Thanks to that, and a whole laboratory set up for it, Quarkban's team, assisted by the resistance, was able to develop the self-replicating nanorobots that would ultimately be called “the Virus.”
Testing the efficacy of the Ikalian organism wasn't difficult. In fact, during the arrival of an imperialist supervisor on Pristh, Vorxion's men had managed to infect him, tainting his evening meal with the virus, encased, for the occasion, in an inert nano-bubble that would react only to contact with Ikalian digestive fluids. Once out of the degraded bubble, the virus would swam through the body fluids of the host organism and would self-replicate, destroying millions of cells and playing games with his entire immune system.
The resistance's objective was not to kill the host organism in the test, but to determine their ability to interrupt the infection at will. To ensure that the supervisor was under observation, they had decided to control the virus' replication so that it was very slow, in order to study the various stages of the disease, making sure to stop it before it degenerated. The morning after the infection, the imperialist was removed and hospitalized in the infirmary of the Ikalian ship orbiting Pristh. Those who saw him said that he looked like he'd been crushed by a spacecraft .
After Quarkban personally, under Vorxion's watchful eyes, put his finger on the inhibit command, it was another seven Prrism'aarth days6 before the supervisor was declared out of danger.
“There's no doctor or droid that could ever find traces of our virus,” Quarkban assured his companion.
“Excellent!” exclaimed the Ikalian rebel. “Given the disaster taking place on Earth, we must act as soon as possible. When will you be able to give us the amount necessary to keep the empire in check?”
“Tomorrow morning,” replied the scientist, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“How will you put enough of them together in just one night?” Vorxion asked, incredulous.
“Oh yeah, I forget: you're not well-versed in molecular biology, much less applied nanotechnology.”
The representative from the resistance hated that nasty comment, but had to make the best of a bad situation. That insufferable reptilian was, and would continue to be, indispensable to the outcome of the most important mission in all of galactic history.
“You only need one unit of the virus to infect all of Ikali,” Quarkban began again, satisfied that he had silenced his interrogator. “Once it's begun to self-replicate, it'll be able to infect other organisms, exploiting various means: by exchange of body fluids, via air, through water and whatever else is available. To insure that the virus is activated on or near the planet, I have already prepared a remodulation of the subspace signal that, once it reemerges near Ikali, taking advantage of numerous artificial satellites, will wrap itself completely around the planet.”
“Diabolical...”
“The idea for the virus was yours. I only put it together.”
If Vorxion hadn't known with scientific certainty about the lack of expression on a reptilian face, he would've sworn that he had just seen a smile of pure evil cross Quarkban's face.
12
“My dear Vorxion, if things are going so badly for the empire,” Quarkban said, “I would suggest that you find a faster way to get the virus to Ikali.”
“There's nothing faster than an Ikalian ship!” replied the resistance's representative.
“Really?”
Vorxion didn't understand what his inquisitor meant by that question. The reptilian began to stare at him. Disturbing, he thought.
“Subspace,” said the Prrism'aarth curtly.
“Excuse me?”
Quarkban shook his head as if he was speaking to a bothersome mental defective.
“A subspace message is practically instantaneous,” he explained.
“You can send information through subspace, not objects.”
“Please don't tell me something that I already know.”
If he hadn't been indispensable to their objectives, Vorxion would've happily disintegrated the other.
“One of your members, who assisted us in the creation of the virus, claimed to be an expert in cryptography.”
Suddenly, Vorxion had a flash of insight. “You don't mean to say...”
“Yes, that's right.”
“Are you certain that it can be done?”
“We can try. But we also have to be able to assemble...”
“I know your technology well; it's superior to ours. With the right instructions, it won't take much to assemble the nanorobots.”
The Ikalian seemed to think about it for a moment.
“On the other hand,” Quarkban then added, “you're only here so that you can operate away from prying eyes, and not for scientific ineptitude.” That last statement was far from certain, but you could never go wrong in flattering an Ikalian.
“Of course, but after the destruction of the Sjunish, the empire's subspace spies will be on the alert.”
“I don't know all of your policies, just the destructive ones, but I imagine that's true. In any case, I think I can assure you think it's much easier to conceal a subspace wave than an entire spaceship. If I were you, I'd be more worried about their control of the spaceport.”
“And it'll take several weeks less... Yes, Quarkban, we'll do as you suggest.”
“Good. Contact your scientists. They're going to have a lot of work to do.”
Vorxion took his leave quickly.
Left alone, the Prrism'aarth researcher stuck out his forked tongue five times.
It was a clear sign that he was excited.
The virus would arrive on Ikali very soon. It was one of his creations. And Quarkban's inventions always had hidden surprises.
