First Glimpse

        Drinking coffee in space while looking down on the Earth from a skylight can give a person a sense of godhood. Simon did not feel that way. He had seen pictures of Earth from space that predated his life. In those pictures the oceans were a deep blue and topographical shapes had appeared distinctly through a veil of white clouds. Now, all of this was barely visible beneath a filthy copper haze. The blue of the oceans tarnished, the continents waging a war of survival. This was not a war of guns and missiles but of lingering breaths and starvation. Much of the planet was the struggling remains of a broken civilization with humanity suffering its own ancestry of avarice. Those in poverty struggled the most.

        The moon was once a frontier. Now it was just a reprieve. For someone as lucky and skilled enough it was a chance to breather cleaner air, and eat better rations all without the stigma felt by the politicians and elite down on Earth.

        Helium 3, that was what Simon was here for; the special gas that allows for clean burning fusion power plants. The only catch was that the nearest ample supply is the moon. Without an atmosphere, the sun’s penetrating beams allows for the moon to collect immeasurable tons of the life-saving non-radioactive isotope.

        The technology had been proven and had started to make a difference. On Simon’s first mission there were no continental outlines, no visible oceans to speak of and the rations had been immeasurably worse. His crew had harvested tons of the precious resource and the planet was healing slowly but still miraculously healing. The helium 3 made clean energy and powered the powerful technological devices manufactured to cleanse the pollution from the ecosystem. It was a two-pronged offensive against eons of man’s destruction and it was working.

        Operation Hope was a government mission and Simon was a ranking military attaché and pilot. His duties were more supervisory and project management. Everyone else at the moon base was a scientist of some type. After the moon base had been established most people fell into very repetitive roles making his job more of a formality. Keeping order and command over great and focused minds was a relatively easy job and egotistical flare-ups were rare on a mission of this importance.  

        This was his 20th trip, much more than the safety protocols allowed but those had been written before the special advancements. They were written without accounting for the nanotechnology that rebuilt lung tissue, micro-stimulated muscle and targeted mutated cells far before they could even be qualified as cancerous. That technology was reserved for US space travelers and, if the rumors were true, some of the elite on Earth. No peer reviewed research on the topic existed because there was no time and because only an elite team had been tasked with developing the tiny robots; and, in a world engaged in a war for survival, the demand for nano-tech would only agitate the masses and distract them from the long-term goal of sustainability and survival for all.

        Simon was briefed on all this the day he signed the nondisclosure agreement for the tech. He was also instructed that sharing this information would be a capital offense. The mining mission was multinational but the United States still kept some secrets and the nano-tech was chief among them. Even in a world striving together for survival, governments still guarded their secrets. The intelligence community could not see past prior conflicts that had no bearing here and were moot if the coalition failed.

        The mining coalition included Russia, China and the United Arab Emirates. The hiding was a play that Simon did not like. He had a camaraderie here and he did not like the constant turnover and watching repeat offenders like him deteriorate. He also hated lying about his age.

        Simon Hess looked down at his hands. A 36-year-old man should be starting to show signs of the jaundice yellow under the nails and the whites of the eyes of a battered liver. He had taught skin and a firm body instead of the wrinkles and bloated stomach expected from a hard-living on genetically modified foods and a polluted Earth. What’s more, while the rations were great and the air cleaner, space travel is hard on bone density and health.

        The altered plants and proteins that could survive the barren landscapes now thousands of miles away. Thanks to the nano-tech, Simon’s was preternaturally young and athletic. Luckily, it was extremely impolite to ask someone’s age. If asked he was told in no uncertain terms to lie. The rumors, though, were spreading.

        This would be his last trip. He would be put out to pasture. The nano-tech would be purged from his system as to not arouse suspicion and he would live out the rest of his existence slightly better conditions than the masses. Simon worried that once purged his body would degrade at an exponential rate; that he had been living on borrowed, or even stolen, time given to him by the same people that doomed the planet in the first place. There was an irony that he tried to muddle through in his darker moments. Many nights he was plagued with nightmares of year’s worth of aging in mere moments.

        Simon watched the Earth and wondered at a life back on slowing healing orbital rock. His personal austerity back on Earth would be less than most people and he had already been allowed a few accommodations. Somewhere on that rock were his two mutts. He felt guilty knowing that they were consuming much needed resources. Simon had memorized the carbon footprint of all extravagances and besides children, dogs were atop the list. That being said, constant space travel does not make for many friendships or romance. Butch and Maggie were his constants. And, though idealistic, Simon was honest enough to admit his own hypocrisies.

        While away, which had been most of his life, the robot nannies fed them and cared for their general needs and would even queue them up for holo-chats. This was one of the few exceptions for holo-chatting that Simon did not find too invasive. An avid study of the past, Simon was in awe when his parents had told him that it was uncommon to use video chatting during their time and that holo-chatting was only invented when he was a child.

        Simon had watched the dogs grow surprisingly robust over the years. He had spent every moment with them when he was on land. During these fleeting visits both dogs had imprinted themselves on Simon. The pets were the earliest accommodation for joining the program. He wondered if the dogs were in the bribe or last wish category of gift. They had been gifted to him shortly after release from quarantine after the necessary binding period to the nano-tech.

        There was something in the briefing about an infinitesimal risk of interspecies transmission during a short period after quarantine. Simon ardently ignored that info, he maybe even willfully did his best to cause transmission. He doubted it worked but if he was going to have pups, he wanted them healthy not riddled with tumors and sickly by the time he was done with his work. Five years on Earth meant eons for a canine.

