Yocto

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  Still stunned and scared, Karen said, “Sure.” But there was something in her background that she wished she could share with Harshal, and was about the concept that everything would be all right. Because Karen did not believe in “everything was going to be all right.”

  These colleagues on the ISS, the men she knew in the Space program and just people in general, were all caught up in their own little worlds. She wore no ring, so they assumed she was single and available. It never dawned on any of them to think that she might be a lesbian, or widowed, or hell, even just a person who was married but didn’t like rings. People saw in her what they wanted to see and most of the time it was wrong. She put out a positive vibe, so there was no way they could have possibly known that tragedy followed her like a bad friend, one that she just wanted to be rid of, but could never lose.

  When she was a child, some person she knew passed away nearly every single year of her life growing up. She even had a set of funeral clothes. She thought it was the norm until one day in college she was talking to a friend whose grandmother had passed. It was the first time the girl had lost someone in her entire life. That got Karen to thinking about just how many people she knew who had passed. The number turned out to be eighteen.

  The day she turned nineteen, her father died. It was just a week after that cognitive moment of realization that a tragic coincidence was occurring in her life. Up until her thirty-first birthday, the phenomena occurred without cessation; but then a whole year nearly passed without another incident.

  She assumed deep inside that her Space Station trip was going to be the end of her (and her shipmates) lives, but she was not going to back down. If that was how she was going to go, she’d make her peace with it.

  Their flight up went without incident, the chain broken. The rocket did not explode, no old high school friend died of a heart attack right before the launch or some cousin killed in a robbery. The event time passed uneventfully and for the first time in her memory a calendar year passed without a death. She was marking off days on her calendar when the first pigs died in China. She did not know any of the pigs, so she didn’t relate this to her being the Harbinger of Death.

  But now this—a mass extinction actually starting on her birthday and if any of her colleagues knew she was this superstitious, there’d be no way they would respect her. Somehow, deep in the recesses of her heart, Karen Bascom knew that as long as she was alive, then the Earth’s fate was doomed, just as most of her waking life had been. This was beyond science and Karen was sure she was a dreamcatcher for all that was dark in the universe.

  Harshal looked at her, but did not ask what she was thinking. Instead he said, “We must wake the others.”

  * * *

  The Situation Room was a hotbed with nearly every agency and military branch that Walter could think of being represented—and they were looking to him for answers. There were so many things to consider, and a lesser man might have been intimidated walking into the room, but not Walter Kessel. He walked in with an air of a man who knew what he was doing and it reassured the room to see him so unflappable. He took his seat at the head of the table and signaled the Duty officer of the National Security Counsels Watch Team that he was ready to receive the Russian President’s call.

  The audience had grown considerably, as this call was scheduled and anticipated. President Walter Kessel answered the line once he was signaled it was connected.

  The Hotline was a line of communication left over from the days of the Cold War, days when this line could stave off global annihilation. Most people had assumed the Cold War was over, but Walter knew the truth; and the truth was that the two countries had been able to annihilate each other within minutes for the last fifty years. It was why this line still existed, why it was never mothballed—and in fact had been upgraded to allow direct contact rather than the old relay through the Pentagon method of old.

  “This is Walter Kessel speaking.”

  The voice on the other end was cool again, void of a dialect. The last time they spoke, Grigory’s accent started to come out when the passion did. “Hello, Mr. President.” Then the man corrected himself, “I’m sorry, I mean, Walter; I hope you and your family are well.”

  Walter Kessel cleared his voice, “As I do, Sir, and as well as can be expected under the circumstances, Grigory.”

  The Russian President replied, “Circumstances, yes . . .” Then he trailed off in a way that Walter did not like. “Walter, my circumstances have changed a great deal since we last spoke. I am under a great deal of pressure right now.”

  Annoyed at the indirectness of the Russian leader, but slowly coming to understand the why, Walter sensed his Russian counterpart was trying to signal him in as sly a way as possible that more was underfoot here than was apparent on the surface. Then the diplomat in him realized what was going on. Since no one had come up with answers as to the origins of this madness, his people must be telling him that this was all a long-range plan of America to take out a few enemies.

  Walter Kessel was pretty sure he knew who was listening on their end of these calls, and he was sure several old hardliners were present with gas cans in each hand, fueling the fires of war. Walter also knew that this was how such men reacted to the unknown, with the saber instead of their reason.

  “Grigory, we are both under a great deal of pressure from our advisors about trusting one another, as the old ways die hard; but this situation is unprecedented. We have no time to waste with ridiculous long-range theories about this being some kind of an attack from either of us.” Before the Russian President could protest that statement, U.S. President Kessel continued, “Don’t bother denying it, Grigory, as my people are saying the same things to me. I am telling you man-to-man, President-to-President, and father-to-father, that my country had nothing to do with these attacks. We also were heavily victimized. And if this new situation spreads to the world’s beef supply, then, Sir, we both need to find our new common enemy in a hurry.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, as obviously there was a lot of commotion and rearrangement on their end of things. It was fairly evident that this communication was designed to ferret out some kind of confirmation, like somehow in the midst of this call they would garner the proper piece of damning evidence against the United States.

