The Poisoned
By D. Glen Cardenas (c) 1994
Part 3 - Monitoring A Dying Planet
Observation
By and large, the earth is a rather unremarkable place in cosmic terms. A small clump of rock orbiting a mundane yellow star in a mostly uninhabited arm of the galaxy. It is a place like many others, home to a civilization of moderate organization and somewhat marginal intellect; a bunch of folks just trying to get along as best they can in a hostile reality and doing a fair amount of damage to their world in the process. Nothing out of the ordinary for a galaxy this size.
One galaxy over there is another rather unremarkable planet skirting still another commonplace star, but the inhabitants of this world are very remarkable. The race calling itself the Herbin have been evolving here for about ten times longer than humans on the earth and thus have achieved a level of sophistication well beyond that of earth or most other inhabited places in this small cluster of galaxies. In fact, the Herbin have crossed well over into a realm of existence that depends very little on the physical in favor of the more versatile form of psychic energy. This isn't to say that the Herbin have no bodies; they can. However, they do not depend on them for much more that serving as a convenient form for interacting with other less developed life forms.
As a rule, most Herbin exist within a collective intelligence in a pure energy state. Therefore, while in this state there is no single Herbin. There is instead a collective Herbin mind free of physical constraints and existing as one unified personality. This makes travel very simple. The collective Herbin mind chooses to go to some place and they think a part of themselves there. Once they arrive at this destination, they can manifest themselves in the traditional form that served as their bodies in the "before time". These bodies are not true living organisms, but facsimiles of their original bodies. They don't need to be "alive", just physical. A Herbin leaving the collective and entering the physical universe need only will a mass of appropriate mater to take up the form of a body. The Herbin then inhabits this form producing movement through levitation and communication to other species via direct mental access; very efficient considering it circumvents language or cultural barriers by passing symbols and concepts common to all intelligent life forms to and from the higher reasoning centers of the mind (whatever form this mind may take).
There is a small catch to this lifestyle. Once a Herbin takes a physical form it is very much on its own. It has full autonomy in its actions, takes on an independent personality and looses touch with the collective except through thought communication with other physical Herbin. Another interesting quirk is that a Herbin in a body is stuck there for a full life cycle of about 160 earth years. They cannot simply take a body and then leave it at will. After the set 160 years, the Herbin must give up the body and rejoin the collective. This is a process known as re-assimilation. When this happens, the Herbin abandons its virtually indestructible body and leaves it to sit dormant for all intents and purposes, forever. Once re-assimilated, the same Herbin cannot make a new body for another 6000 years. This has to do with self imposed restrictions involving the conservation of mass and energy and the amount of each that any given Herbin is allowed to use over a set "life" cycle. Thus, one might expect to find the occasional squat penguin-like body of a re-assimilated Herbin sitting around in some rather strange places for thousands of years. Herbin like to wander around and explore.
Ordinarily, the Herbin would pay little attention to a race such as humans, being the primitive sort that they are. However, a part of the collective that keeps track of events in the Earth's neighborhood found it intriguing that this one planet had started giving off an unusual amount of psychic energy rather suddenly. This phenomenon was likely being caused by the mass deaths of a tremendous number of both plant and animal life forms. How curious. At some level within the collective a decision was made to dispatch a few hundred individuals to this planet, assume physical form and see what's going on.
Refuge
"Set her down here, Mr. Perry"
Perry looked down over the right wing of the Beechcraft and noted a cleared spot in the jungle where Paul McFarlin was pointing. Looked like enough room to him. He banked the plane sharply to the left and circled back around for an approach. Brad Perry knew this plane well enough to land it on a football field. This was cake. After he was on the ground and parked, Perry spotted something just inside the jungle to the left of the clearing. Hughies. Two of them. Obviously well hidden from overhead, he surmised they were probably stolen. Oh well, it was none of his business. It did strike him a bit odd though. Why bother hiding them? Everybody's dying. Who would take the time to track down a couple of hot choppers?
He opened his door and stepped out. About the same time his passengers did likewise from the other side of the plane. Paul's wife Sandy was the first to emerge. She stepped out into the jungle heat and grimaced a bit; like the expression one might expect of a shipwreck victim emerging from the broken hull of a yacht onto some uncharted island. Sort of confused, sort of disgusted. She walked away from the plane carefully as if afraid of stepping on something like a snake or a heap of dung. Running her fingers through her short cropped red hair, more out of habit than anything else, she looked like a refugee on a lost planet. At that point seven year old Tommy, ten year old Paul Jr., and thirteen year old Brenda exploded from the Beechcraft and immediately took off in different directions. Sandy responded by blanking out whatever she was feeling and going into serious corralling mode.