        At first, journeys to the moon were an enormous thrill. He felt like he had a purpose that extended beyond his life for the sake of his species. As the trips extended in duration and the agreed upon frequency, though, they felt more like an obligation that had already been paid with interest. As exciting as space travel was, each furlough reminded him that Earth was his home, for better or worse. It did not hurt that with every visit he could see the progress of the work they were doing on the Moon. He felt glad to be returning permanently soon. Everything was to pass the torch. The greater mission was accomplished and a new chapter of his life was waiting.  

        He stood up and looked in the full-length mirror of this small cubicle living station. The “nans” as his fellow American astronauts secretly called them had made him appear healthier than he was when he enlisted at 32. At 5’11” he was already much taller than the average human man of his era. His tanned complexion, angular face and cataract free eyes stared back at him. He marveled at the muscles and straight stature that belied his advanced age. It was not vanity but marvel that struck him. The nans and clean living away from earth had made him appear in his early twenties like the celebrities of pre-holographic movies that he liked so much. Almost like the long dead Benicio Del Toro, only a little shorter and with overall less symmetry; the nans could only do so much. Simon considered for a moment how that name would mean nothing to his peers. Nothing prior to holo-film made their radar.

        To think that the people of those times worked into their 60s and lived up to 100 years of age. That was nearly double the current numbers. People now reached adulthood at 14 and were specialized into specific fields with growth stimulators and cerebral processing implants. As life expectancies reduced, the need for a stable and educated work force became necessary at increasingly younger ages.

        Implants were a necessity and they were supplemented as needed. A fundamental knowledge implant was given at about 8 and could be tapped into by the cognitive framework of the mind. This allowed children to access knowledge of biology, math and advanced communication. As a person showed aptitude, they would receive complementary updates to their implants or more advanced implants.

        There was a limit to the minds plasticity, though. Simon had his advanced implants in psychology and navigation. The military had given him the requisite self-defense and combat implants but he was not entirely sure they had worked. While he became aware of technique his application was lacking. His mind was not communicating abilities to his muscles.

        The ping of his holo-chat alerted him to a transmission.

        “Why do you disable the holographics?” Yuri asked.

        “I sleep in the nude,” Simon lied. He avoided the holo-chat as often as he could. They felt too intrusive.

        “So do I,” Yuri flexed his biceps. “Not bad for a 28-year-old, eh?” Yuri was a mechanical technician specializing in repairs. He did not need to be fit to work on equipment with the reduced gravity emulators, but he was proud nonetheless. They had become unlikely friends on the moon base. The two men were from different coalitions and Simon found Yuri’s initial attitude to be pushy; but Simon had grown to understand Yuri and find his lightness was a welcome distraction.

        “I’ve asked you too many times to at least wear a towel”. Simon said.

        “You Americans are so prude,” Yuri chuckled. “No kidding now, though, my friend. Turn on news, holo or video does not matter there is something going on down there, bad news.”

        Yuri had a very minor accent and did not have trouble with his grammatical articles like many Russians, unless he was stressed. Despite his light tone, Simon could tell the man was stressed. “Oh yeah,” Simon replied. “Let me check it out.”

        The steady growl like grinding machinery started to hum. Simon was about to ask...

        Yuri himself appeared to be growling in pace to the machinery. His hologram transforming into something canine, eyes glowing malevolently.

        Ah shit, he was dreaming about space again. That snarling was real, though.

        Simon jerked awake and squinted in the twilight of dusk into the glaring eyes of a snarling wolf only 15 feet away. This was, he was certain, the Alpha looking imperiously down on him. In just seconds he remembered that he had slept up wind against a long-drained embankment. His mind raced, this was a luck encounter for the wolf. Butch and Maggie were nowhere in sight. His rifle was slung aside his backpack a foot away. His sidearm Taurus 85 snub nose was holstered lying beside his pack. He must have rolled away from his belongings in the night.

        Any sudden motion would to retrieve the weapons would set the wolf into action. If he somehow reached either weapon, he would not have time to aim, or probably even fire for that matter. His mutts were probably hunting, they were always hunting. They could be 100 feet away or even a mile away. He cursed himself for being careless; if he lived he vowed to sleep with the damn holster on.

        The wolf arched its back and lunged forward in one serpentine motion. Simon reflexively covered his face just as he did so he saw a massive black blur in his peripheral vision. It was the Grim Reaper, impossibly fast and silent. Its twin in the twilight bounding from the opposite direction. Too fast for his mind to even have the expected flash back of a million lifetime memories coalescing into one.

        Simon felt the earth rumble from the collision. Remarkably it was not him that had been assailed. It took a beat to realize that the supernatural specters flanking was Butch and Maggie. 200 lbs. of combined sinew and teeth striking and nearly sundering the alpha wolf in one vicious strike. The collision had surgical precision. Butch and Maggie barely faltered a step and were at once ready for a fight. Maggie, herself a domesticated wolf mix but jet black as a moonless stygian night, locked her teeth into and ripped out the throat of the mangled wolf, releasing it of any further misery. Butch, mostly pit bull with a hint of retriever watched and then backed into Simon slowly while sniffing the air and scanning the embankment. He was the smaller of the two and more defensive of his human. Simon sensed that this was not over, not nearly.        

        Maggie turned and backed up into a defensive position over Simon, her snout still drenched in blood. A small hungry pack crested the dry riverbed, their leader defeated. Still, they hungrily observed the two dogs with Simon confident now behind them. As they came into full view Maggie took one step in their direction and let out an ear-piercing howl that echoed and seemed to shake the earth.

