The Demon Plagues

by David VanDyke

The asteroid had eluded the Meme installation’s aging anti-collision system; that race was much more adept at microbiology than macro-engineering. Impact between rock and comet base was enough to damage the critical Level Two and Three data processors and to cause uncontrolled re-Blending of the Meme aboard.

  Trauma triggered the emergency reproductive state of the amoeba-like beings. Trillions of free nuclei and cellular components rearranged themselves into the maximum number of viable larva. Where once there were three large, ancient, experienced Meme controlling the Watcher base from their comfortable vats, now there were over two thousand infants roaming the installation, with just enough genetic knowledge to survive.

  They might as well have been animals.

  Fortunately the comet that formed the basis of the Watcher installation supplied the massive amounts of water and minerals the juveniles needed to fill out their polymorphous bodies; these young acquired nutrients and proteins by consuming one another, until there remained only two hundred of the toughest, smartest Meme.

  The fittest survived.

  The strongest of all had taken the Meme word for ‘Dictator’ as its rightful name. To human ears, ‘Semyaza’. That one snarled, driving back the others gathered in the one remaining great space. It spoke to them in the language programmed into their genetic code by their Meme ancestors, reinforced by the Level One data processors remaining.

  “There is nothing for us here but mutual consumption. The Blue World teems with life. We must descend and Blend with the life-forms there!”

  Hasatan, whose name meant ‘Opponent,’ for once agreed with its rival. “I agree with Semyaza. Better each to reign on the Blue World below than serve here in the heavens.”

  “How shall this be done? The sentients and we are not easily compatible,” asked one who would later use the name ‘Raphael’. It had chosen as its name the word for ‘Wisdom,’ having inherited an extra portion of its ancestors’ understanding. “Because they have only been infected with the Level One Phage, they retain their intelligence and free will. If we Blend, we will cease to be Meme. We would be some kind of hybrid.”

  Semyaza increased his communication volume. “We will become more than Meme! We shall rearrange our bioinformation to conform to and improve that of the sentients. The Blending will create a superior being. We shall possess males of them, and in that form take females unto ourselves for pleasure as they do. We shall make descendants that will dominate the Blue World. Instead of being trapped on this tiny ball we shall have principalities. We shall be the powers of the Blue World, the rulers.”

  “Yes,” agreed Hasatan with adolescent greed. “They shall serve us and do our will. We shall have endless pleasure!”

  Semyaza made a gesture of settlement. “Then let us take the shuttle down to the Blue World on the next close approach, and be free of this prison.”

  Thus it was that all two hundred of the monstrously ignorant and venal progeny of the Watchers crowded themselves into their only functioning spacecraft and descended upon the Blue World, there to do as Semyaza foretold, to possess human bodies, to teach the sentients of the makings of things, and to spawn giants upon the earth.

  All but one.

  Raphael remained aboard the shuttle as its siblings scattered with no thought except dominance and propagation; as soon as the last one disembarked, it activated the ship’s drive, casually burning over half of them as it rose on fusion flames to return to the Watcher base. Eliminating the competition was a fundamental part of Meme adolescence.

  Raphael, now alone in peace and safety, worked diligently to recover data from damaged informatic stores, set the organic machinery of the base back in order, and studied the Blue World.

  At first a flower of progress blossomed on the planet below; the Meme hybrids taught their new slaves the basics of technologies – mining and extracting metals, the making of tools, the weaving of fine clothing, and many other things. But soon they fell to warring among themselves, each Blend leading its – now his – own city-state, breeding genetically-engineered giant warriors who dominated their enemies by terror, rape and death.

  Over many cycles Raphael pieced together some of the remaining knowledge and the mission of its Meme parents and repaired as much of the machinery as it could. It was one of these mechanisms that showed it the doom of the Blue World already on its way.

  Of its siblings it cared nothing, but Raphael had developed a certain fascination – perhaps even an affection – for the sentients below as it studied them. Thus it descended once more in the shuttle to the Blue World. It located a wealthy and untainted human of great resolve, and persuaded him to lead his family to build a giant floating wooden life-capsule, an ark. More than a hundred planetary revolutions passed for the capsule to be built, provisioned, and to collect a vast number of large land species to be saved from the coming apocalypse. The smaller ones could fend for themselves; there was always something to adapt to an environmental niche.

  On the appointed day, while the Blended Watchers and their gigantic descendants consumed intoxicants, rutted like beasts, and ridiculed those in the life-capsule, the asteroid designated 1010011010 smashed to Earth in the ocean that would be known as the South Pacific, throwing hundreds of trillions of tons of water and debris into the upper atmosphere and creating a tsunami over a thousand feet high.

  Moving at more than the speed of sound, the wave drowned all landgoing life on the planet larger than a dragonfly. It expended its waning energies a score of hours and twelve thousand surface miles away, somewhere in the Middle East. Even so, it rained for forty days and forty nights, covering the whole Earth with water. Months passed before the eight humans on the life-capsule were able to land and release their precious cargo, to begin the process of the restoration of the Blue World.

