Panspermia Deorum (39 page)

It seemed to
take a long time for Brandon Mitchell to answer. Finally, it was
re-directed and he picked up.

“It’s Julien
Delacroix, Brandon. I have Eugene with me at last. Do you still
wish to proceed through me?”

“For now at
least. Tell him to give me his understanding of where the
Australian idiots are with respect to actually formulating plan B.
He should realise I don’t need to know any more about their
disastrous efforts to merely curb the spread by a simple vaccine
and quarantine approach. That’s history even though they are
clinging to the hope that we’ve seen the worst of what this thing
can do.”

There was a
break in conversation while Eugene tried to articulate the
situation through his father.

“Hello again,
Brandon. Eugene expressed the same damning judgement to the heads
of the Australian organisation as you have just outlined. He was
ignored and side-lined from the main executive panel. However, he
still had the ear of some of the scientists actually doing the
work. Many of them were adamant that they would all ultimately
succumb to the virus unless the mechanism for its infiltration of
the immune system didn’t become the focus and first step to
protecting themselves. The advice pretty much fell on deaf ears,
promises were made but never kept, and the decision-making team has
been decimated. Eugene has been asked not to reveal any of this and
I know there is more which he will not disclose at this time. He
believes you are one of only a handful of people with sufficient
relevant expertise to comment. But most of the others are already
dead.”

“I figured as
much. Ok, put him on.”

Eugene cleared
his throat.

“Brandon, first
of all, I’d like to say…”

“Forget it,
this isn’t about you or me. I suppose your father told you I was
excluded from post-mortems of the victims here in Japan.”

“He did. That’s
a big part of the problem all over the planet now, at least as I
understand it.”

“That’s right,
but since I spoke to your father, I managed to get tissue from one
of the victims, and although I haven’t got the full results of the
analytical tests, I’m already thinking that we’re going to have to
abandon any attempt to take on this virus by direct action. We need
to learn more about its mutation protocols as well as the
infiltration mechanism. You do know where I’m going with this don’t
you?”

“It was the
reason I asked my father to find you. Am I hearing you’re willing
to work with me on this?”

“No, you’re
hearing that you can work with me. There’s no other way. I have a
girlfriend, parents and friends to think about, otherwise we
wouldn’t be talking. If you want this, come to Japan. If you don’t,
I’ll soldier on alone.”

“Ok, if that’s
the way you want it I’ll check the flight schedules and see how
quickly I can get there.”

“Oh, one more
detail. Bring money, lots of it. We are going to need a lab without
prying eyes. I know an old building which is suitable, but we need
the money for the equipment and a couple of people to pull the
sled.”

*

Zlatan watched
Lydia as she slept under the floorboards of a long-abandoned shack.
He’d been to a waterhole which was almost dried out. The shack was
in total disrepair and yet it defied the principles of engineering
merely by stubbornly standing there, while gradually decomposing.
He looked at her differently today. She was marginally more
attractive when her mouth wasn’t engaged. Or was it that he was
entering the first stages of testosterone overload? He turned away,
trying to banish the thought of forcing himself upon her, just
because he could. He woke her.

“Time to move
on. I’ve scouted the area and there’s a high point about two miles
away. From there we should get a panoramic view of the options
available. This shack must have been used for something which
attracted people many years ago, you know, like a trading post. So,
there could be a few of these people trying to survive out here
rather than moving closer to civilisation. We might hit lucky. Come
on, shake a leg, I left you a bird over there. It’s plucked, so you
can pretend it’s a chicken.”

“I’m still in a
trance, give me a break. I need half an hour to wake up properly
and I have to take a shit somewhere. Why don’t you hike on your own
to check out this high point. I feel like chilling out. What? Don’t
look at me like I’m some kind of weirdo. I’ll be ok. Go on,
scoot.”

He pondered the
trade-offs. She was going to slow him down by talking the whole
way. And, she was stupid enough to start singing unless he was
there to remind her to keep her trap shut.