        The wolves whimpered and decided to hunt easier pray, leaving their fallen leader. Butch and Maggie sniffed the dead wolf but strangely did not eat its flesh. Butch nudged the wolf and Maggie let out one last plaintive howl. With that they paced away from the dead beast and snuggled up to Simon, each facing a different direction. Maggie an arm-length away Butch half on Simon’s legs.

        Simon had read about dogs. He knew that they were loyal but he read nothing about the species being as self-possessed and intelligent as these two. He guessed that it might be the nans that made them healthy and unnervingly intelligent but that was speculation; he had no idea if the nans had taken. Their appearance and behavior, though, made him suspicious. The two seemed superior in a world ruled by mediocrity.         They had worked tandem routines out of hunting by observing any prey almost instantly. The way they had taken down the wolf was coldly efficient and yet he had never seen them eat canine meat. It was as if they were objected to cannibalism.

        He stroked Butch’s brindle brown coat. Butch looked back and yawned. “Come here,” Simon patted the earth off the front of his face. The dog sat up and gave a strong shake and sat and looked down at Simon plaintively for attention.

        Simon ran through a common list of commands and the dog complied happily. Butch had the pit smile but a thicker coat with a fluffier tail and tufts of hair beneath his ears. It gave the appearance of simplicity betraying the intelligence and speed with which the dog complied with the commands. He had even thrown in a few that he had never given before. As far as he knew the robot nannies had not been programmed for anything but basic potty training but the dogs knew and learned commands instantly; the dogs so hunted for Simon, bringing him wild game but he thought that that was just something instinctual.

        “Let’s up the ante.”

        Butch cocked his head quizzically.

        “Take ten steps back,” Simon commanded. Butch slowly backed up ten steps as Simon counted them out in his head.

        “This is crazy,” Simon said. “Ok, tap your right front paw three times.”

        Butch complied. Maggie chuffed in irritation. She was just as loving but more aloof and too dignified for those games.

        “Go give sister a kiss,” Simon commanded.

        Butch started walking towards Maggie. Maggie turned and looked at his foolish grin and then covered her face under her paws and let out a soft growl.

        “On second thought, don’t give your sister a kiss,”

        Butch stopped and looked back. Simon was shocked. These games meant something, having never actually owned a dog he was not sure but this seemed like leaps ahead of the species. Beyond his astonishment, Simon couldn’t help feeling a trace of jealousy that if this was from the nans then why was he not experiencing a fraction of the gains that his dogs enjoyed. He resigned himself to the thought that maybe he just had smart dogs, MENSA smart.

        “All right boy, back to bed.” Simon said.

        “Oh, and sorry kids I thought we’d be safer off the main roads,” Simon added. He felt less ridiculous talking to them if they might understand. Maggie chuffed again. It felt like enough of a response for Simon.

        Butch had gone back to his position but only more on top than abreast of Simon’s legs. They would not leave him after this episode. Simon reached down and gave Butch one last pat before starting to delve back into his dream world.

        The nans had made his dreams vivid. Not always sequential but stubborn to completion if interrupted midsession. Simon’s mind was trying to figure something out, to suss out some clue or memory. The nans gave his mind purpose, if not clarity. They seemed to either be facilitating or even somehow guiding him through the maze of happenings. That idea was his last before reappearing in his dreams on Moon Base Alpha.

        Signs

        “Oh yeah, let me check it out,” Simon answered. “This better not be a joke you Cossack bastard”.

        Simon shut off Yuri’s hologram before his friend could give some pithy rejoinder and flipped the holo-TV to the news on Earth. The hologram of a petite Hispanic woman standing in New York hospital appeared. Her face was obscured by a surgical mask. Simon had caught her mid-sentence. “...the doctors are unsure of the origin there have been at least 50,000 cases in the tristate area alone. The rate of fatality for the infected is reported to be at least 90% if not more and we are now receiving a report that..”

        While the reporter was placing a hand to her ear two men in hazmat suits walked into frame and started telling her that she could not be there. She flashed her reporters badge. The man said something and a third man walked into frame with a machine rifle strapped over his shoulder. She nodded and looked back into the camera, “I’ve been informed that this hospital is now under martial law. We have been told to evacuate immediately or risk detention and possible quarantine. This is Maria Castillo-Watterson signing off. Back to you in the studio.”

        Before the signal went to the talking heads back in the studio he flipped stations. There was a man standing at a podium. His name and title floated in front of the dais Dr. John Sneed MD, Director CDC.

        He was surrounded by holograms of reporters. Friction generators made it appear that they were jockeying for space and they were trying to speak over one another.

