Pressed For Luck Read online

PRESSED FOR LUCK

  Jum’klaak was not pleased, Ch’tallern could see that. His bristles were held stiffly erect, and his motards had turned a bright chartreuse. “I want an explanation. I want to know how this… catastrophe could have occurred.”

  “We don’t know, Commander,” Ch’tallern said. “We are still attempting to discover how the compound got into the sampling container. It should have been completely sterile.”

  “You!” The Commander indicated Spir-rill, his science officer, with one of his motivating digits. “Give me a readout. What type of compound are we talking about?”

  Spir-rill touched the air terminal, and a diagram appeared.

  “It is a fully weaponized Class 4 mutagenic nucleotide. It has been armed, but it is not yet active. Once it begins mutating, it will consume the biosphere of this planet in a cascading exponential effect. Each piece of biomatter will be consumed and placed in a matrix field to consume additional biomatter.”

  “A matrix? Of what form?”

  Spir-rill touched the air terminal. The diagram of the nucleotide was replaced by something ugly and immense. Something with huge teeth.

  “So,” the Commander said. “All of the biomatter will be consumed into this form? Who could have conceived of such a thing? And – don’t even consider how the thing could have been placed in a sampling container. How did this thing even make it onto my ship? We have no weaponized materials, we are a survey vessel.”

  “We must entertain the possibility,” Ch’tallern offered, “that one of your rivals deliberately sabotaged this mission, in order to discredit you.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” the Commander agreed. “Sent on a simple science mission to this backwater planet, to survey the primitive life forms, and I end up destroying all life on the world. But I didn’t believe my rivals in the Science Corps had such… guts. What a bold move. They must really hate me. What do you call this thing anyway?”

  “An eskydnia. A synthetic lifeform, from the Second War.”

  “That old? There must be a counter-nucleotide.”

  “Unfortunately, no. This particular nucleotide was never deployed in the war, so no counter-nucleotide exists. Or, if it exists the records have been lost.”

  “What else do we know of it?”

  “Very little,” Spir-rill said. “From its sequencing, however, it seems to have an extremely long half-life, and a very short duration before it becomes activated.”

  “It will become active in… “

  “Two fragments.”

  “And it’s half-life?”

  “Three thousand cycles.”

  Commander Jum’klaak showed extreme irritation. “Then, we’ve got to either patch together some kind of cure in less than two fragments…”

  “Or we will be forced to remain here for over three thousand cycles, blasting eskydnias out of existence before they can consume every living thing in their paths.”

  “I’m undone,” the Commander said, his motard turning a deep gray tone. Then he grew some backbone. “Gentlemen, I want some solutions, not problems! Put your minds to it. Let’s convene here at zero – six – one –four, and we’ll discuss what options we have at our disposal. Dismissed.”

  The research team worked through the shift, coming up with one plan after another. It would be impossible to purge the contaminated site of the nucleotide; if they missed only one molecule, the virulent organism would eventually activate and grow to monstrous proportions by consuming every living molecule nearby; and this primitive planet had more than enough raw material. It teemed with life. It was the reason they had been sent here to survey; life was otherwise uncommon in this sector. They considered bathing the entire area with radiation, but it was determined that a high-level dose of radiation would adversely affect the natural microorganisms of the area, with unknown effects. The whole genetics department worked frantically to produce a counter-nucleotide. If they could produce one, they could release it as an aerosol into the atmosphere, and neutralize the weapon. But with the limited time they had – barely one time fragment remained – all they succeeded in doing was to isolate the gene of the original nucleotide, and bond it to DNA strands from the planet’s indigenous life forms. The result was not an effective counter-measure, it was simply another mutation, but it was the only progress they had made.

  “Show me this indigenous life form,” the Commander said at the briefing with Tch’kaak and her research team. The terminal showed a primitive green plant, hardly a tenth of a span in height. “Tell me: This plant is common in the sampling area, where the nucleotide was released?”

  “Yes, Commander,” she said. “Very common.”

  “Show me the mutated form.”

  The terminal view shifted, showing exactly the same plant.

  “It is the same. I see no mutation.”

  “Ah, but yes it is, Sir. Allow me… “ The terminal showed both plants side-by-side. “If you will note, this form has three light-gathering structures for photosynthesis, while this one has four.”

  “I can see that. But what use is this mutation?”

  “Our tests show that this mutated form has the ability to ingest the mutagenic nucleotides, through pores in its light-gathering structures. It utilizes the mutagen’s own propensity to gather on itself, as when it is activated.”

  “That’s wonderful!” the Commander said brightly. “Then, all we need to is spread this mutation, and the weapon will be neutralized.”

