He figured he’d never be considered some kind of hero or savior. He knew history would view him as a mass murderer. That’s probably how the Habers would see him.
When he was ready to face them all, he got up. There was a shift in the underlying feeling on board the ship, an undercurrent of anxiety. Markos could feel it in his cabin, isolated from the others, separated by passageways and bulkheads. The crew knew something was wrong, and they knew better than to verbalize their fears. But he could almost smell the upset.
He walked deliberately through the wide passageways, heading for the bridge.
He passed Wilhelm along the way.
“Hey,” Wilhelm said. “You all right?”
“No,” Markos said, and he kept walking. He listened for Wilhelm’s footsteps, but he didn’t hear him move. He walked down the ramp onto the bridge and saw the planet as a disk, Epsilon Scorpio a larger disk in the distance. His men were sitting at their controls, checking the ship’s status every few moments.
“Are we ready to go?” Markos asked.
De Sola wheeled around, surprised by Markos’s appearance. “We can be in a few minutes.”
“Good. We’re leaving.”
“For where?” Jackson asked.
“I’ll let you know, Jackson. Give me a few seconds.”
“Sure,” Jackson said. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
McGowen sat in the weapons chair.
“Make sure all your weapons are ready to fire. Understand?”
McGowen flashed red.
“Engines are powered,” Jackson said.
Straka appeared in the doorway and walked down the ramp. “What’s going on?”
No one responded.
“Lay in a course for Pi Hydra.”
“Why?” Straka asked.
“Later. McGowen, train your heavy weapons on this planet’s surface.”
McGowen’s half-Haber face registered the shock as he realized what Markos had in mind. Markos saw it, acknowledged it, and felt sorry for him. “Locked in?”
McGowen flashed red.
“Jackson, get ready to get us out of here. No need to risk being hit by exploding debris.”
Jackson looked at him, dumbfounded.
“You heard me,” Markos said.
Jackson entered the power requirements to the interface. “Ready.”
“You can’t do this, Markos,” Straka said.
“Why not? It’s the only solution.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I’ll explain later. Fire, McGowen.”
“With all due respect, Markos, I can’t. Not until you explain.”
“I’ll throw the switches myself,” Markos said, moving toward the command chair.
“Wait.” It was the Old One.
“Wilhelm told me, me something was wrong. What is going on?”
“Stay out of this, Old One. You wouldn’t understand,” Markos said.
“I, I would understand, Markos, and I, I will,” he said with force. His eyes emitted blinding light, and Markos’s grip on the arms of the command chair loosened.
“Shut down the systems,” the Old One said to the crew. “And then meet me, me in the rec area. There is much to discuss.”
They followed the Old One willingly enough—as soon as Markos had moved away from the switches that could activate the weapon systems. No one questioned the control the Old One had exhibited, and no one questioned Markos’s obedience.
They were silent, some sitting on the deck, some sitting in chairs. Straka’s watch, those who had heard Kominski’s laughter on lasing down the line of Hydrans, had talked little since then. There was a strangeness in the air, as if Markos were on trial, and the crew were the jurors, deliberating on a verdict without knowing the crime or hearing the evidence. Each felt that something was required of him, and yet none knew what it was.
Markos knew that this feeling had been created by the Old One.
“Is it really necessary to destroy the planet, Markos?” the Old One asked.
Markos said nothing.
“Are there no alternatives?”
Markos stared at the stress patterns in the metal plates of the deck.
“You owe us all an explanation. We cannot be party to such mass destruction,” the Old One said. “We have not lost the ability to reason. Please explain it to us so that we, too, can understand what must be done.”
“Please, Markos,” Straka said.
There was no pleading in her tone, no whining, no demand. Just a little more of a request, strengthening the Old One’s request. Markos looked at Straka; he expected her to look away for some reason, as if she shared in his guilt. She continued to look at him.
“I’ll tell you,” Markos said, “and you’ll want to give up. You won’t like what you hear.”
He waited then, giving each of them time to decide, but their expressions remained neutral. They were waiting for him to get it out in the open.
“Okay,” he said. “The problem is genetic. We’re not really at war,” he said. “There is no war.”
“What?” Jackson asked.
“They expand by instinct. They don’t think of it in terms of conflict. Which means there’s no way of communicating with them, much less negotiating. So we have to wipe them out. All of them. They don’t understand what it is they’re doing. To them this expansionism is life.”
“But it’s wrong,” Straka said.
“No,” Markos said. “I only wish it were. It’s not wrong because there’s no morality there. To them what they’re doing is morally correct. It’s just living life.”
The Old One seemed to shrink a little under that piece of information. He sat down on the deck and stared at a spot directly before him.
“So what are we supposed to do? Run around the Galaxy and blast every Hydran we run into?” Jackson asked.
Markos said nothing.
“You can’t be serious,” McGowen said.
“You’re nuts,” Jackson said. But Markos could tell from his voice, from the colors in his eyes that Jackson didn’t think he was at all insane. Jackson was just trying to negate the awful truth.