        Dr.

 put his palms up, his face demanded silence. Simon recognized the well coifed, aquiline nosed, pale skinned, Ichabod Crane type character of Sneed from personal encounters. During the early phases of the project, Sneed was overseeing many of the doctors preparing the mission. The man was insufferably egomaniacal. After clearing his throat, he began, “These are dire times and we have precious time or resources to waste. I am here to inform the public. Please hold your questions until the end”. His tone brooked no protest. “The states of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut have demonstrated the highest concentration of this... contagion. Certain evidence suggests that whatever this is, it is not isolated to any part of the United States and that symptoms are being reported globally. As of yet we do not know the causation. Based on the rapid spread we are nearly certain that the contagion is airborne. Quarantines have demonstrated that about 2 percent of persons are naturally immune. Over ninety percent of those infected die within 24 hours of infection. The incubation period is nearly immediate. This means that if you are infected you will feel it almost immediately. We believe that this contagion presents much like hemorrhagic fever. We can confirm that some people demonstrate a partial immunity. This partial immunity does not guard against some of the worst symptoms, including high fevers and severe brain damage. These individuals are violent at best and disease spreading vectors at worst. Estimates place prevalence rates at less than 8% of those infected. If any family member starts to act irrationally please call the number listed below immediately and we will do our best to treat them. Do not hesitate. We are working to isolate the cause of the contagion and study those that have demonstrated a natural full immunity and the partial immunity that does not lead to immediate demise, to identify and cure this disease.  At the recommendation of the CDC, the US government has declared martial law until any such progress is made. Please remain safely with your families and trust that your government is working diligently to restore order. I will now answer questions.”

        The reporters that were jockeying for space just moments prior were now solemnly collecting themselves.

        “Can you please address video footage claiming that the violent infected are being referred to as zombies by CDC employees?”

        Dr. Sneed’s face contorted for a nearly imperceptible moment, “we have purged that term. It was used in poor judgement by terrified employees. I do not need to remind you that those employees were shortly thereafter infected,” Sneed’s paused before continuing. “As I said, Infected survivors are now referred to as vectors. They demonstrate aggression, biting and scratching. Most diseases have many mechanisms for spreading. Diseases survive by spreading making it their prime directive. It appears these vectors are one such mechanism. I want to warn you all that any questions that so much as mentions the word zombie will end this press conference.”

        “The disease appears to be within a close proximity to the new Helium 3 fusion reactors. Is this related to radiation?”

        “Though we have not ruled out any cause, radiation is not emitted by these reactors and radiation poisoning does not manifest in this manner. There is some evidence of clusters surrounding the reactors but no concrete evidence that the two are related.”

        “With what certainty do you know that it is a virus?”

        “Nothing is certain at this moment”.

        “How long will you recommend martial law.”

        “That will depend on many factors”.

        “Could you elaborate on those factors?”

        “Not without more information. Safety is our primary concern. We hope that this contagion will run its course that we will find a cure or both”.

        “Is this related to the Helium 3 harvested on the moon?”

        “As we know, the moon does not have the capacity to sustain pathogenic life or any life for that matter. The reactors have been operational for nearly 3 years without incident. We have no reason to suspect...” Sneed paused putting a finger to his ear. “At this time Deputy Director Thomas, God speed.” With that he left the podium escorted by two peers and what appeared to be security personnel. The crowd of reporters bustled as if they had all remembered a question that they had wanted to ask. Dr. Thomas was a white-haired man of 50 but he looked unnaturally healthy and fit. Simon had no doubt that the man was among the fraternity of nans. He also had no doubts that the man would only give less significant half answers with even less information than his boss.

        Simon turned off the transmission and thought about calling mission control. The mining mission was nearly totally autonomous between launches and even those required little assistance. Right now, mission control would consist of a skeleton crew in meandering around big control center.

        Uncertain what he wanted to achieve, Simon decided to call out but, to his surprise, nobody answered. Without hesitation, he hit the emergency distress button which would automatically turn on the hologram on the control end and initiate an alarm. Simon has no reluctance with using the mechanism as it was the best method of getting results. He had once hit the button to wish Nancy, a cute graveyard shift tech, a happy birthday. The moment she realized what he had done her face went from pale to cherry and she ended the transmission with some angry words through a smiling face.

        There was no such smiling face this time around. Simon searched the empty hologram of mission control. The computer reported that the building was empty of any personnel. No matter what, there was always somebody there.

        In the event of an emergency at Mission Control, protocol dictated that a message would be dispatched to numerous people off site and that the call would connect with one of these people as quickly as possible. “As quickly” felt decidedly longer than it should. Simon did not have any living parents, wife or children and most of his friends were up here with him but he still felt a corkscrew of fear trickling down his spine. Finally, someone answered. It was Lt. Johnstein, Frank Johnstein, he had a frantic look about him. “Hell Simon, glad to see your face,” he said. “Somebody should have notified you, I’m sorry. All hell is breaking loose down here”.

        Frank was a well pressed, extra starch Lt. General in the Army. First name basis was something few people were honored to have, but this display of candor and the apology frightened Simon more than Dr. Sneed from the CDC. “Sir, is it as bad as they say?”

        “Worse,” he replied. “But internal reports say that because of the quick mortality it should be under control soon. Just feel lucky you are up there quarantined.”

        “Can you tell me anything else?”

        “Did you catch Dr. Sneed giving his little speech?”

        “Yes, sir I did.”

        “That was more honest than the government’s been since I’ve been around, and that’s been a long while now,” Frank said. “Unless there is anything else Captain Hess, I will now be attending to my family. You are due back in 24 days, this will pass long before you’re Earth-side. Captain, I do not need to remind you that your service has been imperative in the salvation of the human race. We will be here when you return.” The communication was terminated on the Lieutenants end.

        Simon paced his room for a minute. Of course, there was no radiation from the reactors. The whole moon base was comprised of 30,000 square feet of living quarters, kitchens, dining areas, and community zones. All of this and the twenty top soil harvesters were all powered by the same aneutronic fusion reactors that they had on Earth. The radiation question was unsophisticated and purely reactive. Simon realized he was fixating on that question because he did not want to think about the everything else discussed in the press conference.         

