Alien Infection

by Darrell Bain

  The urgency in my voice stopped him. “What is it?"

  "Keep all the prisoners close together, sir. And don't move them any farther than you have to."

  "Does this have to do with something about spaceships and star travel?"

  "Yes sir. Trust me, it's important.” I coughed up more blood.

  "That's what Sergeant Major Friedman said in the letter he left for me. Is it all true?"

  "Yes, it is.” I winced at something the corpsman was doing.

  "All right, we'll talk later. Right now I want to finish cleaning out this house of horrors.” He left with the same imperious strides as he had entered. I closed my eyes in blessed relief. Herb had taken care of us even from the grave.

  * * * *

  All three of us, as well as two of the Cincans, went to surgery for treatment, but in two days we were back on a ward, all together. I was wearing a cast on one arm. Marty and Jim's arms were both bandaged but they didn't have casts on; apparently no bones had been broken. All of us were stitched and bandaged in other places where we had been shot but our Tershas made for a speedy recovery.

  I was at last able to meet Tera's Cincan friends-the ones who had survived Melofton's attempt to kill all witnesses. His men had killed two of them. Felinti and the others all looked remarkably like Tera, with the dark tan skin and high cheekbones and the long hair worn by both sexes. The doctors were astounded at our quickness with which our wounds healed, especially as we had demanded that no lab tests be done on us; I didn't want our blood spread around and maybe infect someone else accidentally. Too much of our blood was already spattered around the torture room and in our former cell.

  The doctors had wanted to cross match some blood and have it ready but I insisted that they use O negative without matching it for compatibility if any of us had to have transfusions. After a hell of an argument, word came down from the general to do as they were told. Grumbling, the doctors had complied.

  The best thing about the rescue operation was that one of the Cincans, the one Tera had called Felinti, was still wearing her PDA and would be able to communicate with Tera when the lander or the mothership came back in range. That alone gave us some room for hope.

  The third day after our surgeries, the marine general reappeared and we were finally able to learn who he was and the full story behind our rescue, even though we had already heard him say something about a letter from Herb.

  * * * *

  General Charles Smithers presented a much milder personality when he wasn't in action. He entered the ward with a lieutenant and a sergeant, his aides, and an air force colonel by the name of Ward Moore. The aide was pushing a cart loaded with coffee and several different kinds of liquor. The general went around to each one of us, introduced himself and his aides, then waited while we were given our choice of drinks or coffee. Most of us took the coffee. I wanted to add a little brandy to mine, but decided not to. Even with the Tersha, being shot in the stomach isn't easy on the body. I was still sore and eating only liquids, and spooning them up left handed at that. The bullet I had taken in the other one had broken the humerous, the big bone in the upper arm.

  Once we were settled, General Smithers began talking.

  "First of all, I want to apologize to all of you on behalf of the army and the United States of America. What was done to you goes against every moral and legal code we live by. General Melofton managed to use political influence to get into a position of authority where he should never have been. Indeed, he should never have been in the army in the first place. Unfortunately, we still have no way to detect these types of individuals in advance. It is only in retrospect that we can identify them, and even more unfortunately, it is usually as a result of occurrences such as happened at this facility. I want to assure you, he will be prosecuted to the full extent that Army regulations allow and I hope that he will be executed. At the very least, he will spend the rest of his life in prison."

  He paused for a moment and must have seen the expressions of disbelief on mine and Jim's faces. Senators have a way of making things happen in the military the way they want them to, particularly powerful senators.

  He grinned crookedly. “Don't worry. I know who Melofton's brother is, but I have a few connections myself. I've already spoken to the president about him.” After that he continued.

  "I've listened to summations of all the recordings. They coincide pretty well with the information Sergeant Major Friedman sent me, so I think I pretty well know the whole story here. By the way, you are all being recommended for decorations and Sergeant Major Friedman will get the Medal of Honor if I have anything to do with it."

  His eyes watered for a moment then he went on. “Colonel Moore will be talking to some of you in more detail later, but for now let's just stick with the basics."

  General Smithers went on to summarize all the salient points. He had a wonderful way of condensing loads of information into a few concise sentences that still conveyed the essentials.

  "To wrap it up, your mission to recapture the lander was a success despite the deaths of some brave men. And since it made it off earth, I expect we'll be getting a visit from the main Cincan spaceship in the near future. Is that right?” He directed the last sentence at Felinti, the spokesperson for the Cincans.

  Felinti caught the eye of the other Cincans before answering, which made me suspect that they had already talked to Tera about the kind of action she had mentioned only to Jim and I of the others in the room. “General Smithers, I haven't heard from Tera or anyone in the lander since it left earth and got out of range. I think we can anticipate that they will return shortly, within the next week I should say. And I—this is very hard to say—I want to trust you, but I must tell you that they may not communicate at all."

  "Why not? The president has told me that you will all to be able to return to your spacecraft if that's what you want, though I would hope that at least a couple of you will remain here on earth and negotiate a cordial relationship with us."