Paul McFarlin began fetching bags of supplies from the plane's belly. Perry came around from his side to help. Nothing was said, just fetch and toss. When the final canvas bag was on the ground, Paul turned to his pilot, there eyes meeting briefly, then he surveyed the strip. His wife had two of the three kids by the hand and the oldest following behind as she approached the plane.
"So what's your decision, Brad? You staying or will you be flying back to Lima?"
Perry didn't answer right away, but looked at his watch. 4:13pm. He realized he was doing so out of habit. It didn't matter what time it was. He had no agenda.
"Do you think you folks will really be able to survive here? I mean, this isn't exactly Arlington Virginia. You won't find a Handy Andy in this jungle and the people here may not be inclined to show you basic survival skills. They never have taken well to outsiders, especially whites."
Paul took Perry by the arm and lead him away from the plane and his family's ears.
"I don't see where we have any choice. All of us that reviewed the climate data and dispersal projections agreed this is the only place on the earth that has a chance in hell of escaping contamination for the two months it will take the DDRST to become inert. I figure we die a horrible death in Washington, or we die here in the jungle. I'll take my chances in a place where I have at least some control over the odds."
Brad put a hand on Paul's shoulder and smiled. The smile broke into a bit of a laugh.
"I didn't bring any supplies of my own. I'll need to go back to Lima and stock up."
"Bullshit! All you need is a good knife and the cloths on your back. We didn't bring food or consumable in those bags. We brought tools."
Arm and arm, the two men wandered away from the plane. Paul looked briefly over his shoulder to observe that Sandy did indeed have the kids under control, then turned to his friend.
"You and I go back a long way, Brad. You flew me into Guatemala on my very first survey for the Geographic Society. Your advice saved my life that time and several other times as well. Do you remember? I was green as hell and had a head full of steam and bullshit."
Perry nodded and grinned. Oh ya, he remembered what an arrogant ass Paul had been back then; fresh out of school and so sure he knew it all.
"Snake bites were the last things on my mind. You knew better what I was likely to face and gave me what you probably thought was an off hand tip. At least that's how I took it. Then, like the fool I was, I stuck my hand into a thicket and drew back a pit viper securely attached to my wrist. I believe I would have died had it not been for your quick lesson in jungle smarts. I owe you my life many times over for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which is this flight today."
Paul faced his pilot and placed both hands on his forearms. From the look of it, if Brad tried to get away Paul was prepared to wrestle him to the ground. But Brad smiled broadly and looked his friend square in the eyes. Paul lowered his voice a bit so as to add to the intensity of what he was saying.
"The fact is, Brad, I just may need to call upon your practical experience again; probably often. I don't look forward to playing Robinson Caruso. I need you here. We all do. This time take MY advice. Don't attempt another round trip. You won't make it. You saw the dispersal projections for today. It's not worth risking contamination, not even for supplies. You don't need anything we don't have on hand and I don't want you taking the chance of not being able to find fuel for the return flight. Stash the plane and come with us now."
"What about the others? Will they feel the same way?"
"They think you're smarter than I do. They simply took for granted our pilot wouldn't be stupid enough to just drop us off and then fly back to die."
They both turned their heads to the sound of an approaching jeep. They walked back to the plane and arrived about the same time the jeep pulled up. A tall man in fatigues jumped from behind the wheel and approached the two men.
"Mr. McFarlin, welcome. I'm Hal Lipton."
The two shook hands. Paul introduced his pilot, wife and children resulting in handshakes all around.
"How many arrived?" McFarlin asked.
"The Senator and his wife and her sister, some guy from MIT and his family..."
"That would be Dr. Kincade" Paul interjected.
"Sounds right. He wanted me to ask if you managed to get everything he had on the list." Paul motioned to the heap of canvas bags and responded, "What he wanted, back-ups, and spares."
Hal nodded and continued, "There are some more people from the Society, several with families, this cute gal with NOAA, three of us who were part of the team who did the upgrade at the observatory for Dr. Zimmerman's outfit, then Todd and Fay Milton, who worked with Zimmerman at the observatory. I'd say about two dozen all together."
"I guess those are your Hughies?" inquired Brad.
"Yep"
"Why did you bother to camouflage them?"
"We were the last to leave the observatory. We diverted to pick up the Miltons. He was the one who let me in on this plan. We served together in Saudi Arabia and we got to be good friends. Anyway, as far as the rest of the team is concerned, we're missing in the jungle someplace. I don't want to be accidentally rescued. Just to be safe we should do the same with your plane. Taxi it into that group of trees for now then we can come back in force tomorrow to cover it up."