13
They had no specific protocol for a situation like this. In fact, they had never envisioned a situation like this. Saarin had convened his generals and every leading expert on warfare present on Ikalian soil at the top floor of the T'anjakhaal. The emperor's rooms remained the safest place in the galaxy, any way you looked at it. It would've been far easier for an external force to blow up the entire planet than the T'anjakhaal.
“I don't give a damn about the opinions of biologists, scientists and philosophers! ” Saarin shouted furiously.
“But sire, we need to plan...”
“Nooo! We can't waste any time! The situation is far from good. The news about this accidental disaster and the immediate resumption of control are nonsense, intended to placate the opinion of a public that is unaccustomed to living with certain problems. The reality is quite different. Recent reports show that among those directly responsible for the attack on the Sjunish, are rebels from one or more resistance groups. The Alpha Orionis is completely beyond our control. Ikalians and Terrestrials are under the control of whoever commands that damn ship. Blue C has become the hub of a rebellion that could destroy the empire. We must eradicate the evil before it's too late, before it infects and kills our civilization! There'll be plenty of time for the details later.”
Some of those present were aware that the big picture of the situation would be better dealt with by more reason and less hyperbole. Despite this, the emperor wasn't to be questioned, especially when supported by a host of warmongering generals. For the latter, the impetus to proceed with a total attack on Blue C was fostered by two main stimuli: that of finally playing their part against an organized enemy, and the less rational one that seemed to pertain mainly to Saarin. The panic attack. In thousands of years, there had never been such a bizarre misfortune, as scientists of various worlds had demonstrated, which was capable of terrorizing any complex mind.
“I want, no, I insist,” the emperor began, “that every single weapon that was ever invented by an Ikalian, be discharged against the Alpha Orionis and Blue C. That ship should be reduced to molecules and the planet should resemble the nether regions described by Gjorn'th!�
��
No one present had ever seen the emperor so furious. In this type of situation, contradicting him would be tantamount to risking their lives.
Saarin looked over all of those beings who, suddenly, seemed so vile and unnecessary to him. Then he said: “I know what's behind those looks. You think that I've lost my mind. Quite the contrary. I've been thinking about this for days, listening to every report and dozens of expert opinions on the issue. And the reality is that we've lost control of our very empire. An uncertain number of our compatriots are working with people of annexed worlds to foment insubordination and revolt. For them to be able to gain control of the Betelgeuse, there must be intelligent minds, learned scientists and Ikalian government officials among the traitors. The problem began long before I assumed office. But there's a big difference now. For the first time, the terrorists possess a lethal, apparently unbeatable weapon: the Alpha Orionis. You must be thinking: how are we going to destroy it if the biggest ship that we could've used to fight them was just blown to bits?”
The question was securely hiding a rather stunning response. A solution of which everyone present was ignorant. All except the emperor and one general whose smile was more of a horrible grimace.
The emperor turned his eyes toward a specific point and a volitional microreader unit interpreted his gaze. A hologram instantly appeared in the center of the room. It depicted a hitherto unseen spaceship.
It was huge.
“What is this?” asked a stunned expert in warfare.
“It's our victory!” Saarin exclaimed smugly.
It was one of the first major projects that the emperor had commissioned, right after he had taken office. At the time, it was seen primarily as a means of keeping the brilliant minds of scientists, engineers and researchers engaged. A space program that was finished in the recesses of Saarin's mind. After asking for in-depth reports on the size of the imperial fleet, he had noticed the provision for a gigantic new ship, now completed many years before expected. Like manna from heaven.
Then, the general flanking the emperor spoke: “This is the Zorth'jun, a warship that's the same size as the Alpha Orionis. With more weapons, more resources and better technology. And, above all, without Taahrians. It's a technological marvel of which you've never seen the like, even in your four-dimensional holographic simulators.”
“And where is it?” someone asked.
“In a secret spaceport, on the dark side of the Virch't moon.”
Without giving anyone time to think, the emperor took control of the discussion again: “You may be asking yourselves why this was even built. There are two reasons. The first comes from the innate need of our scientists to satisfy their intellectual curiosity; while the second comes from the will of an emperor with foresight, namely me. Given that we've only explored a small part of the galaxy, I hadn't excluded the possibility that our empire might one day encounter a civilization so evolved that it would cause problems for us.”
The generals' demeanor became more relaxed after hearing of his vision. In fact, although willing to go to war, none of them had ever actually done so. Historically, except for the war on Pristh, the AI's and Taahrians had always dealt with this. War had always been seen as a speculative hypothesis, a sophisticated game that one could simulate in virtual reality. Instead now, thanks to the assistance of a similar force, it had all become easier.
Only one of the experts in warfare, who was also a quantum scientist, held up his hand to express concern.
“Please, speak your mind,” said the emperor, pleased with the respectful gesture that everyone else seemed to have forgotten.
“Sire, I have no doubt of the ship's might, but how will we avoid being hit by the Betelgeuse' dark mass generator?”