  I still hadn't said anything about what Tera might do-probably would do, and it didn't look as if Felinti wanted to say anything, either. Nor had I told Marty. Now I was in a quandary. Should I or shouldn't I? Finally I decided to let it out. We all owed our freedom and probably our lives to General Smithers and his marines. I spoke after getting his attention.

  "General Smithers, it's not as simple as that. The one thing you don't know yet is that the Tersha organism we carry is indigenous only to the Cincan planet. It isn't normally present on the other human inhabited worlds they've found."

  "Yes, I know that, and I've been told that only humans with a certain genetic heritage are able to assimilate it into their bodies. So what is the problem?"

  Felinti decided to come clean. “General, we've just begun exploration of other worlds, as you've been told. What you haven't been told is that on two worlds where we established a base, the Tersha mutated. It killed every human being on one planet and is out of control and rapidly depopulating another. We can't stay here. For all I know it may already be too late."

  "Then why shouldn't your lander communicate with you? Or come back for you for that matter? I will personally guarantee its safety."

  "Because they may decide to simply wipe out this section of Arkansas and every person in it carrying the Tersha,” I said.

  "I'm sending messages constantly, hoping I can stave off any action now that we're free,” Felinti added.

  "But you can't be certain they will believe you, is that it?"

  She nodded. “Yes, general. That's the problem all right. Knowing how we've been treated so far, Tera and the others may decide that we have been forced in some way to tell them that we've been rescued and can be safely taken off earth. They can't and won't be certain it is the truth though. In that case, they may communicate with me, but it would only be at the last moment, and only to say farewell."

  "And that's why you all insisted on staying in this area, even our people. You'd rather die by the C
incans own hand rather than risk the population of earth. Right?"

  I saw Marty looking my way, understanding at last why I had let him be tortured unmercifully rather than give out that information. I answered, “That's right, sir. Better us than everyone else on the planet. Or almost everyone."

  General Smithers shook his head, disgusted to the bone over what Melofton's psychopathic aspirations had led us to. Finally he stood up. “I guess there's really nothing else to do except wait then. Felinti, I'll see that you have a phone line with direct access to me. And we have comfortable rooms ready for all of you who are well enough to leave the ward. Speak to Sergeant Murfro about arrangements for any of you who want to share quarters."

  He started to leave, but Marty stopped him. “General, there is one other thing you can do."

  "What is it?"

  "Can you get us some clothes so we can get out of these hospital johnnies? I hate going around with my bare ass hanging out."

  He laughed. “We can certainly do that much. Tell Sergeant Murfro what you want."

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  As the general said, there wasn't much else to do after that, but wait with the specter of death hanging over us all.

  To begin with, Marty and I shared a room, but that changed after two days when he moved in with Felinti. If she were grieving over her former partner, whom she had mentioned as being one of the ones who had been killed, she didn't show it. I suspected their culture was able to move on from the death of someone close much easier than we do, but wasn't sure by any means. None of us knew much about that sort of thing yet. Marty did ask me if the sex was as good with Mona as apparently it was with them. I assured him that it was. He seemed to have already forgotten about the girl friend back on his spread near Dallas. He might as well have, because it suddenly sank that he and Jim and I would all have to leave earth if Tera consented to bring the lander down and take her friends off. There would be no point in taking them without us. I told Marty about it the first time he wasn't off with Felinti.

  "I guess I knew, but it hadn't really registered yet. Be damned. All that crazy science fiction stuff you've read all your life might come true after all."

  "Might? It already has,” I said.

  "You're certainly right there, but it still doesn't seem like it, what with the Cincans looking just like us."

  "Uh huh. And isn't that going to raise some hackles if it ever gets out?"

  "Yeah. Say, no one has told me yet. How young will this Tersha bug make us, anyway?"

  "Two years younger than me,” I said.

  He raised a mock fist. “Right in the kisser. How young?"

  "The better side of middle aged, so Tera told me. Tentatively that is. No way to say for sure until it happens. Hell, I don't even know if we're the same species or not. Strongarm was concentrating so hard on identifying the Tersha compatibility genes that I don't think he ever got around to comparing genomes. General Smithers probably has the information, if Melofton didn't destroy the research notes."

  "Who the hell is Strongarm?"

  I told him he was a geneticist and didn't mention his eccentricities. Let him find out himself. That would be fun to watch, if they ever got to meet.

  Marty kept up as well as a layman can in the technology sector, but his interests were different from mine. He liked flying and computers where I tended to Space and the biosciences. “Anyway, why worry about how long you're going to live? You've been on borrowed time ever since you went over that cliff on a motorcycle,” I said.

  He grinned sheepishly and then I found out what his real concern was. “You know, I had pretty much given up the idea of ever having a family, but Felinti hasn't."

  "Has she asked you?"

  "No, it just came up as a sidebar. She mentioned that when she gets back from this trip, if she does, she wants to have a child."

  We left it at that and went on to other subjects.

  Time began to drag terribly. I found myself losing interest in most things, as did Jim. Neither of us had anyone to distract us like Marty did. I spent a lot of time just thinking about Mona and remembering how happy I had been to be with her. Despite all the difficulties, I couldn't think of another period of my life when I had been so contented.