“Ok, you win.
But don’t make any noise which could attract animals or worse
still, scavengers who’ve crossed over. I can’t leave the gun with
you.”

“I promise. Now
piss off on your mission, Boy Scout. You’re so overprotective, get
a life, but not mine.”

He turned away,
straining to control his rage. He’d seen it before, an increasing
spread of symptoms – a prelude to phase two.

The building
heat caused Zlatan even more difficulties. His blurred vision
seemed to worsen, and the burst blisters on his feet began to sting
as salty sweat found its way on to the raw flesh. He needed to rest
awhile, but he couldn’t find any shade. Maybe he should have waited
until the sun had dropped below the horizon. It all changed in an
instant. A pall of smoke spiralled its way skyward from the
windless scrubland. His poorer vision didn’t offer any clue as to
the source, nevertheless he headed directly towards it. He heard
the voice before he could see much detail. The dialect was a blend
of English and some aboriginal words he was unable to decipher.

His mind raced.
Was the person alone or speaking to someone else? Had he been
spotted by the owner of this voice? What was the probability of
such a person being infected? Why light a fire in this heat?

The voice
adjusted to some kind of Pidgin English.

“Wadda want?
Wanna cool?”

Zlatan relaxed
a little. The man was alone. He seemed friendly.

“I need only
shade. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Yessa, I gotta
some. You come.”

A few more
yards brought Zlatan into focus range and he could see the man
erecting a primitive awning, using sticks and a blanket. He was now
close enough to differentiate the man’s heat signal from the
relentless rising ambient temperature. He wasn’t infected.

The man
welcomed him and seemed genuinely pleased to see him. It suddenly
clicked, the fire was to smoke out bees from their nest. Perhaps
the man was a honey collector. The shade enabled his vision to
equilibrate and Zlatan felt less disoriented.

“Wanna bodu,”
said the man.

“Bodu? What is
bodu?”

“Bodu give
good. Bodu magic.”

“Show me
bodu.”

The man
produced what looked like a water can. But it had a glass lid,
through which Zlatan could determine the content. He quickly
recoiled from the man. Although no expert, Zlatan recognised killer
bees from photos he’d seen before.

“No. Thank you,
but no.”

“Bodu betta,
medicine man not good.”

“Bodu are
dangerous, do you mean Bodu honey is good?”

“No trikka,
Trikka nice – bodu good.”

As they spoke
the man ran to the smoking nest and placed another container over
the exit. He was actually collecting the bees.

Zlatan was
eventually able to establish that the man was from a community not
too far away. He explained with some difficulty that he needed to
return to pick up Lydia. The man looked at the sun and gestured
that they would have to hurry. He sealed the new container of bees
and followed Zlatan to find Lydia.

T
he frosty expression on the face of Brandon Mitchell
was expected, but Eugene didn’t bargain for the opening words to be
a demand for proof of money being instantly available.

“Listen,
Brandon, you may feel you’ve every right to be angry at the way we
parted company, but you weren’t exactly Mr Innocent. You kept
information under wraps when it should have been shared. I hope I
haven’t wasted my time coming here. The money can be transferred as
soon as we have an agreed project outline and proposals for what it
needs to be spent on. If that isn’t good enough I’ll just book a
return flight now.”

“My concern
isn’t about whether or not I piss you off. How many times do I have
to repeat myself? We simply can’t afford a committee approach with
this virus. Every day counts and we’re already on the back foot.
Apart from that, I now have all the results from my examination of
the tissue of one victim. Let me put forward my overview and if you
don’t like it I don’t need to hear your ideas or scheme.”

“Well, that
sounds like an ultimatum. Not a good start.”

“It is an
ultimatum, not from me, from the results. Do you want to hear me
out?”

“Go ahead then,
I’ll butt in if I have issues.”

