma ray bursts of us jumping in and out, and from when I jumped that Kristang frigate into your sun, are going to be visible and will be considered highly suspicious.”

  “Crap. Ok, so those radio and TV waves and gamma rays will be detected by some hostile alien’s telescope or sensor platform. Give me the bad news, how close is the nearest alien listening post or telescope or whatever?”

  “The closest such sensor platform to Earth is two hundred ninety four lightyears.”

  “Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Damn, Skippy, you got me into a panic for nothing. We have almost three hundred, no, wait. It’s been a couple years since the Dutchman first jumped into Earth orbit, so-”

  “Signals traveling from Earth are not the problem, dumdum,” Skippy chided me more gently than he usually did when I said something stupid.

  “No? Then what-” Most of the time, my brain was annoyingly slow, just like Skippy said. This time, however, I got it right away. “Oh, shit. The problem isn’t gamma rays coming from Earth. The problem is gamma rays every time you reopen that wormhole that is supposed to be dormant.”

  “Egg-zactly, Joe, very good! That time I was not belittling your intelligence, you caught on quickly. Hmmm, maybe being around me has smartened you up a bit. Yes, that Elder wormhole is supposed to be shut down, but we have used it three times since then. Outbound and return on our second mission. Plus outbound on this current mission that has lasted way longer than anyone expected. We will be using that wormhole again to get back to Earth, and outbound for our next mission. Whenever we use that mostly-dormant wormhole, I open it in a location far away from its original programmed pattern. But someone is going to notice gamma rays coming from a wormhole that is supposed to be inactive. They are going to notice multiple gamma rays events, at odd intervals, and that is going to look very suspicious.”

  “Tell me the bad news, Skippy. How close is an alien sensor platform to the far end of that wormhole?”

  “Sixty two lightyears, Joe. That is why I have been telling you we do not have time to enhance Earth’s infrastructure and build a bodaciously awesome war fleet, or a Death Star or something stupid like that.”

  “We only have sixty two years?”

  “Less than sixty years, since the first time we used that wormhole after I shut it down. Those gamma rays have been radiating outward, and there is nothing we can do to stop them.”

  In sixty years, human technology had gone from the first powered flight by the Wright brothers to jet airliners. Could we- “Wait! How about this: we fly out to this alien sensor platform,” in my mind, I pictured a single satellite hanging in space all by itself. “And you hack into it and tell it to ignore those gamma rays?”

  “Uh, no, Joe. There is not ‘a’ sensor platform. Sixty two lightyears from the far end of that wormhole is a Thuranin planet with a fleet servicing base. Even if the ships there have their entire sensor suite powered down for maintenance, there are hundreds of other sensors in orbit and on the surface that could pick up those gamma rays.”

  “Ok, but-”

  “But, you are thinking the magic of Skippy could hack into every system on and around that planet, right? Fuggetaboutit. Joe, there have been multiple gamma ray events, because we used that wormhole multiple times. Sensor systems get regular updates, so I would need to keep going back there to hack in, every time a gamma ray burst is about to pass through that system. Expanding a bubble outward from that wormhole, there is another inhabited star system sixty five lightyears away, two systems that are seventy lightyears away, and if you go out to an eighty lightyear radius, there are fourteen star systems that could detect those gamma rays. It is just not practical to conceal all those gamma rays from enemy eyes, Joe. I am sorry.”

  “Well, shit. What could we accomplish in sixty years, if we tried really hard?”

  “Uh, hmmm. You could make a really big white flag that says ‘We surrender’?”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “You could also do a lot of praying, and, hey! Maybe you could bake a cake for the aliens who come to invade and obliterate your homeworld. It would have to be a really nice cake.”

  “Not funny, Skippy.”

  “There is absolutely nothing amusing about the situation, Joe. I also do not see any way out of this mess. But, I’m not worried about it.”

  “You are not worried about it? That is a rotten thing to say, Skippy. Just because you are not personally in danger, we-”

  “Joe, I am not worried about it, because I am sure you monkeys will think of something. You are quite clever.”

  “Oh.” I was ashamed of myself for thinking Skippy was heartless about the prospect of my home world being blown up. “Thanks for the vote of-”

  “If not, you are totally screwed. Like, every starfaring species in the galaxy descending on your planet and tearing the place apart. Then probably nuking it until it is a radioactive cinder. Although, that’s probably the best-case scenario.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit, indeed.”

  “Damn i
t! You’re telling me all the work we’ve done out here, stopping aliens from sending ships to Earth, has been for nothing?”

