Bastario once was an Eden: a single land mass, divided down the middle by a high mountain range, covered in dense forests, lakes, rivers and wide savannas, teeming with life. The war, which had raged for as long as anyone could remember, had taken a dreadful toll. As we prepared for landing, we passed over a vast plain, devoid of even the merest scrap of life, dotted with deep, water-filled craters. It looked like a scene from the original 'Terminator' movie. I was not hopeful of meeting a people at ease with either their neighbors, or themselves. My instincts proved to be correct. When we disembarked, we found ourselves on what I can only describe as the wrong side of the former Berlin wall. Buildings lay where they'd fallen. Burned out vehicles littered the broad plaza in front of an old government building, which had a dozen large holes in its roof.
A military ground vehicle, painted in camouflage green and flying the Astu flag on its roof, wheezed to a standstill. A tall humanoid, with wild eyes and a pock-marked face, clambered out. He seemed ill. Perhaps, it was simply exhaustion? It was hard to tell. We were ushered into the vehicle and driven to an imposing building several plazas away. All were similarly littered with the debris of conflict. None showed any signs of being cleared and restored. It was if the Astu had simply given up on them and moved elsewhere. This had once been Har'Fa, Astu's capital city. A people do not abandon a capital city lightly, for it contains the memory of all that they were, of all that they are. It is their connection with their earliest times. What had caused this kind of disconnect, I wondered, as Sashi and I were escorted up broad steps and into a building resembling what, on Earth, would be called a church. It turned out it was. Religious faith, it appears, had suffered as much as the environment on Bastario.
We were interviewed by another, clearly unwell, individual. I wasn't certain, at this point, but it seemed to me that Astu's population was in an advanced stage of radiation poisoning! He asked us a few rambling questions, requested a fee to cover our tourist visa - which likely went into his own pocket - and stamped a pair of gray colored identity cards, which he handed to us. His duty apparently done for the day, he rose slowly and painfully to his feet and shuffled off.
"Is that it?" Sashi asked.
"Seems to be," I replied.
"I've no idea," I replied. "But, by the looks of those we've seen, so far, I doubt they could raise an army of more than a dozen soldiers fit enough to lift a slingshot."
"You don't think they've got something catching, do you?" she asked, nervously.
"Sashi, Dear," I said, "if you can withstand a couple of hours alone with me, in a deep, dark, dungeon, you are more than safe, here."
She giggled.
"I'm hungry," she announced.
"Then, by all means, let us drop what we're doing and return to the ship for sustenance," I said. "After that, we will attempt to determine if the Tingu are in the same, parlous state. This time, however, we will arm ourselves with a Geiger-counter. Just in case."
It didn't take much effort to cross the border. In fact, we took off, climbed high enough to clear the central mountain range, and landed a few kilometers further on. Having paid another fee, and received another pair of identity cards - blue, this time - we were given the keys to the place. I've never felt such weariness as I did while we moved, slowly and virtually unnoticed, through what had once been a bustling metropolis of some six million people. It was as if we were wearing light dispersal camouflage, rendering us invisible. Those who did notice us were not in the least interested in talking to us. Our occasional requests for directions met with 'thousand yard stares' and silence. The very humanity of these people had been sucked out of them! They were nothing more than moving husks, inwardly praying, I imagined, for their end to come quickly. To my relief, the Geiger-counter recorded a low level of radioactivity, consistent with the amount one might be exposed to were one living for a year on a granite counter top. Clearly, the types of weapons the two protagonists had unleashed upon one another were either low yield - though that would not account for the decrepitude of the population - or used radioactive elements with very short half-lives. Less than a couple of years, in fact. I'd not heard of such a substance. Obviously, I needed to do some further research and instructed Sashi to return to the ship and bring back a storage box into which we might place some samples. She looked shocked until I clarified the nature of the samples I intended to gather in my own, inimitable way, "Plants, Dummy!"
With our samples safely stored, we left Bastario that same day. Next stop? The Tarantula Nebula and a little known planet called, 'Libia', where I hoped I'd find the quadrant's greatest living particle physicist, Tibor Banksa - assuming he hadn't spread his molecules across three or more parallel universes during one of his experiments!
