The Great Destroyer (10 page)

The stars twinkled, and the Milky Way stretched across the clear night sky over the Indian Ocean, much to Igazi’s pleasure as he stood on the beach.  Gone were the days spent in the DMV, contemplating suicide.  Now he was a member of the Arcani. 

That was, of course, just the name that Professor Thomas Jackson had given the organization when Minister of Public Safety Redfeather had announced its creation.  The Terran Alliance insisted the force was the Partnership Compliance Group.  Jackson had pointed out that Arcani had been a shadowy Roman unit tasked with watching for invasions by barbarian tribes, a mission very analogous to that of Igazi’s outfit. 

Whatever the name, their job was to monitor the beaches of mainland Africa near Madagascar.  Their objective was to make sure that the Ushah didn’t cross the Mozambique Channel to Africa without humanity knowing something was happening.

“See any aliens up there, Andy?” Ashanti Gutierrez asked with a mocking tone.  Igazi suppressed a grunt of irritation.  She had caught him staring up at the stars, something he often did on night patrols. 

Igazi gave the question a more serious answer than it deserved, not even bothering to look over at the annoyingly attractive 25 year old squadmate. 

“Probably, yes.  We can see billions of stars up there, Ash.  Now that we know we aren’t the only intelligent life in the Universe, there’s bound to be more up there.”

“Then why haven’t we heard from any other than the Ushah?” Gutierrez asked.

“That’s the Fermi Paradox,” Igazi said.

She arched an eyebrow.  “The what?”

Igazi looked over at her.  “Some guy named Fermi in the 20th century wondered why we didn’t hear from aliens more often.  There are 400 billion stars in our galaxy alone, and our star is relatively young, billions of years younger than most stars.  An intelligent species should be able to spread across an entire galaxy within a few million years.  So why did we never hear from any other species in the universe?” 

Gutierrez nodded.  “Alright, I’ll bite, why not?”  She quickly added, “Before now.”

“No one knows.  That’s why it’s a paradox.  There are so many stars, but no other intelligent life.  The answer to the paradox has to be that something is stopping intelligent life from forming or surviving long enough to become apparent to us—a Great Filter that prevents almost all the other stars from harboring beings like us.”

Gutierrez’s interest was piqued.  “So what’s the Great Filter?” 

Igazi shrugged.  “Some astronomers and biologists argue that the Great Filter happens early in evolution.  Maybe life itself evolving is incredibly rare, or it’s rare that the planet is stable long enough for life to evolve past bacteria and the like.  Others argued the Great Filter happens later on.  Maybe intelligence isn’t usually selected in evolution as a useful trait.  Or maybe it’s something we humans haven’t gotten to yet.” 

Even Gutierrez had to take a moment to digest that.  “If the Ushah exist too, then...”

“Right,” Igazi cut in.  “The Great Filter is probably in the future, otherwise the Ushah would have been killed off by it.”

Gutierrez’s smooth face wrinkled.  “And it’s probably not far in the future, because the Ushah aren’t that much more advanced than we are.”

A chill ran down Igazi’s spine, and he turned his gaze back on Ash.  She had reached a conclusion he hadn’t considered.  “That’s right...”

A shrill voice sounded in the dark.  “Team Member Igazi!”

The South African shook his head to snap out of the moment, and walked down toward the front of the column, leaving Gutierrez behind.  There, the squad leader, Francois Noel, stood with hands perched petulantly on his hips.  He had been a TA Safety Officer in Paris before joining the Arcani.  “There you are.  I’ve got a job for you.  We just got a report from base of some weird infrared signals in the jungle about four hundred meters inland.”

Igazi nodded.  This was the ordinary sort of concern that the Arcani responded to.  Infrared satellites kept a close eye on the Mozambique coast, looking for signs of the Ushah. 

The Ushah could live in the Earth atmosphere with a breathing mask to give supplemental oxygen, and their biochemistry wasn’t radically different from those of reptiles.  Though they appeared reptilian, they were warm-blooded.  Their bodies had evolved to run at a higher temperature than that of humans, around 50 degrees Celsius, 122 Fahrenheit.  Maintaining a temperature that high required warm clothing on their part. 

