ARIA

by Geoff Nelder

  Derek banged a fist on the table. “We have to shoot them. For our own survival. If ARIA continues in a person so that they end up with no memory at all—no speech, no knowledge of how to look after themselves, they’ll die anyway.”

  Brian, fidgeting, said, “That’s a bit drastic. Not just killing intruders but because they’re losing memory. They won’t forget to eat.”

  “Brian,” said Teresa, “as we get older, gain intellect and experience, instinctive behaviour is subsumed. Some Alzheimer’s patients forget to eat and drink in advanced stages when factors adding to their confusion kick in. I’ve been struggling to postulate how ARIA might affect someone if it continued to rob them of memory backwards until they were born. It is incredible. Imagine no speech. I expect for a while some cleverer people might cope somehow.”

  “Not really,” butted in Laurette. “They merely employ clever strategies; postpone the worst effects until they forget how to read.”

  “Grim,” said Ryder. “We can’t take the chance of an ARIA-infected person reaching us. I’m afraid we’d have to kill them. It’s drastic but necessary.”

  “Afraid so,” Derek said. “I don’t want to kill anybody, but if it’s them or us...”

  Ryder knew there was no compromise that made sense. But it might help the group come to terms with the awful decision if they painted it with a veneer of democracy. “We’ll put it to a vote, agreed?”

  Everyone nodded so Ryder said, “Right, raise your hand if you think we need to shoot to kill intruders.”

  Long faces looked at each other, each knowing the turmoil and anguish that comes with making life-and-death decisions. Derek put his hand up, followed by Teresa and Laurette. Ryder knew that Brian and Bronwyn had friends and relatives in the locality and would have great difficulties with this decision. They remained holding each other’s hands.

  Teresa had told Ryder that Gustav would squirm at the thought of any kind of violent action against people, no matter how justified. Gustav stared at his hands, clasped between his knees.

  “Bugger,” said Ryder, with the casting vote. “Let it be so then, though Captain Picard I’m not.”

  Some rose to get on with their jobs.

  “Hang on,” Ryder said.

  “Yes, Captain?” said Brian, though his face didn’t show humour.

  “We have another decision and action plan to implement.”

  Brian and Bronwyn groaned but sat to participate again; their comfortable lives changed.

  “Just suppose one of us makes an inadvertent contact with an outside person. Should we kill each other?”

  They sat in a stupor. They hadn’t thought it through like Ryder. His job had not the academic depth of Teresa or the technical skill of Gustav and Laurette. What he had, besides the skills of strict target setting and documentary-making, was the ability of spotting one component that could spell a million-dollar loss with a scrapped programme.

  “I suppose so,” said Laurette, the first to recover and developing a reputation as the one who’d pull the trigger first.

  “There is another way,” said Bronwyn. “Solomon.”

  “Did you have to tell them?” Brian said.

  “That’s his daft name for a mine not far from here. Tell them, Brian, you’ve been in it plenty of times.”

  “Eh? How do you know?”

  “See, Boyo. You think I don’t know where you slope off to with your pipe and bottles.”

  “Well, there is an old adit mine, they used to get copper and lead, fluorspar—”

  “Never mind the geology lesson,” Bronwyn said.

  “Brian,” said Ryder with renewed light in his eyes. “Could Solomon’s mine—and I like the name—be an isolation habitation? Is that what you were thinking, Bronwyn?”

  “Exactly. If one of us became contaminated, or thought we were, we could radio in and say we were staying in the mine until we knew we were all right.”

  “Excellent,” said Teresa. Ryder looked at her, aware that she knew they were putting off a decision about what to do if the one in isolation had ARIA.

  “Also,” said Derek, “it could be used as a fall-back position in the event some blighters broke into our centre here while we were out and about.”

  They agreed to make a start after lunch. Derek loaded a rucksack with electronics and the other three men prioritised the securing of the one existing gate and construction of a second. Teresa and Laurette looked for any news on the web before setting off on a reconnaissance over familiar territory as biologists but now looking at the landscape as an assailant might.

  Saturday 25 April 2015, evening:

  Anafon valley.