  “Not nothing, Joe. We have been buying time. Come on, Joe, nothing lasts forever. Giving the people of Earth another sixty years of pleasantly blissful ignorance is a worthy goal. Just think of how many people will fall in love over the next sixty years, how many people will achieve their life goals, how much happiness the population of Earth can experience in sixty years.”

  “I had not thought of it that way, Skippy. I guess buying time is worth our effort.”

  “Yup. Before, you know, Earth inevitably becomes a lifeless ball of dust.”

  “Skippy, if I ever ask you to cheer me up, please remind me of this conversation.”

  “Oh, no problemo, Joe. Glad we had this little talk, if it makes you feel better about the inevitable extinction of your species. See? I am totally nailing this empathy shit.”

  I had been hoping I could tell UNEF Command that the whole scary year of agony we had gone through with Skippy’s fight with the worm was worth it, because the new improved Skippy could share advanced technology with us, and Earth could build a bad-ass war fleet to protect us from an entire galaxy of hostile aliens. Instead, I would be telling them that humanity not only didn’t have time to build a single starship of our own, our entire species had less than sixty years to live.

  Maybe I better order a super nice fruit basket to soften the blow, when I deliver that steaming pile of news.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Skippy had warned me that just identifying the elements of the pathogen, and how precisely it sneakily used human DNA to create itself and replicate, could take a while. Like, possibly weeks in meatsack time, if he could do it at all. He needed to not only find the weapon’s components in the blood and tissues of infected people, he needed to match them to the data recovered by the Mavericks, then run exhaustive tests to make sure the pathogen had not already mutated beyond recognition. If it had mutated substantially, he would need to start over. He did not sound optimistic, even when I told him the Merry Band of Pirates were all-in on trusting the awesomeness this time. “Bioweapons are not my wheelhouse, Joe,” he had grumbled irritably after the first set of samples were placed into the lab we set up in a corner of the docking bay. “And the medical equipment aboard this secondhand Frankenship is not the best to work with. Be patient.”

  Thus, I was rather depressed about the possibility we would not find a cure, and therefore the human population of Paradise would continue to be at high risk. When we jumped away, we targeted to be within two lighthours of a Ruhar communications relay station, within its line-of-sight narrowcasting cone pointed toward Paradise. Skippy was able to monitor message traffic dropped off by passing starships, and from encrypted traffic we knew the Ruhar federal government was coming under increasing pressure to ‘do something’ about the risk posed by humans on Paradise. Most of that pressure was, ironically, not coming from Paradise, but from other Ruhar worlds who feared an infection spreading to them. All ship traffic to and from the Paradise system was embargoed, nothing in and nothing out. Of the hamsters on Paradise clamoring for extreme action to be taken to remove the human threat, most were recent arrivals. A great majority of long-time inhabitants, even those who lived through UNEF’s brief and bumbling occupation, were against any attempt to relieve the threat by killing all the humans, although no one argued against a strictly-enforced quarantine.

  The Ruhar had appealed to the Jeraptha, who agreed to examine the data taken from Camp Alpha. Regrettably, the Jeraptha announced that type of bioweapon was unknown to them, and their research could not proceed far without samples of the actual pathogen. The patron species of the Ruhar also warned that, according to their preliminary studies, the pathogen was a very, very clever bioweapon, as it could plausibly be a natural mutation of human DNA. An unlikely mutation, but difficult to prove as a violation of The Rules. The beetles assured the Ruhar they had mentioned the incident to the Rindhalu, who responded that they would investigate the incident if there was an actual outbreak on Paradise, and even in that case, the next meeting of the Rindhalu council to launch an investigation would not be for another three and a half years. Any actual investigation would not begin for another five to eight years, after a proper time for deliberation. Those who knew the Rindhalu well were amazed and impressed the spiders were acting so quickly, a sign the senior species was taking the bioweapon threat seriously.

  Anyway, I mention all that to demonstrate that we basically were on our own in trying to find a cure and vaccine for the deadly pathogen. The Ruhar lacked the technology and understanding to even identify the pathogen’s base components in an infected human or Ruhar. The beetles were treating the incident as an unexpected and exciting opportunity to wager on how many intelligent beings would die on Paradise. No, that was unfair of me to say that. Of course the Jeraptha could not resist such juicy action, and they promised to help enforce the embargo around Paradise and hunt for a Kristang ship, but the recent attacks by the Bosphuraq had caught the beetles off-guard and they were scrambling to redeploy their fleet. And the all-powerful ancient Rindhalu? Well, they might consider considering the problem, if it became an actual problem. The Rindhalu could never be described as a hasty species. Ents moved faster. So do glaciers.