That was high enough that the Ushah stood out plain as day on infrared scanners in Madagascar.  Infrared emissions were thus expected to be the primary manner by which humans could detect the Ushah.

Igazi asked, “What kind of ‘weird’ infrared signals did the satellites pick up?”

Noel shrugged.  “Houston reports spikes up and down by about 3 degrees Celsius over an area about a meter square.  Take two other team members and see what’s going on.”

“Alright, team leader,” Igazi said dutifully.  No one in the Terran Alliance wanted to adopt military titles for the Arcani, so generic identifiers like “team member” and “team leader” had to do.

Igazi called, “Gutierrez, Xiao, come over here.”  Wen Xiao was an aimless forty year old who had joined the Arcani out of career lethargy, just like Igazi.  He had acquired enough experience in his months with the Arcani that he wouldn’t do anything headstrong or stupid.  Gutierrez, of course, was a hot twenty-five year old here for an adventure.  Not optimal for this mission, but Igazi figured the more time he spent with her, the greater the likelihood she’d yield to his advances.

“We’ve got a little job to take care of...” Igazi explained the mission, and the three set off into the jungle.

The three Arcani probed nervously into the dense brush.  No one had spotted an Ushah on the mainland of Africa yet, but the jungle night could hold all manner of threats.  Snakes, predatory animals like jaguars, and disease-bearing mosquitos added to the general sense of unease. 

Each Arcani was armed with nothing but a radio headset and a flashlight.  They were to report on what they found, and they lacked the equipment to do much more than that. 

The notion of providing firearms to the Arcani had been quickly quashed by Safety Minister Redfeather.  He had claimed it was a panicky overreaction more likely to lead Arcani members to commit suicide or violence against each other.

The young South African cursed the Safety Minister’s decision as he walked forward slowly and nervously, leaving the flashlight in his pocket.  The starry sky was the only illumination tonight, and his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark.  His instructors had told him that using the flashlight would erase hours of acclimation to the low light.

Right now, he could barely see anything.  The moonless night that had made stargazing so easy earlier now lent the jungle an inky, impenetrable atmosphere.  The jungle canopy shaded the stars, and he could just make out the outlines of trees and leaves ahead of him as he parted the way, first in the line of the three Arcani.

How far have we come? 
Igazi realized he had lost track.  The infrared anomaly was only supposed to be a few hundred meters into the jungle.  Unless it turned out to be something obvious, there was a real chance they would miss it entirely. 

There was a rustling in the trees off to the right, perhaps fifteen meters away.  Gutierrez let out a yelp, and Igazi shifted his gaze over in the direction of the disturbance.  Xiao quieted Gutierrez, and Igazi waited a moment to see if whatever had moved would stir in the jungle once more.

Igazi almost jumped out of his skin in surprise when his commander’s voice sounded in his headset.  “Find anything yet, Igazi?”

He cursed internally and whispered, “Negative, team leader.  Will report back soon.”  He switched the radio off.

“Xiao, come with me,” Igazi mumbled.  “Ash, you stay here.”

“Why can’t I come?” Gutierrez asked plaintively.

“Someone has to report back if we’re killed,” Igazi said with only a touch of melodrama.

The young woman from Honduras looked like she might argue further, but thought better of it. 
Maybe she has enough sense to be afraid of what might be out there
, Igazi thought.

Wordlessly, Xiao complied with Igazi’s plan.  The two crept slowly through the jungle, moving a few steps and then stopping to listen.

A louder rustle this time.  Off to the left of their path of travel now.  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be more than five meters away in the brush.

Igazi grit his teeth and took a further few steps in that direction.  He saw the leaves of the jungle move in his peripheral vision to his right, where Xiao should have been.

Where’s Xiao?
  Igazi hadn’t noticed him fall behind.  “Xiao?” he said softly.

“Her—” Xiao began to say, but was cut off by the rasp of a sharp object against flesh, then a bubbling gurgle.