“Thank you for asking,” Saarin replied. “I am astounded, esteemed experts in warfare, that no one has done so before.”
A number of the people present looked down, humiliated.
“As the thirteen thousand scientists who worked on the development of this can confirm,” the emperor continued, “the Zorth'jun is the first Ikalian ship, and for all we know, the only one in the galaxy, capable of deflecting dark mass. It accomplishes this by means of a new and powerful deflector shield, capable of creating a mega-graviton flux. We will fight gravity with gravity. In addition, torpedoes and rays of any type will slide off of the shield. Compared to this, the Alpha Orionis' force field looks ridiculous! Also, the sub-telemetric data of the Sjunish's last moments have shown us that the Taahrian ship had no force field. From this, we can deduce that whoever was in control paid no attention to its existence, didn't understand its function or didn't know how to repair it. But rest assured. We will annihilate them. Notwithstanding this, far be it for me to underestimate the enemy's resources. That's an error for which we're already paying a huge price. The Taahrians have no friends among the Terrestrials and have remained in orbit around Blue C. Luckily, we were able to deceive the humans about the true nature of the situation.”
The emperor paused and looked stealthily at a corner of the room. “Someone important,” he began again, “had to have helped the resistance. Someone who, make no mistake, is planning to strike us again. Someone on Ikali whose movements we wouldn't suspect. Someone like you, General Fronxn!”
The commander of the army jumped. He stood up, incredulous. “You don't really think that I...”
“Yes!” Saarin declared.
Fronxn was a dead Ikalian.
His colleagues didn't bother imagining to what horrendous tortures he would be subjected: extended mind-reading scans, electric shocks, concentrated microwaves, and, finally, the destructive kiu'niq.
The war had begun.
14
“Excuse me. For whom are you looking?”
“Namiko. Namiko Masako.”
“Oh, but you're...?”
“Yes. It's me!” she responded contritely.
The employee at the Austral Solar Power Station knew not to pursue the issue.
“I'm sorry, but Mr. Ryan has been transferred.”
“Where can I find him?”
“I can't tell you; that information is classified.”
“Classified?”
“Privacy laws.”
Namiko stared at the little man with the pasty face.
He quickly blushed and lowered his gaze. It was time for her to play the seductress card.
“Please,” she said in a seductive tone. The employee just stood there. It was just the two of them, at that moment in the Information Center.
Namiko put her hand on top of the little man's, delicately and sensually. Like silk.
“I beg you...” she continued sweetly.
The man's brain turned to mush.
He couldn't resist the charms of this fascinating, intoxicating Asian woman.
“Oh, okay. He-he's in... Canberra,” he told her, swallowing. The Japanese woman continued to stroke his hand.
“The address,” she commanded.
“But I...”
“The address,” she repeated, with her lips inches away from his. “I'd be forever grateful to you.”
She knew that she had to insist. She had a certain experience with men. So she parted her lips and ran her index finger over his dead fish face. “Please...”
The employee couldn't hold out any longer.
He looked at the terminal and read out the address.
“Thanks you,” she said bewitchingly. “See you.”
“Y-yeah.”
“Oh. I almost forgot. I'll need to call Mr. Ryan first.”
“You want the...”
“Telephone number.”
“But..” The two black pearls continued to stare at him.
“Okay. Since I already... Zero, zero...”
“Zero, zero...” she repeated in a sensual voice.
The experience ended in a matter of seconds.
Namiko had written everything down on a sheet of paper. Then, moving her fingers at the employe
e, she bade him goodbye. She looked at him one last time: dazed and red as a hot pepper.
Idiot!
She didn't even have a dollar to her name, but she had the means to convince someone to give her a ride, or, better yet, give her a loan. She only needed to find the right men.
Who didn't have neural chips.
It didn't take long before someone loaned her a smartphone so she could try to reach Tylor. After a few rings, a recorded message told her that the person she was trying to reach was either busy or the phone was turned off. The only way to find out what had happened to Sirio was to descend on the Ryan home and hope to learn something.
The aliens had brought myriads of technological gadgets, and yet the only way to reach Canberra from the solar power station remained catching a bus. Namiko tried to bargain with the driver for a ticket by promising him a date.
“You must be crazy,” the driver told her firmly.
Maybe I'll have better luck with the second one.
No one seemed to recognize her. Who knows how long it had been since her face had been on the airwaves; in addition to which the enormous stress she had endured on the Alpha Orionis, aided by a Taahrian "makeover", had made her almost unrecognizable. Another company's bus would be leaving in an hour. At that point, she was the only one near the vehicle. She waited a few minutes until she saw the individual who must be the driver. She sidled up to the young man who was happy to flirt. After twenty minutes, they were great friends; after forty, they were almost intimate; and after an hour, she had assured her spot to Canberra.