"Sounds like a plan. Paul, can you spot for me?"
He agreed. The two parked the plane in a tight clearing and Hal loaded the bags. Moments later the whole lot piled in the jeep and headed off into the jungle.
Mayhem
"Mr. President, we should leave now. Washington is unsafe. I have a chopper ready to take you to where your family is in the mountains. If you delay any longer I can't guarantee your safety."
The President continued to stare out the window of the oval office and didn't respond.
"Mr. President?"
Slowly, painfully, he spun his chair around to face the voice. The president didn't look well. His eyes appeared to be sunken in their sockets; the result of distortion of the skull. He wheezed a bit, unable to take a full breath for two days now, this being the result of encroachment of the rib cage on his lungs. To put it simply, the president was dying. So was his aid. He continued to look at the young man without saying a word then swung his chair back around to the window.
"Go without me, Bob. I'm a dead man. I would just as soon my family not have to watch me die this way and I don't want to have to watch them die either. Besides, my place is here. I swore an oath to this post and I might as well stay until the end. Not more than a day or so left anyway."
The aid walked around the desk to stand at his side. They watched together in silence for a moment at the mob in the streets. The president looked up at him, his face full of despair.
"Look at those people out there. Only hours to go in their lives and they choose to spend them running amuck in the streets. I've watch them kill each other for sport, rape each other, stand shaking and crying in the middle of the sidewalks. What are we, Bob? What kind of animal does this? I've watched stray dogs die on my farm in Iowa with more dignity. Why do the troops guarding this broken palace have to mow down otherwise good people just to keep them outside the fence? I'm not worth protecting at that price. No one is. Why don't they go to a church or their homes and die honorably? I wish I could wave my hand and blow every goddamn one of them straight to hell. Is this the true us? Are we still so primitive?"
Bob didn't answer but gazed transfixed at the carnage and mayhem in the streets below. What could be said?
"Serves us right, Bob. We did this to ourselves and it jolly well serves us right. Screw the human race. Good riddens. The earth will be a lot better off without us and I'm grateful as hell we never made it out into space. We'd have just fucked that up too. Humanity, HA, the cosmic joke!"
The phone on the desk started to ring and Bob turned to reach for it. The president grabbed his arm to stop him.
"Don't pick it up. It may be my wife calling to see if I've left yet. I'd just as soon she think I have."
The president rolled his chair away from the window and back to his desk. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and grimaced as he labored to raise himself to get up. His aid took an arm and helped. Once on his feet, he took a step towards the door, froze with an expression of silent agony then collapsed face down onto the floor. As Bob bent over his boss and attempted to help him up, he saw that he was bleeding from the mouth. Then he started to hack, coughing up blood in the process. Bob didn't quite know whether to help him up or leave him on the floor but chose the latter.
"Stay put, sir. I'll go get Dr. Moore."
The president didn't try to speak. He knew what had happened. The strain of getting up had caused his ribs to puncture his lungs. He watched his aid round the hall and disappear. Just as well, he thought. He knew he was about to die and preferred to do it alone without a lot of fuss and fanfare. With any luck he would be dead before the doctor arrived and so avoid having to go through the futile ritual of whatever treatment had been planned for this moment.
He rolled slowly onto his back, refusing to die face down in the carpet. That's when he saw it. At first he assumed he was hallucinating. Death can cause one to see some strange shit, but this aberration was real. The small penguin-like form floated over to him and landed beside his head. It stared at him with its huge glassy eyes and slightly waved its trunk. Then he heard it speak, but not to him. More like through him.
"Why are you being kept apart? Are you being protected or punished in some way? Don't speak, just think your response to me."
"Who...what are you?"
The president wasn't sure the creature had heard his thought. For that matter he wasn't really sure he had generated a thought. He never found out, for at that moment he lost consciousness. The Herbin was disappointed that this human never responded to the question, but there were other odd occurrences to be investigated. It levitated back down the hall from whenst it came and out onto the lawn through a shattered window. It hovered above a cherry tree watching the rioting until it was joined by two others. Together the three passed unnoticed over the heads of the dying rabble and crossed the Potomac. By the time Dr. Moore reached the hallway with the aid, the Herbin had left and the president lay dead.
