Authors: Stephen W Bennett
Koban
Text copyright © 2012
Stephen W Bennett
Cover image used
curtesy of NASA and the Space Telescope Science Institute.
Noreen placed a little too much faith in Artificial Intelligence,
in Mirikami’s opinion. As he anticipated, she had sided with Jake when the central
computer predicted that the Jump would terminate shy of an optimum re-entry. Optimum
in this case was two AU’s short of the target primary star, sometimes called Mother
in jest, but which had only an uninteresting catalog number for its official designation.
Small quantum uncertainties, when traveling within Tachyon Space,
became magnified in Normal Space the longer a ship stayed inside the event horizon.
Any Spacer had an even chance of predicting when a ten light year Jump might miss
the targeted position by plus or minus one AU. So the game wasn’t to predict the
exact White Out coordinates but rather if the ship would over or under shoot the
target, and by how many AU’s. A 200 plus light year Jump made for a large error
factor.
Tetsuo Mirikami had plied his trade for forty-seven years, certainly
time enough to hone his intuition, although he never contested Jake’s prediction
on a Jump of less than five light years. However, he was running seventeen percent
better than even money on Jumps of ten light years or greater. By downplaying misses
and jokingly exaggerating his skill when he won a bet with one of his officers,
crew scuttlebutt had it that the Old Man beat the computer’s projections most of
the time.
That small-added confidence served to offset an unavoidable drawback,
which Mirikami’s personal background presented to the crew. The tag “Old Man” was
the result of genuine affection for him, although it caused the Captain to cringe
inwardly, since it had an uncomfortable ring of truth.
At sixty-nine, Mirikami was by far Interworld Transport’s oldest
and most senior active flight officer, having twenty-three years invested in this
one company, serving the last fifteen years as a Captain. However, his long service
record was a distinction only within this small company. His seniority and age would
be average for a Captain employed by one of the major Hub carriers.
Just reaching middle age, Mirikami expected to continue working
for Interworld, or a similar small carrier, for perhaps another thirty to forty
years. It struck him as ironic that his success and longevity at Interworld was
entirely a product of discrimination. Otherwise, he would have moved up the career
ladder years ago, leaving Interworld behind.
As with any male, of course, the top promotion opportunities
in large or small companies would be limited, but gender wasn’t the roadblock it
once had been for men. There was more serious obstacle than a glass ceiling in Mirikami’s
path.
No, his inescapable stigma was recorded in his every cell, and
in a huge genetic database shared by every settled planet. His actual birth world
was a matter of record, open to anyone that wanted to crosscheck a sample of his
DNA.
The DNA linked birth records showed that Mirikami had been born
on New Honshu, and none of the major lines would risk their carefully built reputations
by hiring him, no matter his outstanding record of competence. The passage of three
hundred years, barely more than two lifetimes today, wasn’t enough to erase the
scars caused by the Clone Wars, and the so-called Gene War that ended those
wars.
The government and scientists of New Honshu had perfected cloned
workers for labor poor new colony worlds. A significantly higher priced offering
of soldier clones, intended for the ranks of small but capable colony armies was
not finding a market.
Therefore,
New Honshu created a market.
They used a hundred thousand of their “stock” to invade several
of their nearly undefended neighboring colonies in bloodless actions. They “urged”
those governments to agree to certain trade arrangements with New Honshu. Subsequently
they sold most of their Trooper clones to the defeated worlds for their own future
protection; after all, clones would also fight other clones. Except by design, the
new owners could not force the clones to attack New Honshu.
The New Honshu government didn’t fight with its neighbors anymore;
it simply sold anyone soldiers to fight for their new owners. The invasion
immunity factor no doubt made New Honshu the particular retaliatory target of vengeance.
That revenge nearly wiped out the human race.
Bio-engineered soldier clones were the
intended
target
of some anonymous world’s biologists and geneticists. Clone buyers were awaiting
shipment from New Honshu when someone quietly triggered what later was called
the Gene War.
The timing was exquisite. The buyers had just paid a nonrefundable
purchase price, the soon-to-be delivered living goods rendered highly perishable,
and the sellers themselves were financially ruined.
Just weeks before several large Trooper shipments were
scheduled; a few dozen stealth missiles were released above New Honshu. Later,
investigators found the small missile casings and their empty biological containers
on the surface of the planet near their target areas.