  RYDER SAT IN A DECKCHAIR next to Derek, on a patch of gravel outside the centre. “To think we could have been living here in peace for years instead of up to our noses in pollution with our ears full of traffic noise in London.” Long shadows of rugged mountains crept up and over them, but the relaxed men faced the golden-sunlit slopes opposite. A few cumulus clouds changed shape as if they tried to emulate the sheep below seeking greener grass.

  “The novelty would have worn off, Ryder, and you’d be gasping for the sight of a London bus. I must say, the clean air and serene landscape helps to take the edge off this amnesia infection. How long do you think it’ll last?”

  “I’m no expert, I don’t suppose anyone is, except maybe some alien watching us right now.” They both looked up. The sky darkened but was too light for any stars to show, although Venus just peeped over the mountain to the east. “I suppose we hope this ARIA behaves like other viruses that lose their potency. Several months, with luck, and we can sneak back out there.”

  “And what will we find, Ryder? Will there be any jobs to go to? How much memory is lost per week?”

  “My sister Karen guestimated it at around a year lost per week. She was hoping to verify it with some neurological studies in Houston before she was infected. Supposed to be sending us a communication tonight. In fact, I ought to set it up if Teresa hasn’t already.”

  “Yes, she told me. I’ve put an icon on the screen for her; just click and play.”

  RYDER AND DEREK GRABBED A COFFEE and found Teresa in the computer lab, trying to raise Karen. The satellite link showed Karen’s home with other images of her lab and another of Julia’s home, the technician who’d promised to send them results of a blood test. Polished wooden benches housed banks of computers. The lab was built to accommodate a fieldwork class and most of the computers had connections to laboratory equipment. Piles of redundant student files mounded on benches in-between upside stools. A few screens flickered as Gustav worked alongside Teresa.

  “Just a minute, Ryder,” said Derek. “You said you linked up last Sunday. They’ve probably lost all memory for the last year.”

  “Possibly,” Teresa agreed, “but they both had the advantage of anticipating it. They’d set up their electronic diaries, both in their personal web pages and synchronised with their NoteComs. Hopefully, they’ll keep track and recall re-learnt stuff. We set up this communication to automatically remind them.”

  The connection burst into life, giving images of labs and a study. Within moments, Julia’s face appeared on screen. Her red hair in disarray, her cheeks showed splotchy mascara decorating her red eyes.

  “Julia, are you okay?” called Teresa into the mike, but Julia didn’t appear to react as she fiddled with the keyboard.

  “Maybe she’s too upset to speak,” Ryder said.

  “No,” said Derek. “This is a recording; she isn’t live, so to speak.”

  “How can you tell?” Teresa said.

  “Data on the task bar.” He pointed at a movie symbol. “Just a sec, ah, voice input.”

  “...awful. I don’t know where Karen is. My diary says we met up a couple of days ago when she collected the blood test results on the ARIA patients. She doesn’t respond to her phone or e-mail. She might have gone with some others out to the Schenectady lab complex. They specialised in Alzheimer�
��s research there. I have travel plans too. Sorry this is a recording but at least it allows you to know.”

  “Know what? Dammit,” Ryder said.

  “Listen, you idiot,” Teresa said, batting him with a free hand.

  “... inconclusive I’m afraid. We took blood samples from people definitely infected and looked for the same sort of indicators for Alzheimer’s. These are variants of the P97 molecules and amyloid precursor protein. Slightly higher than in non-Alzheimer’s patients. We used the electron microscope and found the usual assorted pathogens but the image of one I’m sending you with a package of data is a spiked sphere about 30 nanometres across. Looks like an adenovirus, but who knows? Teresa and Ryder, there are so many human viral pathogens to be found in saliva that haven’t been identified, so it’s damn hard trying to find one or a group of alien ones. There’s nothing showing fluorescent green anyway. The one we suspect looks similar to one of the common cold adenovirus pathogens, so maybe that’s why it spreads so easily—saliva of those infected is full of them and so would the air they breathe out. There is hope, then, since some people are immune to the common cold, so maybe they’re immune to ARIA—I gather from a medic web page that’s what it’s called. I wish I was immune. Like Alzheimer’s, it’s probably slower in people who had high intake of vitamin E and ginkgo biloba. We should all be eating vitamin sandwiches.