Tibor wasn't there to meet us as we landed. Instead, he sent one of his 'assistants'. I use the term, 'assistant', in the functional sense, rather than the literal one. It was, in fact, one of his home made 'droids - a collection of odds and ends, salvaged from a variety of military and civilian sources, none of which seemed quite to fit with one another. The focus mechanism of its one working 'eye' whirred briefly. A moment later - time for it to relay our images to Tibor - it spun around in its own length and beckoned us to follow with a jerky movement of one of its 'arms'. We followed at a pace dictated by its creaking and clanking caterpillar tracks as they scrabbled for grip on the metal floor of the corridor.
Tibor was waiting for us in the arboretum. Biology was not one of his passions, but he spent as much time there as he could spare from his researches, tending to the many hundreds of flowering shrubs and trees. Every week, he cleaned the water filtration system and replenished the nutrient tanks. Every day, he would wipe the leaves of at least a dozen plants. It was a labor of love, one might say... And, one would be right! The life partner who'd built the arboretum and stocked it with plants, gathered from a hundred worlds, had died almost five years ago. Her ashes had been spread around her favorite tree: a Spiragea Rosalensia, brought here from her home world, Etelid.
"You've kept it well, Tibor," I told him.
That he still felt the loss was easy to see. He forced a smile. "You're on an investigation? No?"
"Yes," I replied.
"And, you seek my help..." He snapped off a flower and handed it to me. "Why?"
I told him about our visit with the Missii and our recent trip to Bastario. As we sat in comfortable chairs on the deck, shaded from the overhead solar-spectrum lamps by a large awning, I told him what information I was seeking.
"You have samples?"
I pointed to the storage box.
"What kind?"
"Plant material."
His mouth turned down at the corners. "No cadavers?"
"We suspect some kind of radioactive poisoning. I have little in the way of protection against that kind of contamination on my ship. Though, I have to say, the Geiger-counter registered 'normal' background levels where we tested."
"Tell me about the symptoms displayed by the living," he said, reaching for a filer.
"Their eyes, mouths, noses and faces were swollen. Their faces were also very red. Also, they displayed a lack of energy and awareness. We moved freely through a large number of people and none seemed to notice us."
"We even spoke to some," Sashi added. "They ignored us."
"Could they have been blind?" he asked.
"Maybe?" I replied.
"In the absence of a cadaver, I can only speculate," he said. "My first guess would be some kind of device containing Cobalt-60 was detonated in, or over, the city. Its decay is achieved by the emission of beta particles and gamma radiation. Gamma radiation damages the body's cellular structure."
"But, we found little in the way of gamma radiation," I told him. "My ship's arrays are set to test for that."
"Cobalt-60 ultimately decays to non-radioactive nickel," he said. "Given enough time, there would be no gamma radiation."
"How much time?"
"Cobalt-60 has a half-life of 5.27 years. After fifteen years, or so, the environment would recover sufficiently to be safe." His mouth turned down. "Of course, most, if not all, of the life forms on the planet would probably have suffered significant genetic damage by then."
"We did our report on the conflict unfolding on Bastario a few years back," I said. "Both sides were very much alive, then."
"Say they did use such a weapon, shortly after we did that report," Sashi said, "could someone live that long after being poisoned by it?"
"With blood transfusions and medications to elevate their depressed white cell count, they might survive," he replied.
"Would they have the capacity to treat millions, though?" she persisted.
He thought, briefly. "Perhaps it wasn't Cobalt-60? Polonium 210 has a half-life of 138.376 days. It decays directly to its daughter isotope Pb 206. Common lead. Within less than eighteen months, it would be perfectly safe. And, since Polonium 210 decays mainly through the emission of alpha particles, with only one in one hundred thousand decays resulting in the emission of a gamma ray, it's more difficult to identify. Since gamma radiation can penetrate the skin, while alpha particles can't, the delivery system would need to ensure that the Polonium 210 was either ingested, or inhaled. Strong winds would affect the dispersal pattern, lessening the efficiency of the weapon."
"How much would you need?" I asked.
"One gram of Polonium 210 could, in theory, poison two million people. One million might die. The minimal lethal dose for a person weighing eighty kilograms is 0.89 micrograms. An extremely small amount. However, the toxicity of Polonium 210 is lower for exposure spread out over several weeks. You would need a large quantity to produce an immediate and comprehensive exposure if you wanted to erradicate an entire population."
"Would it be possible to build a delivery system which could provide such exposure?" Sashi asked.