Over the next few days the hundred or so Herbin sent to earth saw the same kink of senseless rioting and destruction in all of the cities along the east coast. As they fanned out over the earth all they could find were bodies and more evidence of lawlessness. Needless to say, the Herbin were not impressed with these humans but noted that such behavior was to be expected from life forms of this level. They had seen it before on other planets for other reasons. By the end of the next day no living humans were observed anywhere they traveled. A good portion of other higher mammals were also found to have suffered the same fate. The few clues left behind pointed to the cause of this mass death. The humans had for what ever reason developed a powerful toxin and then allowed it to escape into the biosphere. That was stupid. Why did they do such a thing and what had been the intended use of this toxin in the first place. These answers were not forthcoming given the evidence left behind to work with. Survivors needed to be found to answer these questions. None of the Herbin were optimistic about finding any survivors but an effort had to be made.
On a high ridge of the Ozark Mountains a lone Herbin hovered over the tops of a grove of pine trees and descended into a clearing. Finding there a small and somewhat shabby dwelling with a plumb of smoke emanating from its chimney, the thought occurred to it that this may be a sign of life. With hopeful anticipation the Herbin approached the door at about the same time it opened. A young female stumbled out and fell to her knees on the porch. She was badly disfigured from the effect of the toxin and was surely near death. It hoped this human might be better able to communicate than the one found at the compound in the city. A quick connection with the other Herbin informed it that so far no other contacts had been made with living humans and so any hope of obtaining information on this species lay with this one dying girl. A link was established with her mind and the inquiry began.
"What has happened to your people?"
She looked around and saw nothing but knew she had heard a voice. She assumed it was God speaking to her and so broke into prayer. The resulting stream of concepts the Herbin picked up from her mind was rather confusing and in no way added to the knowledge base of this phenomena. It attempted again.
"Why are you dying?" Perhaps a more direct approach would be better.
"A plague...The rest are dead inside the house; my family...dead. Me too soon. Why have you done this to us? What sin are we being punished for? Why didn't the doctor come with my brother? Where is my brother? Are you punishing him too?"
Well, this was getting nowhere. Obviously this human knew less about what was going on then the Herbin. It seemed only fair that she have what ever information might be of value to her. It didn't know what sort of information would be appropriate, so it kept it rather generic.
"There is a toxin in your biosphere that has caused the deaths of all your kind. You are the last."
"I know. The others are dead inside the house."
"You are the last. The last human. We had hoped that you might have known what caused this to happen to your world. Do you have that information?"
At that point the girl looked up and for the first time saw what she had been talking to. She stared at the Herbin for several minutes then decided she was going crazy and started to cry. The Herbin observed quietly as her sobs turned to hacking and then unconsciousness. No further communication would be possible with this one. It landed next to her and attempted to probe her mind. It picked up some disjointed dream images relating to an activity called swimming being done in the company of other humans about her age. Something called a picnic was also taking place having to do with the consumption of food in an outdoor social setting. It seemed pleasant to her and the others involved. It continued this probe until she stopped breathing and the images ceased. She was dead. More needed to be known about these humans and there culture. Other survivors must be located.
The Herbin started a tight survey of the earth in the hope of finding someone; anyone left alive. Noting the weather patterns of the planet it stood to reason that if survivors did exist they would be found near the equator at high altitudes. Efforts should be concentrated along that logic.
Survivors
Dr. Zimmerman spent all of his waking hours for the next several days going over the directory listings of the database he had been given to guard. So complete was his preoccupation that he had made no attempt up to that time to watch the broadcast channels or open communications with Washington figuring that if anyone wanted to talk to him they would call. Finely he chose to take a break and kick on the TV in his room. There was nothing there. He scanned the other transponders and still found only snow or test patterns. Finely he came to the MTV channel and found it alive with the usual fare of rock videos. Things couldn't be too bad back home if MTV was still going strong. He sat back to see if they would give any kind of news programming other than concert listings. As he watched, Kiss assaulted his ears followed by Metalica followed by Def Leopard followed by some other band followed by dead air. The dead air lasted about three minutes until a zit cream commercial broke the silence. Another two commercials followed, then more dead air. Finely more videos started to run. Something was very wrong! He stayed up the rest of the night to follow the programming and the pattern repeated. Videos, dead air, commercials, dead air, more videos. By morning he realized that even the videos and commercials were repeating in the same order. Automation! Everything had been programmed in advance and the computer was playing the same program over and over because obviously no one was there to change it. The dead air was supposed to be VJ drop-ins that had never been recorded and added to the play list. No one was home! He tried the 2-way comm link to Washington. It was time to ask someone in authority what was going on. He heard a familiar tone on the other end as the system attempted to attract the attention of whoever was monitoring communications at the pentagon. After a solid hour of trying he still never got an answer.