  “It’s chaos outside. I don’t think many are going to work even if they know where to go. They are too worried to leave home, looking after relatives and friends, defending their homes against mobs of looters. Pathetic really. I came across a hoody teenager carrying a huge holoscreen, crying his eyes out. When I asked, he said he couldn’t remember where his apartment was.

  “There have been fatalities caused by ARIA. Patients forgetting, or their nurses forgetting, to administer medication. Fresh blood and plasma supplies have dried up—oh, badly put, but you know what I mean. So the transplant and by-pass ops aren’t happening. I’ve heard of long-haul plane crashes but that could be rumour. I’m going to risk it anyway. The TV news is spasmodic—but you must know that from Internet TV. Hope it dies out soon before we all return to Neanderthal behaviour, if we survive that long. I’ve set this on a timer to run on batteries for this uplink in case the mains power is off as it often is.

  “When I can, I’ll link up to your website, Ryder, and keep my mobile phone charged—but that depends on the service provider still operating. I’m flying to some of my family in Europe. I have the tickets and written flight numbers on my arm.

  “Look after yourselves. Oh, get some Huperzine-A patches, although you might need a hospital pharmacy for that. I love you all. Ciao.”

  Her tearful face faded out, leaving the group watching an empty lab.

  “Momentous and yet she didn’t realize it,” Ryder said.

  Teresa said, “She’s identified the virus, quasi-virus, whatever anyone wants to call it.” Ryder saw tears in her eyes, but she waved him away.

  “It should be called the Julia Tynwald Virus,” Ryder said.

  “Tynwald’s ARIA,” Derek said. “Sounds like a Wagner opera.”

  Ryder looked at his mobile phone for the hundredth time as he sent and checked for messages from Karen.

  “There’s been the occasional message,” he said. “But apart from a couple of ‘Hi’ and ‘Okay,’ they’ve just been spurious characters as though she’s lost her mobile and using something from another network with compatibility problems. She said she’s coming to Europe. One of thousands trying to escape their situation but only to spread it.”

  Derek pointed at the screen. “Anybody know what Hyper-whatsit is?”

  Teresa wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Huperzine-A is an enzyme inhibitor. Our brain needs acetylcholine for thoughts and memory. But there is an enzyme whose job is to make sure we don’t produce too much. One theory is that Alzheimer’s is the result of that enzyme attacking too much acetylcholine and so affecting memory. Patients taking Huperzine-A usually find their memory and thinking improves.”

  Derek’s face brightened. “I’ve been taking gingko biloba for years. I should have been dosing up on Hup-A.”

  “Gingko is good for memory too, although the jury is out on whether it improves brain function.”

  “Do we need to raid a chemist?” asked Ryder, worrying about contacting people again.

  “I don’t know. Hup-A is available over the counter in some places. It’s an herbal extract, not a commercially processed substance. We might even have some here, we do get visiting students and lecturers who are really into naturopathic remedies.”

  Ryder shook his head. “In these weird circumstances, we don’t know how ARIA is affecting the brain. Maybe it’s enhancing this bad enzyme so it’s depleting the acetylcholine, causing short circuits in the brain, leading to memory loss. I would think taking anything that might help inhibit ARIA is a good thing.”

  “It might make it worse,” said Teresa, reading through the text that came with Julia’s message. “All we know from Julia is that people infected with the virus lose memory function in such a way it spreads, taking out memory in a retrograde fashion. And this is so odd because we don’t consider memories to be well organised. We remember odd events and every time you think about them, the acetylcholine for those neurons increases, making it easier to recall them. This illness takes out memory going steadily back in time. Of course, some chunks of memory link to others but not usually for what happened the previous day or week. The loss of memory with Alzheimer’s is more random and slow. Some people forget childhood things one week then vocabulary learned more recently the next.”

  “At least it’s comforting some people are working on it,” said Laurette. “Hopefully, they can transmit results and ideas before they become too disorganised.”