        Zombies? Really? Sneed called them partially immune vectors.  People running around assaulting and infecting other people. Less than one percent immunity, airborne. And Frank, disheveled and unprofessional but trying to seem confident. Some stupid reporter blaming the He3 reactors. Everything about this felt wrong. Like some fever dream. He needed to take a walk, a long walk.

        When he had first arrived on the moon base the corridors lit up as you walked up and extinguished after a certain distance was covered, this was before the reactors was fully operational. At times only LED lights lit the floors of pathways in acute power conservation mode. It may have saved energy but alone at night on the moonrise lit with only that sparse light was simply spooky.  Now the reactors kept all common passageway and common areas lit constantly. It took Simon a long time to deprogram years guilt for any slight waste of power. He still felt a tinge of imprudence walking in the gleaming hallways. He had to remind himself the supply of He3 was a constantly replenished resource and its fusion was benign.

        This escape from the asceticism of Earth was normally liberating. The polished floors and general newness of the facilities normally resonated a contrast to the decay on Earth. Now the echoing of his footfalls felt ominous. Step by step felt like a strain to remain in control of his imagination.

        It was technically nighttime on the moon base. There was a time when shifts were kept for order and to maintain a semblance of normality. What was once nonstop shift changes had evolved into a nearly totally automated system. In maintenance mode, one crew member working one shift was more than enough to monitor the progress of the harvesters. There were now less than ten people total on the base and most rarely met one another; most dedicating themselves to other esoteric moon base station and experiments. The vacuousness made the facilities feel dreamlike; as though walking through someone’s expansive imagination while it was put on hold.

        He was passing empty station after station. The oxygen garden lit by high pressure sodium lights shone like a constellation. High oxygen producing test plants and algae were being grown here and other stations, proving that anything can be done with enough power.

        The medical bay was only dimly lit. Surgical tools twinkled in the light. Luckily this area only had to be used once at it was just for a minor decompression episode on one of the earlier missions.

        Susan, the 25-year-old John Hopkins double PhD biologist/botanist was responsible for both the garden and medical bay. This was her first trip up but she was now the senior most medical officer, relieving Dr. Sanders. She was also the only other American representing the coalition. And here she was in the kitchen eating a heaping bowl of ice cream. Her lithe figure, slim fingers and angular face seeming to nod with every bite. He watched her for a moment before entering. She had headphones on her blonde bob and was sitting on one foot and the other swung beneath the chair. She removed her headphones as he walked in, but did not look away from the bowl of ice cream.

        “You know this is made right here on the ship?” she asked keeping her head down.

        “Have you watched the news?”

        “The constituent parts are flown up here,” she paused thoughtfully. “But they’re assembled here into a myriad of foods. Proper grammar is ‘into myriad’ not ‘into a myriad’ but I never thought that sounded right”.

        Simon grasped her forearm gently, “you are hearing me?” He released his hand shocked at his forwardness.

        Susan looked up slowly. Her deep almost violet eyes were for a moment less gentle than his grip. She stroked his face. He wanted to pull away but was perplexed. “Of course, I hear you. We don’t want to be hysterical,” she said.

        “Hysterical?”

        “Yes, I’m terrified,” she said calmly. “I have friends, and a mother and father holding on down there. They might not survive whatever plague has come down. But, and let’s be honest, this is worse than the H1N1, SARS, Ebola and the Dengue fears of the past century combined but it isn’t Spanish Flu and it probably won’t get there so we have to hope that biology plays its role and this flash fire passes.”

        “I’m not tracking”.

        “Simon Hess... ah yes sorry, Captain Hess,” she said. “You aren’t a military lifer. You didn’t enlist at 15 like most of them, no. As the medical officer, I know most people’s secrets and as an American I know why you don’t look like a geezer. I also know that you have a PhD in psychology with a bachelor in Historical Film. I like that one, by the way. This was of course before enlisting and become a crackerjack pilot. Crackerjack, that’s my 20th century word of the week. Like it? I think geezer might have been one too but I think I already knew that one so it doesn’t count.”

        “Still not tracking.”

        “Considering you’re a soft science guy I’ll break it down for you,” she replied. She spooned some ice cream into her mouth before continuing. “You really should have some of this. The fat and sugar in this releases about as much dopamine as a rail of cocaine. No drugs on this ship. Anyhow, what makes a disease effective is how long it incubates, method of transmission and host survival. I will grant you that this one is airborne which is a doozy. Doozy, that’s from last week. Anyhow, that is the only thing this disease has going for it. The incubation period is nearly instantaneous and it can be deadly within 24 hours. The longest documented survival rate has been 48 hours. Which means that all available hosts will die quickly and those sick will be quarantined.”

        “And the partially immune vectors?”

        “Now that is scary. Sounds like zombies, right?”

        “Let’s please not use that word for now.”

        “OK,” she said almost petulantly. Simon tried to remember what it was like to be 25. “I have a theory for those anyhow. I think that whatever this disease is, it knows how ineffective it is and this other form of transmission is desperation. If everyone is quarantined these partially immune vectors will be eliminated.” She let go of her spoon and it rattled in the empty bowl.

        “Knows how ineffective it is, is desperate, are you anthropomorphizing a disease?”