  Knowing all that, you can understand why I was not sleeping well, and why I was mostly awake and tossing and turning in my bunk at 0123 Hours when Skippy’s avatar shimmered to life above my chest. “Joe! Joe!”

  “Gaaa! What the hell, Skippy?” I sputtered with a dry mouth.

  “I have good new- Oooooh, wow, you do not look so good right when you wake up. I mean, you are a monkey so I know not to expect much, but day-umn, dude.”

  “Yeah, I’m real concerned about how I look at zero dark thirty. What is it?”

  “Joe, seriously, you should reconsider rejecting that sexbot, I should say, companion I built for you. She wouldn’t mind how you look in the wee hours of the morning, I can’t imagine a real human woman not being totally horrified by-”

  “That bot was an it, not a she, Skippy. Please, tell me your good news, or I am throwing a pillow over my head and going back to sleep.”

  “Ok, Ok. Damn, this is the thanks I get for being your wingman-”

  “Skippy!”

  “Fine. The good news is I have created what I believe is a cure for the pathogen. And vaccines not only for humans, but for Ruhar also.”

  “Holy shit.” I sat bolt upright in bed, so of course I whacked my head. With news that good, I ignore the pain. “You said it could take weeks, maybe months, if it could be done at all.”

  “Joe, I underestimated my own magnificence.”

  “Uh huh, right. Did you pull a Scotty on us?”

  “A Scotty?” He asked innocently, with his voice just a touch too innocent.

  “Yeah, like, you say that fixing the warp engines will take six hours and a miracle, and you have the job done in thirty minutes?”

  “Oh, ha ha,” snickered. “That’s a good one, I’ll have to remember that. No, I did not do that, Joe. Truly, if anything, I understated the difficulty of the effort. When I first examined the pathogen components, the subroutine I assigned to the task wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. It was, as you New Englanders would say, wicked hahd.”

  “Ok, so what changed?”

  “I decided that approaching the task as a biological problem was not going to lead me anywhere. So, I looked at human DNA as an information storage and processing system.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Joe, DNA is not just a bunch of colored balls connected by sticks like in your high school science lab. It is a powerful chemical-based data storage system, quite efficient for its size. It is also a handy factory for churning out organic chemicals, which is how the Kristang were able to use modified DNA to create the prion base components. The cure I have created is pure genius, even I am amazed by my awesomeness this time. This cure not
only prevents the infected person’s DNA from replicating more of the base components, it acts as a monitoring and repair mechanism for DNA, to prevent harmful mutations. To a limited extent, of course, if a person gets a bad dose of radiation, their DNA will be damaged beyond any self-repair capability my cure can provide.”

  “Excellent! Outstanding! And a vaccine, too?”

  “As you would say, ‘Ayuh’.” It did not sound right when Skippy said it, but I didn’t protest. “The cure and the vaccine are the same mechanism. Well, mostly. The vaccine is part of the cure. The vaccine will prevent a person from becoming infected, and it can stop an infected person’s DNA from making more of the pathogen. The cure has a second element that latches onto one base component of the prion, so it can never assemble into anything dangerous. After a while, my guess is four to six months, the base components will dissolve on their own. The vaccine I developed for the Ruhar is much simpler, as the genetically-enhanced biology of that species has a vastly superior immune response. All my vaccine does is allow the Ruhar version of DNA to create sort of antibodies to identify the pathogen components, and the hamster immune system will take care of the rest.”

  “Skippy, this is truly awesome. When can you begin testing?”

  “I left a message for Sergeant Adams to schedule it for 0800 this morning, after the Keepers wake up.”

  “Oh, skuh-REW that. Hell, I’m up. We’re doing it now, if you have doses of the cure ready.”

  “I have been manufacturing the cure, within the hour I will have enough doses for four people. Are you sure about rousing people out of bed at this ungodly hour?” He asked cluelessly, after having roused me out of bed.

  “We have been away from Earth way too freakin’ long,” I did not mention a good part of that time was because of his battle with the worm. “And every minute that goes by, there could be a dangerous incident on Paradise that might put people, humans, there in danger. Some hamster kid gets the sniffles, the parents remember the kid came into contact with a human last month, and next thing you know there is a full-blown panic with frightened hamster civilians chasing humans with pitchforks and torches. Or hitting them with SD maser cannons from orbit. So, hell no, I am not waiting another six hours just so those Keeper assholes can get a couple more hours of sleep and a nice breakfast. I will call Adams, you get all your mad doctor stuff ready.”