Zimmerman started to panic. He scanned the transponders again. No change. He set the dish targeting system to seek another satellite. Same results. Another satellite. Same results. Where the hell was everybody? No! It couldn't be! Someone had to be alive someplace. Surely to God he hadn't piddled his way through the end of the human race. Damn. He knew he should have been monitoring the news to see how things were being handled. He told himself all along that he didn't want to know. He hadn't wanted to listen to the CNN reports of mass death and suffering. He figured he would wait a few days and listen to reports of survival and rescue, not blood and guts. Now there was no news at all; anywhere; about anything.
During the following two days Zimmerman called, listened, scanned, all to no avail. He was cut off. For all he knew he was the only man alive. Ah, come on. It couldn't have gotten that bad. Maybe he should get in his copter and fly into Lima. No, if he broke the seal on the door he would be subject to contamination himself. Besides, he was under orders to stay put until someone in Intelligence got in touch with him and gave him orders to upload the database back to Washington. Hell, it looked to him like the people who gave him those orders were dead and he found no evidence that there was anyone left to give him further instructions. What to do - what to do.
Not more than a hundred miles away another survivor was monitoring the air waves and likewise finding silence. Like Zimmerman, he too found this disconcerting though somewhat less surprising. It had been quiet for about three days now. Brad made the decision to fire up the engines on the Beechcraft and allow the batteries to recharge. After all, he had been scanning with the radio for almost six hours now and even though he had picked up nothing other than the automated voice of WWV announcing the correct time every sixty seconds, felt it wise to keep the radio functioning for as long as he had the fuel to power the engines.
As the first hint of dawn spread over the jungle, he observed that the sky had become overcast during the night. At least his walk back to camp would be free from the heat of the sun but plagued by rain if he didn't start back soon. Fifteen minutes on the engines to recharge the batteries then he would have to try and get some sleep. No sense sacking out in the plane. He had slept in this bird too many times in the past. His tent would be a better choice and what the hell, it served as home now; such as it was.
"I don't suppose anyone is back on the air."
Brad tossed his pack in the general direction of his tent and rubbed his eyes. When they cleared, he focused on a tin cup of steaming root tea being handed to him by Dr. Saul Kincade. Brad took it and sipped.
"I didn't expect to hear anything and wasn't proved wrong."
He parked himself in front of his tent and continued to sip at the cup. Damn, this stuff is good. Beats the hell out of instant coffee any day. Just as well. The coffee ran out on the first morning. He mused at the panic in some of the more hard core caffeine freaks when it was discovered that they would have to do without. It all worked out anyway. The tea was a welcome substitute. Food in general was in abundant supply here in the jungle if you knew what to look for and where to find it. Many of the survivors were schooled in this art, himself included, and there was no want for the necessities. Luxuries had proven to be just that. Well enough to forget them. Scientists and engineers being what they are, a good deal of tinkering had been going on around the camp. Water had been channeled in from the stream, a few simple sanitary facilities had been rigged up, other putzing was still going on trying to make life a bit more "civilized" in the jungle.
"McFarlin, Lipton and myself met with the leaders of that small village a couple of kilometers north of here last night after you left for your plane," Kincade reported. "They seem to know a bit about the situation, but the most noticeable manifestation from their point of view is the absence of government solders who usually raid these villages for food and young men to serve in the army. Apparently, some villages were regularly subjected to acts of attrition for alleged support of the mountain guerrillas. This too has suddenly stopped and the people are a bit curious. We told them what we could about the world situation. They took it rather well actually. Said it explains why they can't pick up any stations and the general lack of government presents here in the mountains. I got the impression they were really glad to have us around, too. I just hope it isn't as a food supply."
Brad mustered the energy for a faint smile. He assured his companion that the people around here were not that primitive and certainly not cannibalistic. Oh, Lord, there was to be a lot of mutual learning if the last of the human race was going to get along. "Did you tell them to avoid anyone or any animals that come up here from the valley, including members of their own village who might have been in a contamination area over the past few days?"
"Naturally we told them. Wasn't necessary. We were told this is the harvest and few people are away from home at this time of year. With no troops about, there's no one up here that doesn't belong here; except I suppose for us. There is also minimal animal migration from bottom to top along these mountains until spring, and by then any surviving animals would be clean anyway; at least as far as we know."
Brad reflected on this. "As far as we know." Shit, no one knows squat! Everything was an unknown; the rain, the wind, the insects. There were no guidelines this time. It was up to chance and divine providence. Little did they know at this point, but it was also up to the Herbin.