        “See, I knew you weren’t all grunt. Using big words and all. You do even have some letters after your name,” she replied referring to his PhD. “No, I’m not anthropomorphizing. What I’m doing is giving due evolutionary credit to the infinite replication periods of microorganisms. Mammals adapt and evolve slowly and sometimes by accident, generational anomalies that fit the environment. So, do diseases but their lifetime is moments not years. While we have had this conversation some retrovirus somewhere already evolved. Diseases can evolve to manipulate the behavior of hosts. T Gandi, Cordyceps, and those are just the popular ones.”

        “Your confidence is reassuring,” Simon replied. He was the “unofficial” base psychologist but he had limited clinical practice. Most of what he knew was collegial theory. This confidence reeked of a defense mechanism but at least on the healthy spectrum of intellectualizing. “I think maybe I’ll turn in”.

        “I need you,” she said. This time she grasped his forearm as he rose. “Don’t get your hopes up cowboy, I mean you could be my dad even though you don’t look like him. One of the engineer boys said that harvester 4 in quadrant zed nine stopped working. They’ve been fine in that region bordering the dark side for the past couple of months but this one just stopped working. They were going to go out and retrieve it tomorrow. The news kept me up so I pulled the footage and I saw something weird. Want to go on an adventure.”

        “I should sleep.”

        “You won’t,”

        “No I won’t he admitted,” he admitted. “I will try though. These old bones need some sleep. Define weird?”

        “I’ve always found weird to be more interesting in person. It can wait, I suppose.”

        “I did study psychology. I have a high threshold for weird.”

        “Good thing you have nothing to lose and can’t sleep because I might be wrong. If I am right, though, this might just be a real crackerjack of a doozy.”

        “Give me a sold eight and we will see whose definition of weird wins.”

        Susan chuckled and nudged him in the side playfully. Then again, and again. A whimper of impatience escaped her lips before she leaned in and licked him from chin to forehead, her breath... her breath was toxic.

Again

        “Butch no!” Simon gasped before sitting up. The dog was panting at his knees, sitting upright waiting for the OK for attention.

        “I want some love dummy but keep that tongue in your mouth.”        

        Butch’s smiled beamed and as he slid close enough for a pat. Simon started brushing his tufts of neck hair back with both hands when Maggie appeared beside him obediently. He did not notice until he heard her breath. He turned and looked at her. Here coffee brown eyes were the only part of her that were discernible through the jet black. They were also the only penetrable aspect with seemingly keen emotion. She lifted her head slightly to be petted on her neck and jawline. “Thank you for knowing boundaries, girl.”

        Butch turned on his stomach submissively. Simon was not sure if he understood what was said or if he was trying to get back total attention. If a dog could roll its eyes, Simon was certain that Maggie was doing that right now.

        The sun was out and the sky was blue, a deep blue that still shocked him, even after a year back on Earth. He took a deep breath of clean air, more refreshing than the best canned air of the moon base. It was sweet with honeysuckle. A bee flitted by, a natural bee, not one of the protected insects released carefully for pollination and then treated with a host of meds; a losing seasonal battle for the dying insects that that no longer needed to be fought. The new battle was far more perilous. The moon and sun possessed the sky at once the moon competing for its final moments, both clear and brilliant. The brass dinginess obscuring their natural awe gone, cleared, cleaned.

        The technology had worked, too bad most of humanity was not around to enjoy the bounty. Flora and fauna were more abundant than he could remember. Too abundant in some cases. Humans were still the supposed apex predators but nature had not reached a consensus on the matter. Lions, elephants, rhinos and other more exotic animals escaped, and released in the final moments, from zoos now roamed unchecked. They competed with the indigenous animals that now flourished. None looked to humanity with the fear and respect that they once possessed.

        A howl disrupted the idyllic scene. They seemed to announce the coming of the interlopers of nature. This was a pack of men. Not men exactly but PIVs (partially immune vectors). Simon sat and awaited silence. Judging by the noise, they were not near.

        The few people on Earth that had the dubious luck to survive had to deal with these monsters. Worse, by the hand of nature the contagion, which was eventually discovered to be a virus, had mutated. No longer airborne, the bite from one of these carriers would transmit the virus and turn a person into a PIV. Any immunity to the airborne strain was not protection from this mutated virus. Nobody, as far as anyone could tell, was immune to the bite.

        The virus did not disrupt normal imperatives to eat, sleep and defecate. So, Predicting the life-span of these hapless creatures was about as accurate as that of a severely mentally ill homeless person; chance and circumstance were the only indicators. Chance is a worthy adversary. Extreme arousals such as heat and cold might make them seek shelter. But, they were not immune to diseases, fungal infections, rotting teeth, loss of senses and natural death. Their existence was mostly governed by the virus’s desire to spread. With their last dying breath, a PIV would strike to spread infection.

        What Simon had seen in Haven three days prior was not PIVs. PIVs bled profusely when shot in the leg, they would continue to attack but they would inevitably die. If shot in the heart or head they would die instantly, slower with other internal organs but measured in moments not minutes. They were brutal when freshly infected. When weakened their natural human prime directive of survival was replaced by the virus’ directive of spreading, but they were still just human.

        Center mass shots were the safest and nearly as efficient as head shots. Trying for head wounds was too dangerous with the quick and freshly infected PIVs and packs ranged from both newly infected to the mummified looking vectors that had managed to survive since day 1. All arms training was focused on multiple center shots with the intention of striking internal organs. Haven had been attacked multiple times and the PIVs had been repelled expediently.

         For some reason that nobody had the time dissect, PIVs traveled in as large of packs as possible. Their howls would bring them together. A true herd was the greatest threat to Haven. With enough weapons Haven had been a fortress with fortified 10 foot walls, guard towers, snipers all working in shifts and constantly at the ready.