  “Walter, we’re at just as much a loss as are you. We are in disbelief that this is some sort of natural occurrence, but what is bothering us most is the apparent strategic planning of these events. The Chinese situation nearly lead to a border skirmish between our two nations, and now, Pakistan and India are doing the same deadly dance. So far, there seems to be a geo-political reason as to where the epicenter has been located.”

  Walter Kessel’s advisors were also pointing out to him something else, something that led to a most disturbing potential reality. Russia had many weapons that could reach the shores of the United States; and if the situation in India went pandemic, then Russia, as with the rest of the world, would be in big trouble food-wise. Walter’s people were telling him that it would not be prudent to let a country capable of destroying the world many times over go hungry. This was the time he was instructed by these advisors to use concessions. “Grigory, if this goes the way of the China situation, then I want you to know that strategic grain reserves will be immediately made available to your country.”

  Grasping the reality of that statement, the President of Russia thanked his new ally in the U.S. President. Walter moved on, “Grigory, my people are suggesting we open up scientific channels between us. Let our people work with your people to see if we can’t solve this together, just like we did in 1965.”

  Again, there was a long pause before the Russian leader spoke, but Walter was betting that reminding them that their two countries had once before gotten together to stop Pakistan and India from killing each other long enough to sign the Tashkent Declaration would carry weight, and he was right. “Yes Walter, we have agreed that it is necessary—an
ything that could give us an edge in battling this.”

  The two leaders agreed that they would re-communicate in twenty-four hours, unless world circumstances dictated otherwise. China was also discussed, as both leaders had tried to communicate with them since the initial incident, but the Chinese Government had gone incommunicado, sending vibes that resonated of days long forgotten, days when the economic ties of their two countries were not as imperative as they were now. Yet despite those economic ties, the country America obviously feared the most was on the other end of the line, as it were with the Russians.

  As Russian President Grigory Yeshevsky was disengaging from the call, he was grateful that a true diplomat was in charge over in the United States; otherwise the subtleties in the language of diplomacy would not have been picked up, subtleties that easily could have been overlooked. If that had happened and the communication went all wrong, it could have led to an escalation in tensions between the two superpowers, and that could have led anywhere. That was a problem that Grigory did not need right now, as the problems he had were big enough . . .

  * * *

  Jack Zarifis looked out over the landscape of I-5 in the middle of California’s Central Valley. Jack inwardly loathed anyone who didn’t know at least something about this valley, as it was a valley that happened to be bigger than a few states. It was basically four hundred and fifty miles of land one could cultivate. Of course, California was a drought state, and right now, most likely thanks to global warming, they were in one heck of a drought. All of the people who didn’t care to know about the Central Valley were the same ones eating from its bounty on a daily basis.

  Jack knew it was said that, “knowledge was power,” but honestly, right now, he thought of another saying that he wished he could be part of, and that was “ignorance is bliss.” So many people just go through life letting others make every decision about their existence, never having to carry the weight or the burden of knowledge. Even though Jack admitted that knowledge was power, he also knew it was a heavy encumbrance. It was not lost on Jack that if every cow were to also disappear, that a heavier load than ever would be placed on a region that hadn’t had sufficient rain in three years. All in a state where not one person had the foresight nor wherewithal to build a system of desalination plants dedicated to nothing but growing the food that could keep them all alive. Jack sometimes wished he had chosen politics as a career path, as someone had to make these necessary things happen.

  Harper Cattle Ranch was the closest large herd to them from Modesto and as soon as the news from India broke, David Ho had a team report down there immediately. This time they would be prepared, including having several animals hooked up with portable pulse oximeters, heart rate monitors, and thermometers. They also had enough cameras to film a Hollywood movie. So surely they would soon have a much clearer picture of what was going on.

  David was acting on a personal theory as well. He told Jack that if this happened again, they would extract blood from an animal while the blood was still warm. David speculated to Jack that maybe the invading virus was designed either by nature or man to not be able to survive even seconds without a live, warm host. Jack thought that a reasonable theory, and as good as any he’d heard of so far.

  David didn’t have an assistant and although he took Jack out to Stockton with him, it was happenstance, as he also did not play favorites with his team. Everyone had a role, and David’s was to be the oil that kept the parts moving.

  As they pulled into Harper Ranch, Jack wished he didn’t feel the way he felt, but he had to admit, even with all the competent people they had on the team, there was a pall over the day. Everyone had this sense of foreboding that was palpable. They tried to hide it, albeit unsuccessfully. It was there and it frightened Jack to the very depths of his being.