It was a designed slow acting genetic modification virus. Six
or seven months after the clones suddenly died like old Mayflies, a mutation in
the human designed male-specific virus permitted the disease to jump from the targeted
clones to the general population. Women were immune to the effects (having no Y
chromosome), but any human could be infected and they became carriers. Every male
became a target.
The plague had moved off New Honshu as they shipped clones to
customers on over a hundred worlds, and its spread went undetected to normal humans,
where it was harmless, initially.
One of the viruses designed self-defense mutations caused the
infectious agent to lose track of a unique set of genes found
only
on the
Y chromosome of a male
clone’s
common New Honshu derived template
. Instead
of killing only clones, the virus widened its scope to kill anyone with a Y chromosome.
The resulting loss of perhaps ninety-seven percent of the male
population of the human race virtually wrecked society, and altered interstellar
culture profoundly. The virus designers themselves probably died from the
mutated pathogen, but no one knew. At least no trace of their work was ever
discovered, and there certainly was no miracle cure or vaccine developed.
Universal panic and a violent backlash towards biological sciences
hindered the development of advanced treatments, let alone a cure.
About six months after one hundred percent of the clones were
dead; nearly ninety-eight percent of the normal male population joined them, within
a single month of terror.
Citizens of New Honshu ranked highest on the “punish” list because
the originators of the plague were never discovered. Unable to focus revenge on
the plague designers, public anger fell on their perceived proxies. First on the
laboratories and scientists that made the clones, and then anger fell on those
biologists and geneticists that were studying the virus, to find a way to prevent
or cure the genetic disease. The mobs lynched their potential saviors or drove
them into hiding.
The scientists and doctors caught by the mobs were burned
alive or torn apart by the infected male plague victims that had only days or
hours to live. They rampaged in mindless mob justice, destroying the labs that
might have saved others.
Even today for citizens from New Honshu, the sins of the Fathers
lived on in the eyes of many, and three hundred years wasn’t enough to erase the
memories completely.
Mirikami became aware that a lengthy silence had passed on the
Bridge. With a twinge of guilt, he realized that he had been shamefully neglecting
his guest, the only other person present on the largely automated command deck,
at least until his First Officer returned from her pre re-entry inspection.
Glancing over his right shoulder, he saw that his visitor appeared
to be deeply engrossed in thought, staring intently at the forward view screen.
The man (his gender itself had been a surprise) was a representative from the consortium
of universities that had chartered the Flight of Fancy. He was present to observe
the re-entry and to furnish Midwife Station, their final destination, with a cargo
manifest, personnel rooster, and unloading priorities. It was a prestige sort of
duty, normally given to a well-connected young woman on her way up.
Probably his passenger’s rare bioscience specialty had subconsciously
sparked the Captain’s own dark musings of the past.
Taking advantage of Martin’s preoccupation, Mirikami studied
the man. Martin was quite tall, roughly two meters, with a large and muscular build.
His features were ruggedly handsome, the neat dark brown hair trimmed in a fashion
current on Ramah, the planet where they had departed. His stylish single piece form
fitting body suit was of an expensive “Smart” Dalgonian stretch fabric. It featured
a wide and flamboyant magenta stripe over an indigo background, running diagonally
from left shoulder to right hip, front and back, with a hand-sized heart shaped
red accent patch right over his groin. Definitely, a stud male, and advertising
his wares, thought Mirikami.
Overall, Martin looked
nothing
like a bio-scientist, or
at least nothing like those generally depicted in old Tri-Vid horror dramas of the
Clone War. Those defaming old portrayals typically seemed to be of skulking, repulsive
looking little men, often oriental, but
never
females of course. Mirikami
felt a sense of ironic amusement as he realized that he had mentally expected the
same appearance for this man before he even met him, as many might have anticipated
for a wartime scientist from New Honshu.
The Captain thought he detected an aura of tension in Martin’s
posture. The doctor’s broad shoulders were hunched forward, right fist clenched
in his large left hand, his piercing dark eyes staring fixedly at the forward view
screen.
Guessing at a reason for his visitor’s intense preoccupation
with the view screen, Mirikami spoke in a reassuringly casual manner. “I certainly
hope
our re-entry is within four or five AU’s of the primary star, Doctor.
That would sure save us some time vectoring in towards Newborn and matching orbits
with Midwife station. We can’t realistically
expect
to be any closer than
that.” It was a subtle attempt to convey an impression that the possibility of actually
hitting the primary star or a planet should be nothing to worry him.