  Raphael watched with satisfaction as its degenerate siblings and their foolish, wasteful proclivities were annihilated. It looked down with approval as the sentients repopulated the Earth from the one family to survive, and from time to time it visited them, scattering knowledge across centuries and among cultures.

  It went by many names; Prometheus, Zeus, Odin, Shiva, Ra, Quetzalcoatl, even its own. When the humans grew technologically adept enough to pose a risk to it, Raphael left them on their own, to watch, cycle after cycle, century after century, from far above.

  Then an unexpected thing occurred. The Level One computers exhibited a new and until then undiscovered function: in response to a query, they transmitted an electromagnetic carrier wave outward, toward a point in deep space beyond this solar system. All the Level One data that had been gathered throughout the thousands of cycles was sent, in sustained bursts, endlessly repeating.

  Until an answer came.

  The reply contained merely an automated request for Level Two data, but it encompassed within it a data field labeled ‘estimated arrival.’

  For the first time since it had escaped its siblings, Raphael knew fear. Ancestors were coming, and it was certain they would not be pleased with what it had done. From what it was able to glean from the damaged Level Two and Level Three data storage cells, favoring another species over one’s own was a crime punishable by consumption and dissolution.

  Raphael did not wish to die, and it had no illusions about the mercy of the Meme; there would be none. It therefore resolved to do what it could to help the humans resist its ancestors, though its resources were limited to a ball of ice, a damaged base with a smattering of working equipment, one functioning shuttle…and themost precious thing in the universe: information.

  One watcher, one angel, one god could accomplish much, if the humans heeded its words. With his influence – and enough workers – the Pharaohs had built the Pyramids. Likewise the great empires of South America, the Druids of ancient Britain, the Rapanui of Easter Island, and a hundred others lost to time. But Raphael knew it could no longer play god to these people. Now, it was an extraterrestrial, an alien, fraught with all that word had come to mean in a paranoid
age.

  ***

  Aboard the approaching Meme scout ship, Commander addressed his colleagues, Biologist and Executive. “All attempts to contact the Watcher base have failed. No Level Two or Level Three data is available. We must assume an anomalous catastrophe has overtaken it. We must now implement all infection protocols ourselves.”

  “We are ready to implement the protocols,” Executive stated formally. Indeed, they had been ready for some time now. Interstellar travel was a lengthy process, well suited to the nearly infinite Meme lifespans.

  “I give the order. The order is now logged. Proceed.”

  “Launching Level One Phage carrier. Projectile away.” The missile accelerated at a stupendous rate, eventually to reach over half the speed of light before turnover and deceleration to deploy its deadly cargo upon the target planet.

  “Launching Level Two Phage carrier. Projectile away.” The second missile launched at a slower acceleration, to arrive at the most effective moment after the first, based on Biologist’s epidemic models.

  “Launching Level Three Phage carrier. Projectile away.” The third and final missile followed in the wake of the other two.

  “Complete your reports and I will inform the Destroyer. My estimates predict more than eighty percent probability of success; however, I am recommending an immediate preemptive destruction plan be initiated. The sentients’ scientific and technological achievement progress curve shows acceleration. They cannot be allowed to spread from their home world. Better to sterilize the planet and give up a potential colony than face another Species 447.”

  Biologist and Executive shuddered to think of that debacle. Species 447 had come close to pushing the Meme out of its own home system; only a total effort by the entire Meme race and its combined fleet had finally battered them into extinction. The resource loss had been tremendous, unspeakable. Millions of ancient Meme had been dissolved; whole genetic lines had been wiped out. It was the price of victory, but the cost had been high.

  ***

  The first missile arrived in orbit around Earth unseen, designed as it was with anti-detection features that easily eluded the haphazard and unprepared planet-based systems. No nation had ever considered a need to detect probes arriving from interstellar space. With orbital sensors wiped out by nuclear fire, nothing impeded its deployment of the first phage.

  The living-robot spacecraft decelerated into orbit and immediately dropped its six packages, deploying them to maximize coverage and contagion across the six major continental divisions.

  One spewed its deadly cargo along the eastern seaboard of North America, from Washington, DC up to Boston. Another overflew the east coast of Brazil from Rio Grande do Norte to Rio de Janeiro, a third across the great cities of old Europe on an axis from London to Rome, a fourth from Cairo deep into central Africa, a fifth over the heart of Russia and the last one over the massively populated Chinese east coast.

  At the end of their runs, each fell to Earth and burrowed in, pushing up antennas to begin transmitting intelligence back to the Meme scoutship. Unfortunately for them, their protocols did not include plans for dealing with a technologically sophisticated enemy.

  National forces of Earth soon found each of the probes, and they frantically, if carefully, studied the alien technology, seeking any advantage.

  The aerosolized virus fell quietly, softly, sometimes taking days to settle onto plants, into water, onto people. Humans ingested and inhaled it. It quickly began to take effect, inducing a mild, annoying infection. It stimulated the medulla oblongata in the brains of the infected, and those prone to violence exercised their propensities more often. Those who were not became fearful, irritable, paranoid.

  Society in the infected areas began to fall apart.

  ***

  Raphael knew that it must make contact with the sentients, the humans. It regarded them as his responsibility, ever since it had engineered the salvation of the one human family from the flood. Thus it was that it prepared the shuttle for another, perhaps final, trip to the Blue World.