  * * *

  Manish Choudhry waited in the truck line for a maddening amount of time. It was always slow crossing the Wagah border into Pakistan, but today was the worst wait he could remember. His truck, loaded with textiles, was going to overheat soon; he’d kept it idling for too long, trying to get all the air conditioning he could. Traffic was literally not moving at all and he was still a good two miles from the border. Something must have happened ahead, probably a bad accident.

  Way up ahead, like a mirage, Manish could see movement at the very edge of his horizon on the Grand Trunk Road, which led into Pakistan in a straight line from his position—not one turn. As he adjusted his vision, he could definitely make out movement coming his way. But it wasn’t car movement per say; it looked more like a cluster of something. Manish had not been listening to the news and missed the story about a massive cattle die-off just happening within the borders of his country. Therefore, it was quite confusing when he focused and realized that the cluster was a swarm of people—thousands of people—and they were all running his way. Why?

  * * *

  The Wagah border crossing had become quite the show at sundown. Every evening at dusk the border guards from both sides put on an elaborate ritual of closing the borders, what with their uniforms in full plumage and their exaggerated marching techniques that look quite inflammatory, together with both aggressive gestures and yelling at times. It had become known as the Beating Retreat Ceremony, and locals on both sides would come out to watch the exhibition, which at times seemed to be overshadowed by the menace on the Pakistani side. It appeared that India was into the pageantry of the scene, and Pakistan was into the opportunity to march loud, yell loud, and be a frightening presence living just on the other side of the fence.

  Trying to quell the Pakistanis from taking the ceremony to a point of aggression, the Indian side started using women to try calm things down. The Pakistanis met them only part way, as the ceremony meant something different to them as it did to India. Regardless, thumbs that used to point and meant aggression were tucked in, menacing looks were toned down, and so on.

  Things had been going smoothly as of late, although after three wars, both sides understood peace was tenuous. That’s why it was with much concern that at midday, Indian Border Guard, Abhayananda Badal, witnessed a whole division of Pakistani troops rush in wearing full battle gear and close the border in a matter of seconds, with no fanfare whatsoever.

  It was nearly a certainty that another war was going to start when two tanks appeared. Abhayananda saw them being offloaded from of a flatbed hauler. Whoever was on the wrong side of the fence was staying there until this situation was resolved. Then he looked at all the cars he had backed up on his side and realized it was the same over here. It all happened so fast that it left Abhayananda wondering, what happened?

  Then it accelerated faster than he could react. Simultaneously, he received word from his command that a cow die-off similar to the one that took the world’s pigs had started in his country, while at the same time, some Indian truck driver on the Pakistani side decided that he was not going to allow them to keep him, so he ran around the guards and headed for the border gate. The roar of the machine gun cutting him down thundered through the area, ensuring that everyone understood that this was no new version of the Beating Retreat Ceremony—this was for real.

  The pandemonium was immediate, but it was not terrifying to Abhayananda; it was an outrage. Although his guard did not load their INSAS assault rifles to do their ceremony, the ammo was readily available . . . and by now Abhayananda already had his loaded. He also saw who killed his countryman in cold blood, a man he now had in his rifle sight. The people in line to leave India were fleeing their vehicles and running away from the border as fast as they could. Others might be distracted by the cacophony, but not Abhayananda.

  Abhayananda had perfect vision, and he could see the man who had killed his countryman inwardly smiling at the chaos he’d created on someone else’s orders. It was with no joy that Abhayananda took the man’s life with a three shot burst. He knew this action would further complicate any ceasefire from coming anytime soon, but he did not fear fighting, if that
is what the Pakistanis wanted.

  The response was immediate, and within seconds, several dead lay on both sides of the border gate. All the menacing, all the grandstanding and challenging had finally lead to confrontation, and as Abhayananda was securing a better position than the guard facility that was now under heavy fire, he remembered the news that had hit him before the shooting started: all of India’s cows were dying . . .

  * * *

  When one gazed down from Space onto one of the most hotly contested borders in the world, there was no mistaking that one was looking onto an area that meant something. The apparent plan was for it to look like daytime at night along the entire length of the Indian-Pakistani border. Karen thought about it, and the irony was not lost on her that if those two countries were to otherwise utilize those energy resources, then they would both be way better off.

  It had been an hour since Harshal had retired to his room and stopped communicating with them. Karen had subsequently given up and gone to Cupola after completing her scientific duties. With all the drama at times, it was easy to forget that they were up here for a lot of very important experiments, experiments that other people’s money had funded. So in Karen’s humble opinion, the last thing in the world she should ever do is appear like she weren’t completely vested in the job at hand. Otherwise, this would be her first and only trip into Space.

  Karen, like her other shipmates, had been monitoring the news fervently, waiting like the rest of the world for the leaders of India and Pakistan to come to their collective senses. The news agencies were reporting that there was a mass exodus of people along the borders of both countries, which coincided with the leaders of both countries using rhetoric that had escalated to the point of discussing nuclear options.