by John Ringo
Examination of the first spine had yielded little in the way of information. The person it came from was a slight woman of Middle Eastern descent. Which could have described Doctor Shelley. One point she’d determined was that it was not from her own missing, presumably dead or infected, daughter. No close genetic link. Based on mitochondrial DNA markers she was probably from the Syrian region but that was at best a guess. She’d been pregnant at some time. She was malnourished. That was about it. There wasn’t much you could really tell about the woman’s life from a spinal cord. There were markers for H7D3 anti-bodies which meant the collected had been exposed but no trace of the virus.
“And where did this come from?” Doctor Shelley asked, looking at another spine in a bag. “Do we know?”
“Private Bahadur was clearing a house and shot him,” Captain Surigar said. “He did not attack. The Private believes he was hiding and may be what the Americans term a ‘beta.’”
“Hmmm…”
That posed a conundrum. There were only two ways to find out if someone was actually infected with H7D3. Symptoms, notably the violent insanity and nakedness characteristic of alphas and a brain autopsy. You could test for antibodies but as proven with Subject A that was no proof of presence of the virus. She hated what she was about to say, but the world was a very unpleasant place.
“Discuss this with your higher command first,” she said. “But I need you to collect some betas for…analysis. Two dead, two live will do. You’ll need to refrigerate the dead ones. I’ll find someone to do the autopsy. Don’t strip the spines. I’ll need them whole. And we’ll need to set up a confinement facility for the live ones…”
* * *
Steven John Smith, Secretary of War of the United States (SecWar), rubbed his face and wondered if he was ever going to get a break from zammies.
“They’re clean?” President Rebecca Staba said.
“Entirely,” Doctor Dobson said over the video conference.
They were barely starting to get East Coast cities reduced to about orange using a variety of Subedey systems. Their initial plan to use mostly radiological killers wasn’t a bust but it was only part of the program. In places they’d found stored toxic chemicals in partially cleared areas and moved those forward to supplement. A recent trend had been to pack containers with ammonium nitrate fuel oil explosives, put lights and speakers on top, drop by helicopter well away from potential survival shelters, let sit for a few days then blow the IED. That usually took out a few thousand at a time especially if the chopper got a feeding frenzy going by machine gunning a few infected.
Approximately thirty million to go and Atlanta and the CDC were sort of, well, inland. They were getting there. Slowly. In the meantime, video was the way to go.
“We, well, Emory, managed to get a few individuals clear of the virus before the Fall,” Dobson said. “Massive doses of rare and difficult to manufacture anti-virals did it in a couple of cases. Not all. And what you got back for your trouble were…vegetables. No higher brain activity. Just…”
“So that’s what happened with betas?” Steve said. “They got the disease then…threw it off?”
“It’s the most likely scenario,” Dobson said. “The human immunes system is a complex engine. Just because you’ve got a disease doesn’t mean you keep it. And the H7 virus was never really structurally robust. Could have just…fallen apart. The main thing to keep in mind is that from the point of view of H7 they’re a non-threat. Now, they tend to carry other diseases, but…Not H7.”
“What about the lack of clothing?” Steve said then shook his head. “Stupid question. They would have gotten the formication at the beginning, thrown off their clothes then later thrown off the H7. So still en nue.”
“Yes,” Doctor Dobson said. “But not a threat.”
“That’s good to hear,” Steve said.
“And it creates a real issue,” President Staba said.
“Why?” Dobson said.
“What you just pointed out, Doctor, is that there are approximately two million additional human survivors who are a non-threat but also incapable of caring for themselves,” the POTUS said in exasperation.
“Killing all the alphas is a horrible and bloody necessity. We can’t get anything done, rescue the remaining sentient survivors, with them in the way. I am not my predecessor but, by the same token, some human charity toward the betas now seems…more or less a moral requirement. They are American citizens who truly are simply victims of a horrible plague. And we don’t have unlimited resources.”
“Please don’t ask the Army to help,” Steve said. “We’ve got enough on our plate.”