Igazi sprang toward the sound and, in one smooth motion, withdrew and switched on his flashlight.  He was slightly dazzled by the light, but immediately saw a wide-eyed Xiao fall to his knees, his throat cut ear-to-ear.  Movement to his right caught his eye, and Igazi swung the flashlight around just fast enough to catch a glimpse.

Something the size of a short person was running away through the forest in a bounding gait.  Igazi could see that it had a mask strapped on, and then the shape disappeared.

An Ushah!
  In an instant, Igazi was certain.  His heart was in overdrive, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he dashed forward, the way lit by his flashlight.  He had no plan of what he would do if he actually caught up, and it quickly became a moot point because he tripped over a root in the dark and fell flat to the floor of the jungle.

“Andy!” Gutierrez shouted behind him.

“Here!” Igazi managed to croak despite his terror.

Ash helped Igazi to his feet, and the South African began speaking quickly, “A bloody Ushah, it was an Ushah, he killed Xiao and ran off that way, we’ve got to—”

“Settle down,” Ashanti said with surprising calm.  “What happened to Xiao?”

Igazi took a deep breath and explained what he had seen.  It was not the last time he told the story that night.

“Do we really know it was an Ushah that killed our person?” Safety Minister Redfeather inquired piously from his cushioned chair in a Toronto skyscraper.
Jackson bit back a curse and managed to almost politely ask, “Safety Minister, what else could it have been?”
“Some jungle animal, perhaps. Maybe even a person with a knife.”  Redfeather waved a hand to encapsulate the universe of possibilities other than an Ushah violation of their treaty with the Terran Alliance.  “All we have to go on is the word of one scared observer who couldn’t see well in the dark.  That evidence would never hold up in court.”
Jackson replied curtly, “We aren’t trying to prosecute the Ushah.  Even if you have your doubts, we need to take this seriously.  There are only a few explanations for the Ushah poking around the jungle across the Strait from Madagascar, and they’re mostly bad news for us.  Maybe they’re trying to find humans to abduct to learn more about us.  Maybe they’re preparing to invade mainland Africa.”
“Or maybe they’re just establishing their homes in Madagascar, like they agreed to, and Andrew Igazi was mistaken,” Redfeather replied, absentmindedly rubbing the ornamental beaded scarf he wore about his neck.
Jackson tried to sound reasonable.  “That’s possible, but if the Ushah are killing Arcani to protect their secrets, then we’ve got a big damn problem.  And we won’t know until we investigate thoroughly.”

Redfeather’s general counsel objected, “The Arcani couldn’t find anything in the jungle that night or the next day.”

“They aren’t trained to hunt,” Jackson replied.  He leaned forward, getting to the meat of the reason why he had flown to Toronto as soon as he’d heard the report about the death of the Arcani observer.  “I want permission to send a team of Charlie IIIs to the Mozambique jungle.  We can order them just to observe, not attack anything out there.”
Redfeather eyed Jackson with distrust. “I know that the PCG under my command won’t attack anything,” he said superciliously, using the formal name for the Arcani. “How can I know that your Charlies won’t start a war out there?”
So that’s the game
, Jackson thought. 
Redfeather’s going to treat this like just another bureaucratic turf war between the Public Safety Ministry and Project Charlie.
“The Charlies won’t attack because they follow commands without thought. If Takagawa orders them to stand still and let the Ushah dismember them, they’ll do it without a moment’s hesitation.”
There wasn’t any arguing with that.  Redfeather scowled.  “Very well, deploy some Charlies into the Mozambique Jungle.  People are more important than things, after all.  But remember—they may not take any actions against the Ushah.  They are strictly there to observe and report, understand?”
“Of course, Safety Minister,” Jackson said with a respectful, conciliatory nod.

* * *

“There’s no way I’m turning off their self-defense mechanisms,” Takagawa said with a hint of anger.  She had been standing at the whiteboard in her private study at Project Charlie headquarters when Jackson had arrived around nine at night.  It was now eleven, and Jackson hadn’t made much progress in his argument yet.

“Emma, I don’t want to send Charlies off to be destroyed without good cause either,” Jackson said plaintively.  “But if they are destroyed, we’ll have their data, and we’ll prove that the Ushah are violating the treaty.  We can crank out fifteen Charlie IIIs a month at this point.  Losing a Charlie or two isn’t a crippling defeat for us.”

