As the plane ran down the runway she saw the SUV flash its lights twice in goodbye, then turn and race away across the dusty desert landscape just turning pink in the light of dawn. Goodbye, Skull, she thought. I don’t like you, but right now I love you. I hope I get to thank you sometime.

-Epilogue-

Interstellar space, 1.6 light years from Earth, velocity .17C.

The organisms on the Meme scout ship were known by their functions. Thus, Commander was awakened earliest, and was the first to begin processing many thousands of planetary revolutions-worth of stored data from the target world. Some time later, two other organisms joined it in consciousness, to digest with Commander. They were designated Biologist and Executive.

It was two full revolutions more before they felt the need to confer. The Meme were meticulous beings, and they examined the data in detail, scanning from the moment their Lightbearer probe had deposited the Adversary Worm onto the target world thousands of cycles ago, until the moment of anomaly.

Commander was first to speak, as was proper. “Biologist. Explain the existence of these sentients. Why did the Adversary Worm not corrupt them sufficiently to reduce them to animals?”

“I cannot explain at this time, Commander. We must continue to process the stored data, and analyze. Perhaps the data will yet relate their fall.”

“Noted. Continue.”

A half a revolution later the Commander spoke again. “I am processing data from circa timepoint minus 3000. The sentients formed large collectives, developed symbolic communication, built permanent structures, and made organized war upon each other. They grow more numerous.”

Biologist replied, “I do not yet have sufficient data to form a conjecture. The Watcher probe is limited in its ability to sample at its orbital distance, and it is only transmitting Level One data.”

“Why do we not have Level Two data? Was the Level Two worm not deployed?”

“Unknown. Each perihelion brings more detail. I will continue to process.”

Executive also waited, and listened, and processed.

While the subordinates were by nature creatures of logic and of very even temperament, Commander was by design less so, having been given more flexibility and motivation to address threats, anomalies and irritations. Thus it was only another revolution, a mere moment to the deep-thinking beings, before Commander spoke again, hardly able to contain itself. By the standards of its race, it was agitated. Its protoplasmic body, huge with age and genetic knowledge, shook within its containment tank.

“I am processing data from circa timepoint minus one hundred. The sentients have developed control of basic electrical forces including electromagnetic communications, internal combustion, and atmospheric flight. The level Two worm must have failed.”

This time it was Executive that responded. “I have been digesting the data as well. I have begun constructing courses of action using the resources at hand.”

“Those resources are very limited. This is a Survey craft, not a Destroyer.”

Executive and Biologist exchanged fleeting thoughts of concern, or perhaps amusement. Commander was sometimes given to redundant statements of well-known fact. The two remained indulgent.

Biologist responded, “Let us continue to digest data. Approximately one hundred target-revolutions will bring us to data-timepoint zero. Then we will have maximum information and can formulate strategy.”

“We must formulate an effective strategy to reduce them to animals. The Race must not Blend with fully sentient beings, or we shall lose who we are. Yet they must be clever enough to be trained to serve. We must prepare Level Two phages for deployment.”

But it was only a fraction of a revolution later that Commander, after processing data from only some fifty cycles ago, exclaimed, “They have harnessed atomic forces for weaponry and research!”

“Yes. Adjusting projections and strategies. These sentients have grown dangerous.” Executive mused momentarily that it itself was now beginning to make obvious and pointless restatements of known fact.

“Artificial orbiting objects! Interplanetary probes! Nuclear weapons numbering thousands! Digital computing devices! Biological informatics and life-code engineering! We must prepare Level Three phages!”

“Calm yourself, Commander,” soothed Biologist. “We have now processed the record until target-data timepoint zero. They are still primitive. Even now, Executive is developing strategies. I am digesting data from our Watcher. And even better, I have an ever-growing store of information from the sentients themselves, broadcast by electromagnetic carrier waves into space.”

“But we are still at least twelve revolutions from arrival. In that time, who knows what capabilities they will have developed? Remember Species 447? It consumed thousands of revolutions of time and untold racial resources to reduce them to animals. I do not wish to be brought before the Assembly for failure to subdue this species.”

Executive interjected, “Let us continue to study and plan. It appears by my preliminary trend analysis that these sentients may still reduce themselves to animals of their own volition between timepoint zero and our arrival. If not, we will assist them to do so. And we have yet to gain access to the more recent Watcher Probe logs. Their records end some 4000 cycles ago.” For unknown reasons.

“I agree with Executive, Commander. Let us apply our best efforts and we may yet avoid censure.”

Commander released the Meme equivalent of a long sigh. “Accord. I will compose a lightspeed communication burst to the Destroyer, detailing the situation and requesting advice, along with all of our data. We should receive an answer in approximately five revolutions. Biologist, what is the designation of this new sentient?”

“Commander, designation is Human, Species 666.”

End of The Eden Plague. 

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Reaper’s Run Excerpt

Book 1 of the Plague Wars Series

“Cap’n,” the 40mm gunner abruptly broke in from above, “something’s up.”

Muzik and Repeth turned to look in the direction the private pointed. Around a corner two blocks away came a procession of hundreds of people, perhaps thousands, yelling something and waving signs with anti-government, anti-martial-law slogans. Some pumped fists, and some carried sticks with no signs attached. More kept coming toward them, and some outliers, mostly young men, jumped on cars or kicked over garbage cans.

All the uniforms nearby, whether military or cops, nervously checked their weapons, and moved instinctively out of the mob’s path. “Everyone keep calm,” Captain Muzik called to his troops in a ringing voice. “As long as they are peaceful, do not fire.”

“They don’t look peaceful, sir,” Repeth said as several youths smashed a parked car’s windshield.

“I’m not going to shoot people for a little property damage, Corporal,” Muzik said in a cold voice. “You’d better get inside the Humvee. Lock the doors.”

It stuck in her craw to have to be protected, but she knew he was right. With her legs the way they were, and no weapon, there wasn’t much she could do. She wasn’t sure she could shoot American civilians anyway, unless they were trying to kill someone.

They’re just scared, she told herself. Like me.

“Get on the radio,” Muzik said to her when she had climbed in. “The CEOI is right there with callsigns and frequencies. Tell Battalion what’s happening and we need riot control squads.”

“Roger,” Repeth responded flatly, reaching for the radio handset.

“What?” Captain Muzik shot her an annoyed glance.