  * * * *

  Each of the rooms had a phone in it. Mine rang one night almost a week later. It was Sergeant Murfro.

  "Sir, General Smithers has requested that you come to the lounge as soon as possible."

  "I'll be there quick as I can get dressed,” I told him. This had to be the communication we had been hoping for and dreading, depending on what it entailed. I drew on my jeans and shirt and shrugged into my jean jacket, feeling the weight of the forty in the pocket. I had requested that it be returned to me if it had been policed up at the battlefield and sure enough, it had been. It was as comforting as the presence of an old friend you knew you could count on standing beside you, even though there was no real reason to carry it here.

  We had moved to an adjoining building, previously the administrative quarters for support personnel. It had been appropriated as an isolation home for we three humans and the Cincans. The spacious lobby had been turned into a lounge for us. Almost everyone else was already there, seated in loungers and chairs around the room. The television was off and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into my nostrils. I headed for the smell, found the source and poured myself a cup. I looked around and found Marty and Felinti seated together on a big lounger, with the general sitting opposite them looking as alert as he always did despite it being the middle of the night. A recorder had been set up and Sergeant Murfro was also taking notes whenever Felinti or the General said anything.

  I slid in beside Marty and sipped at my coffee, wanting to get myself well awake. If this was to be our death knell I wanted to face it with a clear mind.

  "Yes, I trust him,” Felinti said, with a direct glance at General Smithers, then went on talking to the air if you only went by her appearance, but I knew she had to be talking to someone on the lander. Thoughts of Mona popped into my mind like a brightly lit Christmas ornament. I wondered if I could pass her a message-or if she would leave one for me.

  General Smithers took the cue from her spoken words. “Tell them I've been in daily communication with the president of our country. He assures me that you can land and pick up your people and leave again with no hindrance. Not only that, we will protect your craft from interference from any other country should that be necessary, although we know of no other government that is aware of you."

  Felinti subvocalized the general's message without an overt sign that she was even conversing with anyone else. It was how she and the other Cincans had communicated without Melofton's knowledge.

  We waited while Felinti listened and, I assume, talked with her fellows because it was a long time before she spoke to any of us again. When she did she turned first to me and smiled sweetly. “Mona sends her love.” To the general, she said “Tera is discussing the matter with the others. It may take a while. You must remember what is at chance here. We are suffering terrible remorse for having inadvertently infected at least two planets and perhaps others. Millions of humans have died because of our mistake. Millions more might die here if we trust your government and we turn elsewhere to be wrong."

  "Turn out to be,” I said, smiling. The Cincans almost certainly had a more precise language than ours, simply because of the way they occasionally used English phrases incorrectly or in odd ways. Sometimes it was humorous, even if I didn't feel like laughing right then.

  "Turn out to be wrong,” Felinti repeated, setting the correct wording in her mind, or perhaps into her PDA. Maybe both.

  Smithers nodded. “I understand. In fact, I don't envy the ones who have to make the decision. For the life of me, I don't know what I would decide were I on the opposite side of the fence."

  Again, there was nothing to do but wait. General Smithers seemed content to sit here in the lounge for as long as it too
k for the Cincans to make up their minds. No one else left either.

  Eventually, I chanced a shot of brandy in a large mug of coffee, letting Sergeant Murfro fetch it for me. I still wasn't moving around so good. The general saw what I had done and smiled at me, then followed suit. An hour or so later, Smithers tapped Felinti on the knee. “Ask if they could give us fifteen minutes in case the decision goes against us in order to let those who need to do so make peace with themselves or their God."

  After a moment, Felinti nodded. “They will do that much at least."

  More waiting. To kill time I asked the general how he and Sergeant Major Friedman had met. He was willing to talk about it and did so.

  "Herb Friedman was a child prodigy in college, but dropped out at seventeen when a war came along. He wound up staying in for over thirty years. He and I met in one of the gulf wars when the marines and army were conducting a joint sweep. He bucked my authority and put his ass on the line to keep me from making a terrible error that would probably have gotten a lot of good men killed. After that I consulted with him frequently, even when our units weren't near each other, or even in the same country. He was one of the sharpest troopers ever to wear a military uniform."

  He went on to tell us some stories of operations he had been on and some that Herb had been instrumental in the success of. I got the notion that there was more that he couldn't speak of because of security concerns. He had tears in his eyes when he finished and wiped at them unashamedly. He asked the Cincans some penetrating questions about how their society worked, but not from a military standpoint. He was genuinely interested in other ways of doing things. I sensed that he was one of those types of men or women who were able to change perceptions when evidence came along to warrant it. You find that more in the hard sciences than anywhere else but true open mindedness is rare anywhere.

  Marty told a few of his humorous war stories and got us to laughing, though I think the Cincans completely missed the point of them a couple of times, particularly the story of how he led a prominent politician doing an inspection during peacetime into an unsavory bar, got him drunk, then called his wife to come pick him up. The Cincans couldn't quite understand why the wife was upset, nor why the journalist Marty had given advance knowledge of his caper to had a good story to print.