Takagawa shook her head.  “And if the Ushah snatch a Charlie to take him apart?  We haven’t seen any signs of Ushah robotics or artificial intelligence yet.  How long do you think it would take them to figure out the Charlies once they get their hands on one?”

Jackson sighed.  He had known Takagawa for a year, and he knew when she had adopted a position he couldn’t shake her from.  Once the proposition was framed as a choice about whether to keep her beloved Charlies safe, she wouldn’t budge, and she was smart enough to come up with any number of plausible rationalizations.  But Jackson was not without cleverness himself.

“We’re deploying the Charlies in teams of seven.  If one of them is captured, they’re programmed to make the recovery of the lost Charlie their highest objective, right?” he asked reasonably.

She had to concede that point, and she did so with a grunt.

“So,” Jackson continued, “I think we can trust that no Charlie III is going to let their brother be taken away to be disassembled.”  Humanizing the Charlies was always an effective way to get on Takagawa’s good side.  Conversely, programmers who made jokes about the Charlies being refrigerators quickly found themselves booted from the program. 

Smiling, Jackson moved to another of Takagawa’s preferred themes.  “I wouldn’t want to get between one of the Charlie IIIs and his objective.  I’ve seen them training with Yazov.  They will rip apart whatever stands in their way.”

Now it was Takagawa’s turn to sigh.  “I guess you’re right.”  She walked over to him and patted his chest.  “What would I do without my general?”

With business concluded, Jackson drew her in for a kiss.  “You’d have to find a new employee to sexually harass.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment, remembering the other item of business he needed to discuss.  “I want to ask Oslahef about the incident with the Arcani.”

Takagawa pulled back from his hold as she took off her “lover” hat and put her “Director, Project Charlie” hat back on.  “What would she know about it?”

“She might be able to explain how or why the Ushah are crossing the Mozambique Channel,” Jackson said.

“You know why it’s not a good idea to press her for information,” Takagawa said simply.

Jackson nodded patiently.  He knew that the captured interpreter was giving up all sorts of useful information about the Ushah under the guise of friendly conversations.  If pressed too hard for specific information, she might very well clam up. 

“But this could be important,” the American professor pointed out.  “What if the Ushah are probing our defenses before crossing the channel in force?”

The roboticist looked at her fireplace for a moment.  “Alright, Tom.  Ask her.  But use your goddamn head about how you approach the subject.  If Oslahef clams up, you’re going to be in charge of getting us another Ushah to talk to.” 

* * *

The next day, Jackson walked to the Miley Cyrus Memorial Hospital a block from Project Charlie headquarters.  Viktor Yazov had pointed out how dangerous it could be to have an unpredictable prisoner in the headquarters building, especially if Oslahef had retained some way to communicate with her superiors.  For that reason, she was kept on a purpose-built floor of the hospital with maximum security.

Jackson walked past three separate security checkpoints of increasing severity, taking off all of his clothes at the last one and allowing a full-body scan for possible weapons.  No one wanted to take any chances with this prisoner, though she had been nothing but docile and civil during her captivity.

Finally, Jackson entered the antechamber to her living accommodations.  The Ushah needed a hot, oxygen-rich environment, preferably one with an almost stifling level of humidity.  Because it was not convenient to have every visitor strap on an air conditioning suit or swelter in the 120 degree heat, the clear glass antechamber had been set up with temperatures more suitable for humans.  Speakers conveyed what Oslahef said to her visitors and vice versa, a setup not unlike that of people visiting family members in jail.

Oslahef had been told there was a visitor coming, and when she saw it was Jackson, she waved, having adopted the human gesture.  As a linguist, Oslahef had very quickly picked up typical human greeting customs.  “Professor Jackson, good to see you again.”

Jackson was a regular visitor.  “Hello, Oslahef.”

As always, Jackson saw the force of convergent evolution in Oslahef’s appearance.  Though the Ushah were reptilian, and Oslahef’s skin was a scaly light green, her features were not totally unrecognizable. 