“There has to be another answer,” Straka said.
Markos looked at him incredulously. Of all people, Straka should have known better. “Why?” he asked. “There doesn’t have to be another answer.”
“There does.”
“Why?” Markos asked.
“Because this one is totally unacceptable,” Straka said.
The crew mumbled their agreement.
“Fine,” Markos said. “I’m all for another answer. You think I like this? You think I have the stomach for mass murder?”
No one said anything for a few long moments.
“We have to face this,” Markos said. “If we don’t, they’ll find us. We can run—we can run for a long time, but understand this: Sooner or later it’s going to be them or us. There’s no peace making, no negotiation.”
Straka shook her head violently. “I can’t believe that. There’s got to be another way out of this. If we all talk it through, we’re bound to come up with something better. We can’t just go around slaughtering them.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said. “But you’ve all got to realize that until they’re dead, every last one of them, no other race will be safe. Once their second wave of expansion starts, they’ll spread like a cancer and take over every planet worth inhabiting.”
“That’ll take millennia,” Straka said.
“Sure. Let’s say it takes billions of years. What’s the difference? You still don’t get it. It’s a genetic problem.”
Straka froze, her eyes suddenly lit with green, scintillating, dancing.
“What, Cathy? What is it?” Markos asked.
“You said it yourself—it’s a genetic problem. We have to find a genetic solution,” she said.
His body went into shock as he realized the truth of what he’d almo
st done to a planet, almost done to an entire civilization, twisted though it was.
He opened his mouth to tell Straka that she was right, that he’d been wrong, that if a genetic solution could be found, the answer could be lived with by all. He sat there, though, the thoughts of what he’d almost done paralyzing him.
The crew looked at Markos and saw the answer in his face.
They had found an alternative.
It had taken two days, with the Old One helping, Straka searching alongside Markos as they had done in the old days aboard the Paladin before the change. They found the molecule that, when properly introduced into the Hydran genetic molecule, would block their expansionist instinct. Then they developed a tiny virus whose waste products were this blocking molecule. The virus had a unique behavior pattern: In all but the reproductive cells, the virus replicated itself quickly enough to make it highly contagious, but within the reproductive system, it united with the genetic molecule. This meant that the first generation born after infection would be less expansionist.
Markos was withdrawn and moody throughout their search. He went through the motions of Haber life, but he had lost some spark and drive. Straka figured he’d lost it on the bridge, giving McGowen the order to fire. She worked hard at trying to draw Markos out of his shell as they worked side by side, but she knew there were limits. Markos had withdrawn to some little island of safety inside his mind.
“Maybe this isn’t the answer,” Markos said, watching the chemical interactions take place through Terran instruments with his changed eyes.
“It’s the answer, all right,” Straka said.
“How can you be sure?”
“Desperation,” she said.
Markos looked at her, and she couldn’t even begin to unravel the emotions that played through Markos’s eyes.
They brought the answer to the crew. They showed the group the vial that contained the virus they had made and explained how it worked. “It multiplies at an enormous rate. It should spread itself across a planet in a year or two. It attacks the Hydrans on a genetic level. The waste products it produces are the chemicals needed for blocking the ‘overbreeding’ instincts.” Markos said the words without emotion in his gravelly voice.
“We’ll try it out on our prisoner to see if there are any side effects. I doubt there will be,” Markos added.
The Old One stood by, the silent observer once again.
Straka had never been able to get a grip on what went on inside the Old One’s mind. She wondered what he was doing there with a half-Terran crew. Markos had told her about how they’d met in the Gandji village, how the Old One had arranged for Markos’s flight from Gandji, how he’d befriended him, but none of that really helped her understand that strange Haber way of thinking.
“Markatens, we’ll need your help,” Straka said.
Markatens rose to his feet.
Markos said, “Release the Hydran from the paralysis. The rest of you line the bulkheads with your lasetubes drawn, ready to fire should the Hydran try anything stupid.”
They followed Markos, Straka, and the Old One from the rec room to the lab. With lasetubes in hands they formed a large circle. Markatens approached the creature, touched its body, and slowly released its joints. He stepped back quickly, joining the others in the circle.
The Hydran emitted a strong odor.
“Fear,” Markos said. “Be careful.”
But Straka knew the creature had intelligence enough to recognize the futility in trying to escape or overpower them. She watched as it slowly rose from the table, awkwardly getting its three legs over the side, placing its feet on the deck. It moved with a grace that was both beautiful and horrifying. With each motion it made, Straka flashed back to the chase, to lasing those two Hydrans in the back, seeing those alien bodies topple to the ground as if in slow motion. She saw the neatly sliced-up Hydran lying on the ground beside this one, the line of unknowing Hydrans being lased down one after the other, presenting themselves in a mockery of many friendly Habers.
The Hydran stood on its own, exuding a different scent, radiating a quiet composure that was unsettling.
“Don’t worry,” Markos said. “It’s curious, but not afraid anymore.”
“That makes one of us,” Straka mumbled.
Markos approached it with the vial.
