Contamination Event (Short Story)

by Adam Wasserman

  “Look!” I pointed in astonishment at the ship.

  The fungus had grown back entirely. There wasn't a trace of the area we had laid bare just twenty hours previous.

  A new shade had appeared among the burgundy swirls. Thin, unmistakable trails of purplish blue arced away from the ship like star flares, reaching for the Biological Safety Zone.

  Dalia took a few samples and we headed back to base.

  For a little while at least, we forgot about the beach. Dalia spent the afternoon in her laboratory, a corner of the Biological Safety Zone crammed with beakers, cookers, and box-shaped analytical devices. The rest of us spent time in suspension, cleaning, and resting. The scout down by the coast sent back a vid feed, but we waited for Dalia before watching it.

  “Another breakthrough!” Dalia announced, smiling broadly, as she signed off on her report. “I think I'm finally beginning to wrap my head around these organisms.”

  The newest samples exhibited an important behavior that had been mysteriously absent in her previous work. “I've found cells that use the hydrogen sulfide in the air for energy!”

  “Don't purple sulfur bacteria do the same on Earth?” I asked.

  “Yes. And guess what else I found? This sample has a slightly different genetic makeup! Almost identical, but certainly distinct.” She swallowed hard.

  “You're talking about two different organisms,” Esther pointed out.

  “That's right. Until now we've assumed the fungus was singular. But there might be several varieties out there.”

  Sergei had sat silently, listening intently, but suddenly he perked up. “Slightly different genetic makeup?” he repeated slowly. “And you found it in the vicinity of their ship?”

  Dalia nodded. “I know what you're thinking. But there were no traces left of terran microbes. We checked.”

  She glanced over at me as if for support, and I nodded.

  “All it takes is one.”

  “You said it yourself, Sergei. Terran bacteria couldn't survive in this surface pressure!”

  “That was a hunch. Anyway, don't you think the location is remarkable? It's likely the result of genetic mutation caused by terran microbes.”

  “You don't know that, Sergei.”

  “True, but it's a very reasonable suggestion.”

  Shortly after, Dalia approached Sergei and told him she thought it was good idea to inform Hornet. If there was in fact an ongoing contamination event, there were important protocols to be followed. I patched her through, she issued her report, and then I opened our communication channels. Someone in Hornet would now be observing us at all times.

  After that, our mood soured. We all knew that if Zarmina's ecosystem had indeed been compromised, it would be the first time since Mars. A scientific disaster on a planetary scale. Even though it wasn't our fault, we were still here when it happened.

  Watching the vid feed from the scout down by the coast didn't make us feel any better, even though there were some interesting details. The surf contained foam, for example. And tiny holes appeared in the sand when the water withdrew. They could have been caused by escaping gas, but they could also have been signs of life.

  To make matters worse, the next day we had to go out and rescue the newbies. Priya was stuck partway up a steep incline and couldn't be coaxed any further. Yong called us in a panic asking for help.

  This time, Sergei and Esther went. They took one of the cybers with them.

  While they were gone, I helped Dalia with some of her experiments. There wasn't much else for me to do. There would be no more scientific excursions.

  And we'd be leaving soon anyway. We'd already spent ten days on Zarmina's surface, and the doctors on Hornet had only given us two weeks.

  It wasn't long before Sergei and Esther returned. Sergei was the first to go through sterilization. As soon as he entered, we could tell he was upset.

  He explained to us that the cyber had used its crane to pluck the girl from safety without any trouble. But when Sergei and Esther wanted to use the opportunity to check up on the new strain of fungus, an argument broke out. Chan accused them of spying and no amount of explanation would change his mind. The argument only escalated when Sergei and Esther insisted on accompanying them back to their camp.

  “If we were anywhere else, I would have knocked him out,” Sergei remarked churlishly.

  I asked about the state of the new fungus.

  “It's spreading. The blue stretches half way towards base. It seems to be dominating, too. There are no traces of the burgundy variety in areas it's penetrated.”

  Sergei then went on to remark that the fungus seemed to be aware of them. “It only moves in our vicinity. There's no wind, all around it's quiet – except where we are.”

  “That's ridiculous,” Dalia scoffed. “First of all, my observations are exactly the opposite. It moves where we're not. Second, awareness implies neural functions. But this is a colony of single-celled organisms! There are no organs! There's no place for thought to develop!”

  By the time Esther joined us, a full-fledged argument had broken out here, too.

  Sergei accused Dalia of being myopic. “You are so enthralled by this single-celled theory of yours that you categorically dismiss contradictory evidence!”

  “These so-called observations of yours are the result of paranoia and emotional stress,” Dalia shot back.

  “Well, it's easy enough to determine if I'm right.”

  “Even if you are – the data just doesn't support the notion! There's no brain! What, do you think it has some sort of hive-mind?”

