Vector (The Extraterrestrial Anthology, Volume I: Temblar)

by Mark Aragona

three days ago, during a routine field inspection. The others all died covering my escape. I tried contacting the Monitors, but one of the creatures damaged the transmitter antenna outside.”

  She led me to one of the acceleration chairs. Around me the screens showed incomprehensible diagrams and graphs. The dull hum of a fan emanated from a nearby glass cube that seemed to be pumping gas through clear tubes attached to the ceiling. A perfect light-construct of a human DNA strand spun a slow dance on the table before me.

  “And you did not flee then?” I pressed her. “You did not return to the flagship?”

  She sat down beside me. “I could not, not without determining the cause of this plague, and how it would affect us. If I was already a carrier, returning to the flagship would cause an unmitigated disas—”

  I had her by the throat before she could blink. “Lies!” I shouted as we toppled backwards onto the deck. “You did this! You knew it was Moa-Gil that infected the humans! You killed your crew, just as you’ve killed mine!”

  “Master Gan,” she gasped. “C-control yourself! You’ve gone m—”

  I held up my finger knife. The blade was as long as her forearm. “You remember your assistant, Mua? He was my kinsman, and he left me a handprint on the hull of your ship. We Kusa call it the Traitor’s Hand, a sign that you betrayed him. You left him outside to die!”

  I pressed the tip of my blade into her throat and she gasped. “Answer me,” I demanded. “Did you spread Moa-Gil among the humans?”

  A bead of blood leaked out of the wound and left a yellow trail down her throat. She swallowed once, then muttered, “I did.”

  “Why? Tell me or I swear...”

  “Let me up. Let me up, Master Gan. We can talk just as well sitting as lying down. I’ll tell you everything.”

  I waited a moment, the blade burning between my thumbs, the faces of my dead comrades swirling in my head. Then I relented. Lyaren sat up and rubbed at her throat.

  “I didn’t want them to die,” she whispered. “Believe me; I regret their loss as you do yours. But it was necessary. The germ needed carriers.”

  “You admit purposely infecting the humans?”

  She sat down on the chair, looking at me with eyes that never seemed to blink. I could hear scuffling beyond the walls, the heavy thuds of fists against the ship’s metal hatch.

  “You make it sound as if I planned this from the start,” she said. “I did not. What happened here is the logical outcome of a scientific process. Hear me out, Gan.” She held up one hand at my look. “I’ve had nothing but the best intentions.”

  To my disgust she sat with her hands on her lap, like a mystic speaking to her students. “I discovered the effects of Moa-Gil by accident. On our sixth day here, I sent one of my scouts to collect food samples from that nearby human settlement. He made the mistake of opening his visor to try the Earth air. The bacteria then went airborne, infecting some of the natives living nearby. It spread quickly. I detected the change through my long-range bio-scanners, and realized this was a grand opportunity.”

  “And the scouts? What did you tell them?”

  “That we were witnessing the outbreak of an Earthian disease, and that it was imperative to observe it.” She picked up a glass prism containing a pink viscous fluid and held it up for me to see. “I produced cultures of the bacteria and hid them in sensor modules. Then I sent my scouts to drop them into the humans' water supply. I even told them it was safe to go without helmets. It was easy. They were innocent of my designs. Still, I could not risk any of them reporting to the Monitors on their own. So, a few days ago, I sent out the scouts one last time, destroyed the transmitter antenna, and locked the hatch.”

  “How did you spread the infection without their help?”

  She gestured to the tubes attached to a large glass cylinder. “I reversed some of those air intakes used for collecting atmospheric samples. They pump the contents of my bacterial cultures to the outside.”

  Her gaze was calm, impenetrable as the blank stares of the humans she’d infected. I felt cold down to my belly. “Why did you do this?”

  She spread her arms. “Why? Why do you think, Gan? I did it for our species. For us.”

  “We can never co-exist peacefully with the humans. The differences are insurmountable. Consider how Moa-Gil helps us, lets us breathe in the thinnest air. Then consider what it does to them. It strips their brains of higher-level functions, leaving only the most basic urges: to kill, to eat. And we see what the humans are truly like beneath their veneer of civilization—beasts.” She gestured out another porthole, where the creatures continued to pummel at the ship.