  “Good point,” Gustav said. “Can we set up a link to the labs at Schenectady?”

  “I can try,” Derek said, settling to the task.

  TERESA AND LAURETTE HUDDLED IN A CORNER with Gustav to summarise the biological aspects of the communication. Ryder tried to follow Derek’s expert fingers dancing over the keyboard when the speaker shouted, “Intruder!”

  Everyone stared at Derek.

  “It might be a glitch,” he said. “I’ve only set up a few sensors and haven’t tested it all yet.”

  “Can’t you tell which beam has been broken?” Ryder said.

  “It’s the farthest gate on the lane, but it should be padlocked. Brian?”

  “Ah, it will be tomorrow. I forgot to take it with me when I took the fencing and spike-wired the top rail. Er, sorry, but shouldn’t the camera show us—oops, it’s dark, isn’t it?”

  “It’ll be doubled up with an infrared cam tomorrow.”

  “So, the gate is open now?” asked Teresa.

  “Not according to the sensor, and sheep don’t usually shut gates after them,” said Derek. “Either there’s a glitch or someone opened then shut the gate.”

  Laurette ran to a drawer, brought out two of the competition handguns and offered one to Ryder.

  “Ammo,” Ryder said.

  “They’re kept loaded,” Laurette said. “Not much use in an emergency otherwise.”

  “Good point,” he said.

  Brian took a rifle, checked it and strode to the door leading to the refectory.

  Ryder liked the solid metallic feel of the Colt 1911, admired the perfect balance yet hated the need for handling it. They all gathered behind the door.

  Five minutes later, Bronwyn spoke. “Just a frigging minute. I’m in the Territorial Army, and it’s as clear as jelly none of you have had any training. Gustav, take a rifle and aim it at the door from behind that easy chair. Laurette and Derek, take your weapons out the back way and do a cautious reconnaissance. Brian and I know the layout best, so I’ll open the door to the refectory but stay against the wall on this side while Brian goes in at a crouch. Ryder and Teresa, also aim at the door but stay behind furniture like Gustav. On the co
unt of three—counting down from three. Right?”

  Everybody said yes—even Brian.

  Bronwyn said, “Three, two, one, go.”

  Standing back against the wall to the right of the swing door, Bronwyn eased it open with her right hand allowing Brian, with rifle levelled, to crouch and enter.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Hi, Uncle Brian,” said a young woman.

  Brian returned and closed the door behind him.

  “It’s my brother’s daughter. Should I just tell her to go away? Only, suppose she’s infected?”

  Teresa, with hands on hips, “Which would mean you are probably infected, which means...”

  “Ah.”

  Bronwyn rushed into the refectory. “Megan. My God, girl, what are you doing here?”

  Apart from Derek and Gustav on patrol, they all gathered around the young teenager sitting at a table.

  “I’d like a jam butty. And how are you, Auntie Bronwyn?”

  “I’m having kittens but never mind me. Why aren’t you at home?”

  “Mum and Dad went Wednesday to the rugby in London and haven’t come back. They use any excuse to have a few days in a nice hotel.”

  “You should’ve gone to one of your friends, love.”

  “But you said I was always welcome here, especially when you didn’t have a load of students in.”

  Bronwyn turned to Ryder. “She’s right.”

  A burst of noise entered the front door followed by Derek shouting. “We’ve found a bike leaning against the wa—oh. Hello?”

  Sunday 3 May 2015:

  The Rocky Mountains. Seventeen days since amnesia started spreading. Most people have lost two years and three weeks’ memory.

  MANUEL DRAGGED HIMSELF OUT OF A DEEP SLEEP. He’d have to get a new alarm clock, because he couldn’t stand the racket this one made. His eyes blinked open to stare at a varnished pinewood ceiling. He had a plain white ceiling at home so maybe he’d got lucky, at last. His hand reached out but found empty sheets. So, not that lucky. He levered himself up on his elbows, but his head hurt so he lay back down. The unfamiliar log cabin troubled him even though whispers of déjà vu flitted around his foggy head.