In place of a nose, she had two nostril slits.  Her ears were also smaller, recessed a bit further back on her head than on a human’s.  Though she had no hair, presumably an adaptation to the heat of her home planet, she had small ridges over her eyes not dissimilar from a human brow.  Her eyes were black, with a narrow pupil that helped with nightvision.  While her mouth was narrow and she had barely any lips, it helped display her emotions, not unlike a human’s mouth.  All of the salient features of a human face were present, though arranged somewhat differently.

She smiled and gestured to an office chair set up in the antechamber.  Jackson accepted her invitation to sit down.  She, in turn, rested cross-legged about five feet back from the glass on a foam mat on the ground.  This posture was somewhat more comfortable for an Ushah, given that they had evolved on a planet with a greater gravitational pull, and consequently felt uncomfortable sitting on a chair, where they would always have a slight sensation of instability.

Jackson took a small paper bag out of his pocket.  “A treat for you.”  He placed the paper bag in a drawer set into the wall that allowed for the transfer of items between the two rooms.  He pushed the drawer through to the other side.

“Thank you very much,” Oslahef said, and retrieved the paper bag.  Looking inside, she found a box of cinnamon-flavored gummy bear candy. 

Like humans, the Ushah were omnivorous.  Their bodies could process Earth food, though they found foods from the hottest regions of the Earth like lentils, hard-shelled insects, and bananas tastier and more beneficial to their health.  They enjoyed extremely spicy food, which also tended to come from the hotter parts of Earth.

The biologists who had studied Oslahef’s diet predicted that the Ushah, like humans, would have evolved to crave the sugars that were naturally found in fruit.  Sugars, after all, were an efficient way to convey calories to the biological furnaces that kept animals alive.  The female Ushah were thought to have this craving even more than the males, as with humans.  The desire for those kinds of sugars would naturally lead to an enjoyment of their concentrated form: candy. 

“Go ahead, try one,” Jackson urged with a smile.

Oslahef politely did so.  Her face twitched as her jaws chewed on the soft candy.  “Delicious,” she judged.  “A little simple in its texture and flavoring, but not without charm.  Would you care for one?”  She held out the bag, and Jackson felt a pang of tenderness.  Oslahef was remarkably thoughtful for a captive that Jackson was trying to exploit for information.  Then Jackson reminded himself that Oslahef was immensely clever, and was most likely trying to engender the exact reaction that he’d exhibited.

“I would like one, thank you.”  Oslahef passed the box back through the drawer.  There would be Ushah germs on the bag, of course, but no one had died from contact with the Ushah yet.  The biologists chalked that minor miracle up to the fact that the Ushah had traveled on a spaceship for a very long time, possibly centuries.  They had probably been careful to wipe out all pathogens in that environment.  No one was quite sure why Oslahef hadn’t gotten sick at all from Earth pathogens yet, but most theories posited nanomachines constantly cleaning Ushah bloodstreams. 

Jackson took the candy and popped it in his mouth.  He ate it quickly and gave the biggest fake smile he could.  “Very good.”

Oslahef said, “I would like an opportunity to give you some Ushah food.  If I am ever returned to my people, I would be happy to teach you all about our cooking.

Thomas felt somewhat guilty at that.  There was very little chance Oslahef would be sent back to the Ushah anytime soon.  They hadn’t asked for her back, and Jackson would not have sent her back without any concessions from the Ushah.

“Someday, perhaps,” Jackson said vaguely.  “I wanted to ask you about something else.  One of our public safety officers was killed in the jungle across the Mozambique Channel last night. We have some reason to believe it was an Ushah who did it.”

Oslahef said nothing for a moment, then, “Why do you suspect my people?”

“A witness claims he saw an Ushah commit the act.”

Oslahef shook her head, and Jackson was once again impressed how quickly she had internalized human mannerisms.

“Witnesses are not reliable.”  She must have watched a thousand hours of television in this apartment, Jackson thought.  How else would she have thought to point out the unreliability of witnesses?  She had probably seen it on one of the many varieties of police shows on one of the tens of thousands of television channels available.