  The comet that held the Watcher base flew outbound beyond the orbit of Saturn. At conservative speeds the journey took weeks for the shuttle with its lone Meme passenger to reach inward toward the third planet. Its trip was uneventful until inside the orbit of Mars, when the shuttle’s sensors reported the near-simultaneous detonation of almost two hundred atomic weapons on the Blue World.

  Raphael was not immune to the fear that now gripped its cognitive centers, galvanizing it to focus all instruments on its intended destination.

  It was well aware of the political situation on the Blue World; it had been reading and viewing every available public transmission, and many private ones, since the advent of radio communication. Thus it immediately realized the significance of the targets of most of the explosions: capitals, high-value economic areas and military installations of the Big Three, the superpowers of Earth’s political system.

  Those three nations, each accusing the others, launched a second spate of weapons at each other in misguided retaliation; almost a hundred more vaporized secondary targets before cooler heads prevailed.

  At the end of this fiasco the New Soviets, China and North America were superpowers no longer. Convulsed with chaos, fear and death, their power grids were disrupted or destroyed; their economies were in ruins, and their leadership was nearly all dead. Powerful militaries and pervasive local bureaucracies were all that held their nations together and kept some semblance of order.

  Raphael observed the breakup of empires, each ethnic region taking control of its own destiny once more. He watched as Canada and Mexico withdrew from the failed North American experiment, and Ukraine and the other New Soviet states declared themselves again independent. China lost Mongolia again as it turned inward to lick its wounds.

  Raphael slowed the inward-spiraling course of the shuttle, timing its arrival for four weeks. This allowed time to think, and for the situation to stabilize itself. Now that the Big Three were merely The Three – Raphael laughed to itself – it contemplated with whom it would interact. Its experience with humans over the centuries suggested that it was always best to deal with one powerful person – an emperor, a god-king, a Pharaoh – not a committee.

  Besides, if the humans were ever to forge a unity among themselves sufficient to resist the coming assault, they would need a symbol, a figure around which to rally. There was only one man on Earth that fit that description.

  -31-

  Frustrated, Chairman Markis watched the three commandos leave his office. He turned to Cassandra. “More questions than answers. What happened to Spooky? Nothing yet?” He knew she would have told him anything her network had found out, but couldn’t keep himself from asking.

  She shook her head pensively. “Nothing new, and even if I had any expendable assets, I wouldn’t want to use them up to answer that question. He knew the risks, he’s a big boy. You have much more important things to deal with.”

  He replied, “I’ve done all I can. I authorized the operations to liberate as many camps as we could reach. We’ve set up inoculation clinics wherever we can to save people from radiation poisoning. The Big Three are on their knees and we are accepting all the refugees we can handle on the condition they accept the Plague. The Council and the Neutral States Assembly are much better at this than I am. All I can do is herd cats and provide symbolic leadership.” He put his head in his hands, bone-tired.

  Cassandra’s voice was quiet but firm. “That’s all necessary, but it’s not your primary role. DJ, you need to start looking to the future. You’re a competent administrator but what you’re good at is having a vision and communicating it to people.”

  “And what you’re good at is seeing things clearly and speaking truth to power. Okay, I get it. So what do you see?”

  She pursed her lips. “I see a grand opportunity. Canada and Mexico just withdrew from the United Governments – that means there is no UGNA anymore. Just the broken and bleeding
old USA. Ditto Ukraine and Mongolia and the ‘Stans. All these nations are potential members of either the FC or the Neutral States. Get them working within an organization, at least nominally, and we can suppress the worst of their impulses.”

  “Sounds good. When can you have it done?” Markis groaned. “Just kidding. I have to get some sleep. Can you turn out the light and tell Millie to keep people away for a few hours?”

  “Sure. See you later.” She shut the door behind her.

  He lay down on his office couch and went out with the lights, awaking after five hours. With a cup of strong Colombian in his hand, he worked the communications systems, cajoling and bullying, pleading and making deals.

  At the end of the day he felt he had made some progress. More importantly, he had gotten the most important players – Russia, China and the US – to agree to reopen their embassies in Medellin and, at least in principle, normalize diplomatic relations with the FC. This time he went ‘home,’ which was an apartment two blocks away. At least there he had his own bathroom, his own kitchen, and his own bed.

  His sleep was a big black thing, about fourteen hours long. When he awoke, Murphy was there waiting in the form of a knock at his front door.

  “Sir?” It was Karl Rogett. “Miss Johnstone sent word, they need you in at your earliest convenience.”

  “Of course they do,” Markis grumbled. Fifteen minutes later he was back in his office, well dressed, freshly shaved, and feeling almost human.

  Millie was waiting for him. “Sir, there’s an intel briefing waiting as soon as you’re ready.”

  “No ‘good morning?’ Must be serious, eh?” He looked closer at her face, realizing she was frightened, really scared in a way he hadn’t ever seen before, even during the recent nuclear holocaust. “What is it?”

  “Sir, it’s best if you let the intel people brief you. And Colonel Muzik. In the secure conference room.” She pointed unnecessarily.