“I foresee a cabinet meeting,” the President said, shaking her head. “What fun.”
* * *
“There’s not much we can do,” Steve said. “There are two problems, tactical, sociological if you prefer, and logistical.”
The Cabinet of the United States Federal Government was a far more informal group than it had been before the Fall. Among other things it was significantly reduced; most of the positions were gone. All that remained, currently, were State, War, Interior and Treasury. Most of the other positions were either unfilled or had been regrouped. Transportation, Housing and Agriculture, for example, were all filed under “Interior.”
The President’s Mansion, still called the “White House,” was a “McMansion” in Alexandria, Florida, across the river from Jacksonville proper and near the Mayport Naval Air Station. They were meeting in the “Florida Room” which looked out over the pool and the St. John’s River. It wasn’t the largest room in the house but it was a small group.
“The tactical problem is that betas look upon sentients as just a different kind of alpha,” Steve continued. “Thus they avoid us. They even tend to avoid each other. Even if we want to help them, we’d have to literally hunt them down. The logistical problem is that we’d have to feed, house and clothe up to three million crazy people. Betas might even run as high as our sentient surviving population. I don’t think it’s doable Madame President.”
“We haven’t really determined what ‘it’ is, yet,” President Staba said. “I’m not even saying something must be done. Just that it is worth discussing.”
“Are they trainable?” Carlton Ryan asked. The Secretary of the Treasury was a former VP of Goldman Sachs who’d been picked up rather early in Wolf Squadron’s history. He’d spent most of his time as a civilian boat captain until the reestablishment of the US government. “To at least mostly take care of themselves? Get dressed, use the bathroom instead of shrubbery?”
“Unknown,” Steve said, shrugging. “I know from Faith’s reports that they tend to collect stuff and use shelter. But that’s about it.”
“Who do we have that can set up a research facility?” President Staba said. “It seems that what we need first is information. Then we can start to look at the problem. As if we haven’t enough.”
“I’m not sure if it’s in my bailiwick or not,” Steve said, temporizing. “I don’t really see it as a military ‘thing.’”
“Wasn’t pointing at you, Steve,” President Staba said, smiling. “Sounds like a job for…Interior?”
“Gah,” Olivia Alvarado said. She’d gotten the job courtesy of being a former bureaucrat in the Florida Department of Agriculture. Since Interior was mostly concerned with getting roads and agriculture back up and running she had sufficient credentials and knowledge for the job. The “Congress,” which mostly met in Texas given it was the only state officially back up and running, had approved her at long distance. “I was afraid it would fall on my department. Sorry to point it out, but I need budget for it. And don’t ask me how much. No clue as yet.”
“Try to keep it down,” President Staba said.
“I’ll take the job of capture,” Steve said. “Just tell me when you need them. Plenty to be found.”
* * *
“And the answer is: betas are trainable,” Secretary Alvarado said, happily,
as the subject came up at the next cabinet meeting. “I’d like to introduce Mister Abraham Powers. He worked in a home for the mentally challenged before the Plague and runs the Beta Analysis Program. Mister Powers?”
“Betas are trainable,” Powers said. He was a big man with a rumbly voice, bushy beard and bright blue eyes. “Compared to my previous experience with the mentally challenged, they’re fairly similar to Down’s Syndrome. They even tend to be docile once they become assured they are not in a threatening situation. That may, however, be selection. From the reports we got from the Marine teams detailed to capture them some were more hostile and were simply left to their own devices. So we tended to get the most docile.
“After fairly minor training they respond to most verbal commands and may even retain some memory of language. They’ll frequently respond to untrained verbal commands and even…normal social niceties. One of our earliest subjects retained understanding of some dressing rituals, she only needed to be shown how to put on a dress once and when faced with buttons figured them out on her own. Others will tend to sit on a chair rather than on the floor. We’ve trained a few of the more advanced to use forks and spoons, although they tend to be clumsy with them. At this point we have a total of ten subjects and of those six have learned basic social rituals including how to bathe themselves, make beds, etcetera.