        Haven had been broadcasting an internet signal to attract as many people holed up quietly in basements and shelters. They promised safety and food. More importantly, they promised to rebuild humanity. Simon was himself was on a quest to Colorado from California when he heard the broadcast for the coordinates in the western tip of Texas.

        Foraging in the houses of the decaying occupants had been getting to him. The cloying, sickly smell of fly-blown meat and rotten fruit was difficult to abide. Worst of all, he felt like every house was some small sacred graveyard, and that he was an intruder. Hiding as a random pack of PIVs would stroll by made him feel vulnerable.

        Haven was safe. So safe that Simon had gotten complacent. He had made friends, grown food and tended to live stock. The town, with its unlimited He3 energy source, was totally self-sufficient. Attacks came less and less, It felt safe here; So safe that it made him ignore his dreams. I made him forget the promise that he had made in those dreams to find something in Colorado. It was more of a who than a what that was guiding him but the journey was sidetracked by reports of survivors at Haven. He meant to layover in the town for supplies and to spend some time in civilization. It was the nearest encampment to He was actually starting to get comfortable. The attack changed everything.

        The things that charged those three nights ago were silent and organized. They were upon the encampment in the dead of the night and the alarms weren’t wailing until at least a half dozen residents had been killed. The guards on post must not have seen them in the flood lights. The things were too fast and the guards were probably tired and confident.

         Simon was on one of the southwest towers when he aimed his scope in the direction of the rampaging group. It was a much smaller group than a small PIV herd. He saw the virus carriers hit with what should have been lethal blows. Heart shots slowed them a beat but instead of falling they gained a deeper rage. The attack seemed somewhat methodical and calculated.

        As some attacked those on the ground floor others climbed the guard tower ladders. One beast ascending the guard tower and was clearly shot in the head. It tumbled down, twitched and remained down. These things were almost too quick to put a shot into. Simon sighted one wearing a red shirt. The blow managed to strike it dead in the chest. Rather than fall, it simply teetered back and looked in his direction. It was as though it saw him which was impossible at that distance but, still, it was like it was staring straight down the scope. Simon put three more bullets into the things heart. It finally fell but he watched for a minute and his heart sank when he was that it was starting to rise.

        These monsters had a speed and strength far exceeding normal PIVs. They all had coordination, and grace and besides tattered clothing they looked uniformly healthy and mostly normal. Worst of all, they did not simply bite and move on. Which was the routine he’d seen for the 6 months prior to finding Haven.

        The opinion on this matter or the few remaining scientists was that the PIVs did not kill unless they were starving. In a very real comparison to animals, they only killed and ate when hungry. Beyond that, they did little damage because a dead body does not provide a good host for a virus; the bites were survivable. These things were ripping their victims to shreds. They were not doing enough damage simply to spread a virus, they appeared to be feeding and slaughtering. The imperative of finding a healthy host was not there.

        When the siren had changed intonation, Simon knew that it was over. It was a call for a full retreat. Simon could not believe it but Haven fell, few escaped. The few that did escape all disbanded. Someone had said that they would be better off either alone or in small groups. Everyone agreed, and fear can breed dubiously convincing logic.

        Simon had a mission before reaching Haven and decided in that bleakest of moments to pursue his initial journey. Maybe there he could find an answer to what these new monsters were. Maggie and Butch followed obediently. The dogs were in no danger of infection from PIVs because the virus was not transgenic, it only affected humans and so the PIVs only attacked other animals for food. A few had tried with this with Butch and Maggie; It had not ended well for the PIVs. These new ravenous monsters, though, how would the dogs hold up to them. It was better not to consider that now.

        The howl rose in the sky again. The PIVs sounded like they were not close enough to concern Simon, he hoped. He could climb a ridge and scan the countryside for them. If they seemed close enough that would be a priority but finding a working car was priority number one.

         Maggie looked agitated. She was raising her head to respond to the howl when Simon clicked his mouth, “you keep quiet”. She put her head between her front paws and snorted but remained quiet.

        Simon collected his backpack, folded up the small blanket he had been laying on and tied it to the top of the bag. The small fire from the night before was a soot pile. On some instinct that seemed unnecessary, he brushed dirt onto the fragments of fire and any evidence that he had spent the night there. It was a reflexive behavior that he had picked up since returning to Earth that he could not shake.

        Cresting a ridge above the embankment quietly Simon had a 360-degree view extending the large expanse. The PIVs were nowhere in sight but two humans were within 100 yards walking slowly in his general direction. It was a girl of maybe 15 and a much older man of at least 35 years of age. They both looked lean and unkempt. It was clear that they had no packs, which meant no provisions. How they had survived like that was a mystery. Butch and Maggie charged towards them. Simon considered calling them off but those two were his best virus and general risk detectors and the tousled wanderers posed little threat to the dogs.

        Simon thought about pulling out his rifle to see who they were from the scope. His vision, though, had grown very keen lately. Simon put effort into focus and saw his dogs incepting the two wanderers. When the couple saw the two dogs coming they looked wary. The girl, a willowy tall brunette hid behind the smallish man. The man had something wrapped around his mouth. From this distance, and obscurity Simon had no hope of identifying them.

        The loping dogs stopped about 5 feet short of the two figures. Maggie walked up slowly and licked the mans extended hand. There was a makeshift bandage but Maggie was not alarmed. This was not a PIV bite, Maggie would be barking up a storm if the man had been infected. Butch, the less brave of the two walked up and flipped on his back and went belly up.