  “You’re the one who poisoned our relations with them!” I cried. “We could have negotiated—”

  “You’re not listening, Gan. Earthian-Marak relations ended the moment we discovered how Moa-Gil affects humans. What will they do when they discover we carry harmful bacteria? Do you think they will let us colonize their rainforests? They would sooner turn us to radioactive slag on the reaches of their orbit!”

  “So this is your answer? Exterminate them?”

  “I did not say that. I just want them culled. We remain hidden, the plague spreads, and the Earthians will war with each other. Once they are weak and scattered, we can build our colony and do as we wish.”

  “Did you honestly think that would work? Humans can create antibiotics—”

  “Let them. At the rate by which the plague spreads, they will not develop a vaccine fast enough to save the majority of their species. We will preserve the rest in manageable numbers. We can win, Gan.”

  “Listen to yourself, Lyaren!” I pressed my face close to hers, as if to force her to hear me. “We are not monsters! The Marak do not stoop to genocide!”

  She tilted her head to the side, confused. “Our people have braved untold dangers, crossed countless star systems to find this life-bearing world. Do you really not think we should fight to keep it? Morals cannot give us a home. You are Kusa, you know this. Do you not wish to fulfill your mission?”

  “Not at any cost!” I slammed my fist down on the table, sending glass shattering on the floor. “I did not come here to take our children to a battlefield. Our shame will live on for generations!”

  “Shame?!” She jabbed a finger at the burning world outside the porthole. “We are giving our people a home. By what right should they question our means of acquiring it? By what right, when our very survival is at stake? I say NONE!”

  We stared at each other. Outside, the thumping on the ship’s walls grew louder.

  “Put your weapon away, Master Gan,” she said, head raised, her hands cupped before her. “Do you think me a criminal? It doesn’t matter. We’ve each completed our missions. Bind me; take me back to our flagship. I will explain myself there. Then we shall see, won't we?”

  And I saw she was right. There was nothing I could do to turn her heart. I sheathed my knife and approached her.

  When she held out her hands, I jabbed a Rayolet needle into her wrist. She fell to the floor, convulsing. I bound her wrists and ankles with some tubing from her desk, sent a destruct code to my pod out in the lake, and initiated the launch sequence of the ship. The anti-gravity drive hummed to life, shaking off the feral humans clinging to its sides. As the ship vaulted straight up and hovered in the air, I came back for Lyaren.

  She was struggling to sit up, with little success. I dragged her to the hatch and opened it. The humans milled below us like a nest of bewildered rodents. I disarmed my plasma mine and attached it to her chest, synching it to her heartbeat.

  A single word escaped her lips: “Why?”

  “Forgive me, Lyaren,” I said. “I will add your Name to mine.”

  Saying that was the extent of my mercy. It was not a promise I could keep.

  I threw her down to where the bones of her crew, the flames, and the creatures awaited her, then shut the hatch and returned to the controls. I didn’t hear the mine above the sonic boom as th
e ship breached the stratosphere.

  That was how I failed my mission.

  I thought I could conceal what happened. I reported that Lyaren and her whole team were killed by the infected Earthians. I didn’t expect that the Monitors would spot Mua's mark before I could erase it, and thus start an investigation. I suppose that is fate.

  Now you ask: Why did I kill her, our most brilliant mind, our foremost scientist? Why did I not let her stand trial? What did I stand to gain?

  It was not for revenge. She was indirectly responsible for decimating our House, but Kusa have given their lives for less.

  No, I killed her because I knew she would never stay silent. I killed her because she made sense. I killed her because ideas themselves are like microbes—all they need is one vector to spread among the many. What idea is more dangerous, more tempting than Lyaren's: that we could gain a planet by using a single germ? How many of our desperate, dying populace would’ve succumbed to that madness? Thousands? Millions? The Monitors, respected as they are, would not be able to quell them.

  Then the Marak would descend on Earth, an army of vectors. Our tomorrow would be dimmed by plague and war. And humans are too good at war; they’ve had thousands of years of practice. Even if we won, we would lose: a diminished race on a radioactive rock.

  I don’t know what can be done to help the humans now. I only know that our people must never be given this terrible weapon. I believe that we