“They don’t tend to interact badly socially but there are issues. Males tend to react…very much as males in the presence of females. When there is a point of contention they don’t have linguistic skills to work them out so they tend to get physical fairly quickly. That being said, they do…communicate. But it is mostly at the grunt and body language level. In terms of IQ, they run from around sixty to eighty. Which puts them in the severe to profound intellectual disability categories. I would like to give a practical demonstration. I brought along one of our more advanced subjects if you’d like to meet her.”
“Is there any threat?” Steve asked. “No offense. I’ve been around betas before but we’re talking about the cabinet and a plague.”
“Katherine is not a threat,” Powers said. “Epidemiologically or physically. She is extremely beta but still comparatively bright. And has no trace of H7. If we weren’t in this environment you’d assume she was just…normally mentally challenged.”
“Service?” President Staba said.
“We already have analyzed the threat, Madame President,” Agent Phillips said. “I agree with Mister Powers that she does not represent a significant threat. And if she presents threat she can be taken down fast enough.”
“I’m fine with it,” the President said. “How’s she respond to new people.”
“Well,” Powers said. “Or I wouldn’t have brought her ma’am. But probably best not to get too…aggressive if you don’t mind. She tends to try to run and hide if people get aggressive.”
“Bring her in.”
* * *
Subject Katherine was probably in her twenties, about five six, had red hair, blue eyes and…
“Okay,” President Staba said, softly. “For some reason I hadn’t expected her to be pretty.”
“And pregnant,” Steve noted.
The beta was distinctly round in the tummy.
“She arrived that way, Captain,” Powers said in a soft, rumbling tone. “Katherine, these are friends. Friends?”
Katherine hooted and ducked her head, avoiding eye contact, as he led her to one of the open chairs.
“Can you sit, Katherine?” Powers said.
The beta carefully took her chair, continuing to avoid eye contact.
“Okay,” the President said. “This really brings my point about the human catastrophe home. Steve, we can’t just let these people die. They’re people.”
“Tactical and logistic difficulties continue to exist, Madame President,” Steve said. “But my pragmatic bloodymindness just kicked in, damnit.”
“Having long experience of your pragmatism that makes me uncomfortable immediately,” Ryan said. “What is Captain Carrion thinking, now?”
“Nothing anyone is going to want to hear,” Steve said. “Mister Powers and Secretary Alvarado are especially going to get it right up their noses. I am thinking what I submit Secretary Alvarado should be thinking. That we have a significant shortfall in labor in the agricultural industry, mostly because people don’t want to do the admittedly hard work of planting and harvesting. Better to just scrounge for salvage food rather than pick beans. Or to put the point in more focus: cotton. As in, my first thought was ‘they’d be great at picking cotton.’”
“We don’t have a crying need for cotton at the moment,” President Staba said, frowning.
“I take it you’re referring to groups who used to pick cotton, Mister Secretary,” Secretary Alvarado said, frowning. She was frequently mistaken for black.
“And putting the spotlight on the issue,” Steve said, clearly thinking. “We have two separate and serious problems, among so many, facing America at the moment.
“First the humanitarian issue. These are non-threatening humans who through no fault of their own are now surviving on the barest margins. They have no decent access to the bare minimums of food, clothing and shelter. Well, skip shelter because they find that from all reports. Clean water? Hardly. Medical care? Definitely not. There are, always have been whatever people might think, constitutional issues about the Federal government becoming involved in charity. But these, yes, people need our help. Unquestionably.
“The second, apparently separate, problem is a lack of labor in industries where people really don’t care for the work, often because it is boring, repetitive, mind-numbing or frequently physically hard. Not just farming. We have some groups who are doing assembly work that might possibly be taught. And, face it, we just have a massive and acute labor shortage, period.
“Sometimes when you have two problems…”
“They take care of themselves,” President Staba said, looking at beta thoughtfully. “Which brings up enormous moral issues…”
“Which was why I said it was going to get up people’s noses,” Steve said.