“Right, feel
free to do that. I’d like to start from the point at which you
treated your sister’s schizophrenia – the genetic snip and stitch
technique. In my opinion, that will be a valuable tool for us.
Turning to my own work when I was at VB Aerospace, we should run
over the project results again, because I believe that some of that
technique may be helpful as a secondary blitz to confuse this
virus. However, there are gaps of knowledge and bucket loads of
uncertainty here. Your sister’s treatment only involved her, hence
a single fixed DNA profile as a starting point. With my work, it
was targeted at the unborn foetus, whereas here, we’re dealing with
infected adults. So, we must accept that our work, which may offer
hope, is nothing more than two tools in the box. Are you ok so
far?”

“Yes, carry
on.”

“The tissue
analysis indicated that the victim was already going through
significant changes in metabolism when termination occurred. It
would be interesting to know exactly how he died. At least I can
say that the virus not only has the ability to create more complex
versions of itself by accepting or declining interaction with any
piece of DNA, but it has an incredibly fast mutation capability.
We’re going to need an overarching strategy of moving the
goalposts. The best analogy I can think of which people might
understand is the adaptation of bacteria to antibiotics. But that
happened over several decades and generations, whereas with this
man’s tissue there was already evidence of viral adaptation, and he
was someone who was infected very recently. That’s why time is
critical in getting started. Well?”

“Fine. Let’s
look at this building you have in mind and then the equipment we
need.”

*

The encampment
was well disguised. Sitting at the bottom of a very long,
east-facing slope made it possible to gain morning shade for a
little longer each day. A natural fissure where the land began to
rise again had been turned into a trench and covered with
multitudes of branches, twigs and even roots from the surrounding
terrain.

A dozen smiling
faces greeted Zlatan and Lydia. Apparently, the man with the bees
was named Olla, and he obviously was a person of seniority. There
appeared to be three generations present, but only one of them
could be described as a young man. Olla explained that the others
were all away hunting and gathering.

Zlatan couldn’t
quite understand the situation. Neither he nor Lydia had
overreacted when they realised that some of the women and children
were infected. The explanation would come, but via a circuitous
route. Olla excused himself to tend to the bees. Tending wasn’t
introducing them to a hive. The other members of this mini-society
were totally in awe of these small creatures and surrounded Olla,
asking to be first.

Once the
clamour had been ordered into some kind of queue, Olla took one bee
out from a container and handed it to the woman who had proclaimed
her right to be at the head of the line. She took the bee and
tightened her fingers into a fist. The sting was instant and she
screamed with delight. The process was repeated, until every one of
them had suffered the pain and returned their particular bee to
Olla. He promptly returned each sacred insect to another container.
The dead bees were revered as having given a quantum of life back
to those who were ill. The next surprise was presumably a song of
tribute to the bee god, after which they all returned to their own
part of the trench for a short nap.

“What is
happening with the bees, Olla?”

“Olla see you
havva Norra. You not see I know?”

“Norra? I don’t
know what you mean.”

“You verra hot,
woman verra hot. From Norra.”

It began to
dawn on them. Olla was infected, but they couldn’t see it, even
though he could see they were.

“Norra is
hot?”

“No, Norra
makes hot.”

“Hot like the
first woman who was stung by the bee?”

“Yessa.”

“Ah, so bee is
bodu?”

“Yessa.”

“And trikka is
honey?”

“Yessa.”

“So you know
you are very sick?”

“Wassa verra
sick. Not sick now. Woman sick now. Bodu make me not sick.”

“You mean the
bee sting made the sickness go away?”

“Not one bodu,
many time bodu must sting. Need many bodu. Olla finds many
bodu.”

“I’m sorry,
Olla. Can I just ask again? You had the hot sickness, which is
Norra, and you found out that bodu stings many times and you don’t
have Norra anymore?”

“Yessa. You and
woman must have Bodu sting. Yessa?”

Zlatan and
Lydia looked at each other incredulously.

“I must ask one
more question, Olla. When you were sick with Norra, did you eat
lots of different animals?”