  Esther was able to calm them down. I, however, stayed out of it. It was becoming to clear to me that Dalia was right in at least one respect: we were buckling under the emotional burden of dealing with both the amateurs and the sure knowledge that the ecosystem of Zarmina had been irreparably tainted. It was certainly possible that Hornet – after all, they were listening in on all of this – would eventually decide to abort the mission.

  The next morning, we decided to call up the newcomers and try to smooth things over. After all, we still felt some responsibility towards them and bad relations would only make our tasks more difficult. But they refused to pick up. Nor did they take our call that evening.

  Now that the blue fungus had spread to the base of the stairwell, we had a source to work on without disturbing our neighbors. But when the following day there was still no answer, even Sergei became concerned. “They're amateurs,” he pointed out. “They could have gotten themselves into any kind of trouble.”

  We conferred with Hornet, and everyone agreed. We'd have to go check up on them.

  This time, three of us were going: myself, Sergei, and Esther. We each took a blaster.

  When we stepped outside, we immediately noticed the change. Swirls of blue spilled over the top of the staircase. We could see it slowly expanding like an ooze. And everywhere below us, the fungus was moving. Rising and falling in agitated ripples, it looked like a blue field of wheat disturbed by the wind from an advancing storm.

  The steps on the staircase were wide enough that we could still use it, but they were slippery. Once we got down, we kept tripping up on thick knots of fungus hidden down by the bedrock.

  Eventually, though, we came upon the newcomer's camp. And what a horrible sight it was.

  Mats of fungus pressed up against the outer lock as if trying to force their way through. Inside, the air was tinged with a light purple haze. Patches of what looked like mold had gathered on the transparent walls and furnishings. Among them, three forms could be seen lying motionless on the floor.

  We approached in a horrified fascination. Soon we could make out Yong, Priya, and Chan – or what was left of them. Clumps of purplish blue obscured their faces and arms. Fungus poured from their mouths. Through their tattered clothes, we could see that their chests had been cracked open. Undulating pads filled the cavities inside.

  We stopped about a meter away.

 
The fools! How could they have been so careless to let even one microbe inside?

  Suddenly, a tongue of fungus leaped from one of the carcasses and smacked against the transparent wall of the Biological Safety Zone – directly in front of my face.

  I screamed and leaped back.

  We ran.

  The fungus had come alive around us, heaving wildly. A wave as high as my thigh rolled by on my right.

  Sergei stumbled and almost fell, but I grabbed his arm and steadied him.

  The ground trembled beneath our feet, and a low rumble reached us. I looked past Sergei saw a mound of fungus rise up a full five meters above the roiling surface and bear down on Esther, who was lagging behind.

  I shouted and pointed, but before she could look it collapsed on top of her.

  The pile of fungus, shuddering sickeningly, sank down to the level of the rest of the muck. No trace of Esther was left behind.

  Sergei was in shock. His face was pale and his eyes stared emptily. “Come on!” I shouted, pulling on him.

  We struggled to cover the distance back to base. Fungus clawed at our legs as we fought our way through. When we got to the top of the stairs, our Biological Safety Zone came into view. The fungus had swept past the outer lock, but it was still unscathed.

  That's when the first of the reeds broke through the surface. I could immediately tell that these, too, had changed.

  Normally twisted, flimsy and fragile, they would bend at the slightest pressure. But not these. Straight and firm, they easily withstood the waves of fungus crashing into them. And they grew more rapidly, too.

  Fifty meters separated us from the outer lock.

  Another reed broke appeared ahead of us. That's when Sergei disengaged from me.

  Turning back, I saw there was a surprised look on his face. Then one of the reeds appeared inside his helmet. It crossed the space from the bottom of his visor, shuddered slightly, and popped out the top of his helmet.

  Sergei collapsed against the reed. I made a frantic dash for the safety of the Biological Safety Zone.

  Somehow, I made it to the outer lock.

  Inside, it was quieter. There were slight vibrations as the reeds accosted the underside of the Biological Safety Zone, but the structure held.

  I sat for a moment, catching my breath, and watched as Sergei's vacuum suit twitched and shuddered.

  What had just happened?

  I tried to reach Dalia through the comlink, but there was no answer. A sudden chill swept up my spine. Had the fungus breached our Biological Safety Zone, too?

  In hysterics, I stripped off my equipment and entered the sterilization chamber. Through the tiny window, I could see Dalia inside, crying uncontrollably. I was momentarily relieved. But she wouldn't answer my calls or even acknowledge my presence.

  As I stood in the gentle spray, I calmed myself and tried to take stock of the situation.

  The fungus had attacked us. And it had somehow breached the newcomers' Biological Safety Zone. But how? They must have been careless. One of them might have forgotten to give their equipment UV treatment. Or perhaps one of them had used the inner door while the outer lock was still open.