“They have no ability to express free will,” Powers said, uncomfortably. “Are you talking about putting them to work on farms?”
“I’ll continue your statement with where I started which is ‘Isn’t that a lot like slavery?’” Steve said. “And if you think there wouldn’t be abuses, you don’t know human beings. I didn’t express it except in the implication, but your quick response of ‘she was pregnant when we found her’ was clearly even to you an answer to the implied ‘have anything to do with her pregnancy?’ On the other hand, being the pragmatically minded SOB I am, that, again, is an answer to a burning issue.”
“Which one now?” Alvarado asked.
“The point of Wolf Squadron was not to save the human race,” Steve said. “Save individuals? Certainly. But the human race was going to survive. We’re like weeds; we’re very hard to kill.”
“Tell me about it,” Staba said, chuckling.
“What was going to fail, might still fail, is civilization,” Steve said. “At least civilization enshrining the rights of man and all that stuff. We had a massive baby boom. We still have a major generation gap and after the boom there is no indications of a similar following. Based on anecdotal evidence, pregnancy rates have fallen to something around pre-Fall levels.”
“And that’s a problem why?” Alvarado said. “Or do you think all us women should get knocked up and spend all our time barefoot and pregnant.”
“I’ll remind the Secretary about not getting hostile around the visitor,” Staba said. “On the other hand…”
“Western birth rates have always been below those of Eastern cultures,” Steve said. “History masters, Madame Secretary. And pre-Fall birth rates were below replenishment in the United States and Western Europe. We made up for it in immigration. There is now still immigration but it is fragmentary and comparatively small. And we have how many est
imated survivors?
“If we continue to reproduce at a bare two-point-one births per female or below, we cannot create and sustain a population capable of returning to anything like pre-Fall conditions in the foreseeable future. Far more likely to devolve into tribalism.
“On your direct question I haven’t encouraged my daughters to drop their careers in favor of making babies, Madame Secretary. But being honest, Faith could probably do more good for the long-term good of the world if she dropped being a Marine and started dropping babies. And, yes, even at her age.”
“That is…” Alvarado said, her face working.
“I frequently engage in ‘wrong-think,’ Madame Secretary,” Steve said, shrugging.
“Which is why we’ve made it as far as we have as quickly as we have,” Staba pointed out. “You’re saying that even if we free all the trapped survivors here and elsewhere…? What? We’ll eventually devolve societally?”
“Virtually guaranteed,” Steve said, shrugging. “Civilization always wins over barbarism in the long-term but barbarism is much easier to sustain in these sorts of conditions. Especially with a society based entirely around salvage. Failed states at the very least. Mad Max or equivalent at the worst. That is our future absent sufficient population growth and education of that population. Not guaranteed, but virtually so. The baby boom of the post World War Two period over at least two to three generations would be a very good thing for us societally. If Secretary Alvarado cares to characterize that as ‘being kept barefoot and pregnant’ she may feel free to do so. As with the issue of using betas for labor, the moral and political issues are fraught. But, again, ignoring the moral and political issues, Miss Katherine also shines a light on one potential solution.”
“That’s simply…” Powers said, his face suffusing. “You’re suggesting…”
“I’m not suggesting either using betas as labor or as baby factories,” Steve said. “I am pragmatically and cold mindedly pointing out their utility in both cases. Because I am pragmatic and can be very cold minded when the survival of civilization is at stake, Mister Powers. Please note, for the sake of your love of betas, that in both cases they suddenly turn from liabilities, mentally deficient humans who are a huge logistical drain, to assets, mentally deficient humans who can provide types of labor that mentally proficient humans, including those Madame Secretary and Madame President and for that matter Madame Vice President, choose to avoid at present. Stacey used to have a vegetable garden. She hasn’t been doing a lot of gardening lately. Because all three women have things that are more important to do than have and rear babies. Because they have brains and can use them. Even though, long term, making good babies is equally or more important than, say, this meeting.”