The scent changed as Markos approached. He immediately took a step back. The scent shifted slightly.
“Just throw the vial on him,” Straka said. “Unstop it and let it fly.”
“Yes,” the Old One said. “There is no reason to approach it and risk yourself. We still need you.”
Markos looked at the Old One, and Straka caught his expression. It was similar to the one she’d seen a few moments before, just as inscrutable, just as distressing.
Markos took a step forward. The smell returned.
“Markos?” Straka said.
“What?” Markos said, his eyes on the Hydran.
“Don’t bother. If you want to commit suicide, there are cleaner ways to do it. Besides, I won’t let that creature take one step toward you. I’ll lase it down before it gets close. Now, just throw the vial.”
“I hear you, Straka.” He removed the top of the vial, aimed it for the creature’s torso, and then flung it at him. Markos retreated quickly. The Hydran’s body immediately defended itself by closing its breathing holes and all the other controllable pores.
Straka knew the Hydran’s actions were in vain. It might take the virus a second longer to work its way into the Hydran’s system, but it would find its way nonetheless. The smell of fear returned, the one she’d grown to recognize on the planet when she’d towered over the supine Hydran lying beside its dead companion.
Its eyes were dull like pieces of black coal. The Hydran swept its head from side to side, waiting for the Habers to engage in a life-or-death struggle. Straka was sure it felt it could beat them all, one by one. It was waiting for them to make the first move.
After a few silent moments the airholes opened on its body and Straka knew the virus would soon be doing its work.
“Be careful now,” she said to the others. “It might do anything at this point. There’s no telling if there’ll be violent reactions.”
They waited.
Straka was on edge, knowing from firsthand experience how quickly they could move. Markos stood by her side, taking a ragged breath every few minutes. No one in the circle seemed to be bored or to let his attention fade. They all understood the importance of what they were doing, and Straka was glad for that. She knew the crew members of her watch were being extra careful after their runins on the planet. They knew what tenacious fighters the Hydrans were. At least their children.
“How much time has passed?” Straka asked.
“Enough,” Markos said. “The virus should be in its system, doing its damage.”
“It works that quickly?” Wilhelm asked.
“Yes,” Markos said. “We made the virus. It’s the way we planned it.”
Straka sat in the command chair watching the Hydran-occupied planet suspended in the viewscreens. She wished Markos were here in the chair instead of her. But Markos had insisted on being allowed to return the young Hydran to the planet’s surface.
They had eased themselves out of the lab, leaving two crew members behind to guard the Hydran. After an hour they had flushed the lab’s air, pumped fresh air in, and waited a few minutes before testing the new air. Once they’d run a quick analysis on the air, they found it had been adequately contaminated with the virus. The virus would thrive on any organism, one of a million such viruses in every organism, invisible, benign to its host—as long as its host wasn’t Hydran.
“Ready to disengage,” Markos’s voice came over the intercom.
Straka touched the communication button. “Fine. Have a safe trip, and keep communications open.”
“Right.”
Straka’s watch sat in their chairs. “Do you think we should follow in H-
three? Just in case?” Wilhelm asked.
“There’s no need,” Straka said. “They’re not going to fight. Just to deliver a little present.”
“The Hydran,” Wilhelm said.
“The very contaminated Hydran,” Straka said.
H-1, the ship Markos was piloting, appeared in the screens as it hurtled toward the planet. It should only take a few hours, Straka thought, to change every living Hydran on the face of the planet. It sure beats the hell out of dosing their sun with heavy radiation or dosing their atmosphere. Or even blowing up the ball of rock they’re existing and breeding on.
H-l came back on schedule, with the crew safe. They had deposited the Hydran on the planet in the same general area where it had been captured. Even if the Hydrans killed the infected one, they would all be infected. Even if the infected one never found its way back to its settlement, the Hydrans would be infected.
The Habers had found a path to peace.
25
Markos had docked H-l and immediately called a meeting in the rec room. He knew their best shot was to dose the atmosphere of the oldest Hydran outposts and colonies with the virus. But he’d be damned if he’d make that decision on his own.
He remembered all too well what had happened when he’d tried it the last time a big decision needed to be made.
They needed to stop the second wave of expansion. And yet he knew that sooner or later they would also have to travel directly to Pi Hydra and meet the Hydrans on their own ground, to stop the root of the expansionist waves. If they didn’t, they’d be fighting a losing battle. For every outpost Markos and the crew nullified, the Hydrans would start up two more.
Markos explained this to the crew, waited while they talked among themselves, and listened to all the positive and negative points. Making a decision like this might take longer, but points would be brought up that he never would have seen on his own. He figured that for once he had done the right thing by not shouldering the entire responsibility himself. And the crew seemed to appreciate the chance to decide their own fate.
They talked and argued, discussed and gestured wildly, and at last came to an agreement. The plan was unanimous. They would travel directly to the home base in the Pi Hydra system and stop them at their point of origin. At maximum speed, attainable only in tau, the trip would take a little more than two months.
The Eternal Enemy Page 25