  “No, Commander,” Tch’kaak said. She was a very attractive female, with bright blue bristles and her eyes – all six of them – were shiny and green. But the Commander hardly noticed. “Unfortunately, the mutations are adept at gathering the mutagenic compound, but not at neutralizing it. The compound will accumulate in the mutation’s tissues, increasing its biomass and density.”

  “Until it transforms into an eskydnia.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Then we have the same problem, only now we have to stay here for three thousand cycles and kill these tiny plants.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  The room was quiet for some time. It was Lon’rosh who finally spoke – a junior officer.

  “Uh, Commander, Sir? If I might?”

  “Yes. You are – “

  “Lon’rosh. I work in xeno-psychology.”

  “Lon’rosh,” Tch’kaak said sharply, “now is hardly the place for talking about primitive beings’ behavior – “

  But Jum’klaak silenced her with a wave of his anterior appendage. “Let him speak.” So Tch’kaak was silent.

  “Well, Sir, Commander, Sir,” Lon’rosh said nervously. “Ever since we’ve arrived, my section has been studying the primitives who inhabit the planet. One or two of the species we’ve observed have advanced cognitive abilities, and ritualistic behavior.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “Well, Sir, how about if we get these primitives to destroy the mutated vegetation for us?”

  “You don’t mean to suggest – “ Tch’kaak said – “That we stoop to communicating with the primitives.”

  “Oh, no Ma’am,” Lon’rosh said. “Nothing so drastic – I know the regulations on primitive contact. I was thinking of something simpler, of using the primitives’ ability to mimic behavior patterns and place it into their rituals.”

  “Mimic what kind of behavior?”

  “Why, that of one of their own, of course. It could be done using a simple mind probe, under a carrier wave to the subconscious. I have done some tests, and one species in particular shows great promise. They are easily manipulated. Change one individual’s behavior, send him back to his
tribe, and his behavior should be mimicked by the others. The primitives will be given a behavior pattern to destroy only the mutated plants, leaving the other non-mutated forms alone, so the plant species which carries the targeting gene can be propagated for further defense.”

  “Would it work?” the Commander turned to Science Officer Spir-rill. He was looking at Lon’rosh’s research on a printout.

  “Possibly,” Spir-rill said. “The primitives certainly pass on learned behavior readily, and they have advanced ritualistic behavior. I guess it’s almost a case of ‘primitive see… primitive do’ down there. Of course, they would have to seek out and find the mutations quickly, before they became activated. But… Yes, this idea has promise. The primitives could destroy the mutant plants very effectively if we gave them proper imprinting.”

  “But for three thousand cycles?”

  “Unknown,” Spir-rill said, frowning. “Their life spans seem to be much shorter than that. We would have to hope that the ritualized behavior was passed on from generation to generation.”

  But the Commander’s mind was made up. “It’s the best we’ve got,” he said. “I want this plan implemented by the end of this fragment. Grab two or three of the primitives – you said they were a bipedal form? It’s a wonder they don’t fall over. Bring them into the isolation lab, do the imprinting, and test the subjects on some mutated plant forms. Make sure they are compelled to destroy them. Then, do a level one cognitive wipe, but scan to make sure the imprinting holds, and return them to the surface.

  “I want all this accomplished, and I want to break orbit from this system by one-five-eight-zero. And before we leave, I want all the sampling containers scanned, and vaporize any which show the least bit of green. I do not intend to repeat the error we’ve had here at the next planet we visit, and I’ll be a dead dlon’nargh if I’m going to let anything force me back to this one!

  “Dismissed.”

  * * *

  Roughly fifty-eight thousand cycles later, give or take a dozen years, Donna was sitting on the back porch swing. It was a pleasant afternoon, if a bit hot for September. Sometimes it seemed like the summers held on and on, especially with Roy away. His last letter had been promising – he was going to be relieved soon, from the occupying forces in New Orleans. It might be possible for him to have furlough. It was so difficult, running the farm without him, with money so short.

  “Janey?” Donna called. “Janey, where are you?”

  “Over here, Momma.” Janey was crouching in the yard, near the picket fence. Sparky was dashing back and forth, wagging his tail in excitement.

  “Child, what have you got? What are you playing with? Come show your momma what you got.”

  Janey stood, and began to jog across the yard with something small in her hand, running like a perfect five-year-old in her gingham dress. Sparky dashed after her with joy. The little girl bounced up onto the porch and held the treasure out for her mother.

  “Look, Momma! I found a four-leaf clover!”

  “That’s good, Janey. Give it to your momma so she can see.”

  Janey handed over the bit of vegetation. “Four-leaf clovers is good luck!”

  “That’s right, child. I’ll keep it for you, so the luck will hold.” Carefully, Donna placed the clover in the book she had been reading, and pressed it flat.