  There was a way to find out. The computer kept a log of these activities. Hornet could give us access.

  But Dalia had shut me in the sterilization chamber. The inner door was sealed, and there was no way I could get inside.

  I banged on the door, but she ignored me. She stood by the comm station. Maybe she was talking to Hornet, demanding an extraction.

  But Hornet wouldn't send anyone. Not only was there an ongoing contamination event, but there were fatalities now, too. This was why part of the protocol grants them access to our communication. No one could depend on people telling the truth in an emergency like this.

  They would wait and see if Dalia or myself had been infected before allowing either of us off the surface of Zarmina. Even then, we'd have to go into quarantine. For how long? A month? A year? It would depend on subsequent analysis of the alien life form, I supposed.

  I knew without even trying that they had disabled our ship. Not that there was any way we could get to it.

  My thoughts turned again to the bodies we had seen, chests cracked open and riddled with fungus.

  What if the fungus had indeed mutated? What if it had incorporated some of the genetic material from the terran microbes and now we were an adequate food source?

  It didn't matter, I told myself. It's just a stupid fungus.

  Or was it?

  What if Sergei was right and it was intelligent? What if it had figured out a way to get just a single spore inside a Biological Safety Zone?

  I thought of the ultraviolet treatment. It was designed to kill organisms like that. Air currents ensured that every surface was exposed to the harmful rays.

  But at any given time there were always places shielded from the treatment – the underside, for example, or deep folds. If a malign intelligence was guiding it, a spore could keep moving and remain in safety.

  Had we been infected, too?

  I looked through the window again and saw Dalia. She had pulled out a mirror and was examining her face.

  I knew what she was thinking. That splotch there, that slight blemish. Was it blue? Had it been there yesterday? The week before?

  I had to get her attention. There was no way to know if we'd been infected, but it would surely take more than a day to find out. And in that time I'd need food. And water.

  “Dalia!” I called and banged on the door insistently. “Open up!”

  But somehow I already knew that however long I banged she would never let me in.

  Thank You For Your

  Cooperation

  the Bunker Series, #1

  Welcome to the Bunker, an orderly, underground utopia where everyone's needs have been satisfied.

  As far back as he can remember, Terry Renfield has been digging up uranium ore in the mines and getting into the occasional drunken brawl. Until one daystretch on the Loyalty Stretch, he and the rest of the Bunker see someone who looks eerily like himself commit a heinous act of treason. Terry is fired on the spot.

  He turns to his girlfriend, Sally Xinhua, for help. Detained and then unexpectedly set free, Terry comes to realize that his misfortunes are no accident. His tiny, insular world shattered forever, he is determined not to be anyone's unwitting pawn – least of all his own.

  Sally pulls him into the orbit of more privileged citizens with security clearances – including Van Johnson, the host of Ten Things I Hate About Treason, and Felix Tubman, the head of Homeland Security. What follows is an unlikely adventure spanning the Bunker, the reaches of space, and the forbidding outside.

  Now the focus of a grand conspiracy to take down Control, the principal guiding force in the Bunker, Terry is ultimately faced with an identity crisis of epic proportions. Who is the real Terry Renfield? And what is it to actually be a specific person anyway?

  Gyges the Terrible

  Welcome to the United States of the not-so-distant future. Our Republic has given way to a new form of government, Freemocracy. The President rules virtually unopposed. Congress is a rubber-stamp institution, and society has fractured into the permanently privileged and the permanently working. The Supreme Court is the only alternate center of power, and the tension between the President, Samuel Judas Epstein, and the Chief Justice, Xiling, is set to boil over into open conflict.

  The Earth, too, has changed. The nation has become a patchwork of restricted areas, security screens, and military checkpoints. Water is tightly rationed. The world powers vie with each other for territory on the lunar surface. Although the mines there are incredibly expensive to operate, the moon has become the only source for most of the natural resources consumed by an ever more ravenous industrial complex.

  It is in this setting that a group of ordinary hooligans led by Marcellus Gyges storm the halls of empire. Possessed of a magic ring that confers the power of command, spurred on
by his friends, Marcellus is in a unique position to depose the President.

  At the same time, Marcellus is being tutored by his Guardian Angel. For it is the choices that we make in this life that determine what becomes of us in the next.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Adam Wasserman took to writing at a young age and has never given it up. He has authored a number of short stories and plays but prefers the longer format and deeper potential of the novel.

  Mr. Wasserman spends part of the year in Europe where he does most of his writing. During the spring and summer months, he can usually be found in Rhode Island. There, he attends numerous festivals and open markets – such as Providence ComiCon – where he enjoys engaging with readers. An avid swimmer, he also spends considerable time at the beach.

  Topics that interest him include ancient history, power, and the nature of being human.