        The effect of Butch’s submission and Maggie’s affection calmed the girl and she came out from behind the man to pet his belly. Simon realized that is was Sandy Fairs and the man behind the makeshift mask would be Tom, her father. They were both from Haven and had both managed to survive. Much worse for wear than they should have been but alive. Even from two hundred yards Sandy looked skeletal and exhausted. Tom, and it had to be Tom seeing as his daughter was never more than 5 paces away from him, from him looked worse. It was as if he was carrying a heavy burden. Maggie continued to try to lick the wound through the bandage. Tom looked up and scanned the horizon. No doubt he was wondering where Simon was. Everyone was aware of whom the dogs protected and companioned.

        Simon pulled a small mirror from his pack and flashed a reflected beam of sunlight in their direction. It was a silent and effective location indicator. Tom saw the flash and pointed. Sandy gave a short wave and whispered something to Butch. Butch was upright a moment later walking directly towards Simon.

        “So, just what did you whisper to him Sandy,” Simon asked once were close enough for quiet conversation.

        “I uh..,” Sandy said sounding stifled by sheepishness. “Well, I asked him to take us to you.”

        Simon looked down at Butch. His coat did little to conceal his overwhelmingly muscular physique. His yellow eyes beamed with intelligence. Butch cocked his head yawned and laid down. “I guess he obliged. He is smarter than he looks but I guess you knew that,” Simon answered. “What’s that on your mouth Tom?”

        “He’s afraid to take it off,” Sandy answered pleadingly. “He was bit.”

        Simon had felt he fingers move towards the wooden handle of his revolver. Tom was a bit taller than Simon and looked like he was naturally endowed with a muscular frame. He looked worn but still imposing. Maggie’s reaction, or lack thereof, to Tom stilled Simon’s hand. “When was he bit?”

        “When we left Haven,” Sandy answered. Her voice quavered. She seemed to have either noticed Simon wariness or was just upset by the thought of her father bitten, or both. Her response was rambling, “It was when we were escaping Haven. Daddy got us and a few others out. He wouldn’t leave until he could get as many out. Daddy was one of the engineers that fortified the walls, so he knew all the secret ways out. But they found us. One bit dad, deep. Mr. Danvers jumped on the freak and someone pulled daddy out and the door was closed. Those doors only open from the inside and only with a key. Since then he’s gagged himself and told me to run hard if he starts acting funny. At first he wanted me to leave me Simon. The gag was the only way he would agree not to leave me alone. He only takes it off to have sips of water and bites of food.”

        “Okay, okay, calm down now Sandy,” Simon said soothingly. “Tom, it has been three days now, you know you’d have been infected by now. Ever since the infection started spreading by bites the longest gestation I’ve seen is 12-hours.”

        Tom slowly and laboriously untied the gag and pried it from his face. The sides of his mouth chafed from the tightness. “I know you’ll take care of me if something happened. Hell, the way your dogs watch out for you I’m sure they would.”

        “Good thing there is won’t be any need for that…”

        Tom may have been physically imposing but his eyes were sincere and kind and he appeared relieved. His black was receding from, displaying more of his bronze face. His face had strong squared features and as far as Simon could remember, he looked perpetually locked in thought. Despite his advanced age in this new world, Tom was among the few that had a healthy appearance. Those with special abilities were given better rations and living conditions. That mixed with lucky genetics make some people got lucky. Even with the cerebral implant enhancements, engineers and doctors were about as rare as any time in human history. Tom’s mind was a deliberate and calculating mind. “Whatever attacked us was something new,” Tom said. “Whatever those monsters were was unique. What we know about them is almost exactly nothing; twelve hours is just an idea now.”

        “You noticed that too, I guess,” Simon answered. “I don’t want to split hairs but I still think that we have an idea. These two are better than doctors at detecting this disease than a white-coat with a stethoscope. If they didn’t trust you, they wouldn’t have lead you over. You’re fine, just a little worse for wear.” Simon was trying to be calm and relatable. For as much psychology as he had studied, those two characteristics were the foundation and everything else was just theory.

        “I saw one shot in the head,” Tom said. “That was the only one I saw stay down. That is what you are going to have to do.” Tom’s eyes fixed on Simon’s with a deep gravity.

        Simon was impressed at Tom’s grace under fire. Simon answered, “Tom, you don’t have whatever those monsters have.” Before Tom could protest Simon continued, “But don’t worry, you’ll have more than one pair of eyes on you until you are convinced of that yourself. For now, let me take a look at that wound.”

        Simon undressed the bite. It showed some signs of infection but nothing serious. From his pack, he produced a bottle of antibiotics, “take these until the bottle is empty.”

        Tom took the bottle, read the instructions and dry swallowed two pills.

        “Anyone else make it?” Simon asked.

        “You’re the first person we’ve seen,” Sandy said. Tom shook his head in bleak agreement.

        “First order of business is to find transport and then shelter,” Simon said. “I’m sure you both heard that howling. I can’t draw a bead on the location but there are some PIVs nearby.”

        Tom and Sandy both nodded. Simon was sure that his was why everyone was whispering but he wanted to reemphasize the point.

        Simon turned to his dogs wondering just how smart they had become. Maggie, Butch, find us a car.

        They both looked up at him and simultaneously cocked their heads comically. Rather than give up, though, understanding seemed to break through. The dogs starting walking northeast, away from Haven and hopefully towards some form of working transport.