Tibor waved his arm above his head. "It's a big universe. Anything is possible. Polonium 210, itself, is not too difficult to manufacture. It can be made through the alpha particle, proton, or deuteron bombardment of lead or bismuth in a cyclotron." He noticed my eyes were glazing over. "A particle accelerator."
"What would you need to make one of these 'particle accelerators'?" I asked.
"A good understanding of electro-magnetism, a large and reliable electrical power supply, a foundry to caste the magnet forms, a good understanding of atomic physics, and a means to contain the Polonium, once it was produced. Handing the Polonium 210 is the difficult part."
"What about symptoms?"
"It would look like food poisoning, initially. Later, as it worked its way through the body, the spleen and liver would be affected."
"We noticed several satellites are still orbiting Bastario. Could they be the launch platforms for such a weapon, and might we find evidence of the radioactive material if they were used as such?"
Tibor stroked his stubbly chin. "Certainly! As for evidence of Polonium 210? Doubtful, by now, I would say."
"Because of the rate of decay?"
He smiled, indulgently.
"Is there anything else you can think of, that might help?"
He ran his hand over the fronds of a nearby fern. "Because it emits a large number of alpha particles, which are easily stopped in a dense media, thereby releasing their energy, Polonium 210 can be used as a lightweight heat source to power thermoelectric cells in artificial satellites, or to provide heat to keep the internal components of survey drones warm, should they be deployed on asteroids, or on planets where night time temperatures fall below freezing. And, of course, in deep space."
"So," Sashi said, "the Polonium 210 wouldn't even need to come from a weapons development program?"
"No," Tibor replied. "Many worlds are close to resource depletion, and would probably have programs in place for surveying asteroids, as well as extensive mining operations. There are also uninhabited planets, ripe for exploitation. Most of those would probably lack an atmosphere and experience wild fluctuations in their day and night time temperatures."
We took a meal with him and left him to bury himself in his work, once more. I figured it was the only thing that could distract him from his tragic loss.
Sashi finished plotting the course to our next destination. She swung around in her chair and asked, "What d'you think the Missii might be after on Bastario?"
I'd been wondering that myself. "Do we have a geological summary?"
She called up the file. "Iron core. Crustal composition includes copper, zinc and bauxite. Large fossil fuel deposits - coal and hydrocarbons. Small deposits of pitchblende..."
I interrupted her, "They have uranium deposits?"
"Some."
"What about lead?"
She smiled her understanding. "You're wondering if they might have been able to produce their own Polonium?"
"It's a thought."
She frowned. "Where did Tibor say Polonium is produced?"
"In a particle accelerator."
Sashi checked the Bastario file, again. When she turned back to face me, she looked triumphant. "Large Galena deposits. Galena is the natural mineral form of lead sulfide..." She turned to read more of the entry, "... and often contains significant amounts of silver. Zinc, cadmium, antimony, arsenic and bismuth also occur in variable amounts in lead ores..."
I stopped her with a raised hand. "Tibor said, 'bombardment of lead or bismuth'. So, they had the source materials. But, did the Astu or the Tingu ever have a particle physics program?"
"Maybe only the Tingu had one?"
"Explain."
"The Astu had that ceramic hull plating technology. They had the advantage. Maybe the Missii returned and leveled the playing field?"
"Don't forget, the Missii trade," I reminded her. "They probably don't produce much."
"Okay. If they didn't have one of these particle thingies and the Missii gave them a Polonium 210 weapon, it would have to come from a planet no more than two months travel from Bastario - allowing a couple of months for the Tingu to develop a delivery system - and it would be half decayed by then. They'd need more of it for the same result."
"The Missii might have delivered a fully deployable weapon," I interjected.
"But, the Polonium would still decay at the same rate."
I nodded my agreement. "Bastario had a population of twenty-seven million, give or take. Twenty-seven grams of Polonium is hardly a large amount."
"But it's a lot if it's as difficult to handle as Tibor said it is. I'll start looking for planets with large populations and limited resources. Then, I'll check out their mining companies. See what I can learn about their operations and if they use survey drones which might need to be tucked up warm each night. I'll check out weapons manufacturers, too."
"Dear One, you are truly indispensable," I told her. And meant it!
Trust Sashi to choose a world close to the Lachidae Abyss! If I had to name the one place in the universe I hate, it's this one! Abyss is a term usually used to describe a long drop - like diving deep in an ocean, or falling off a cliff. The Lachidae Abyss is neither of these. It's a rip in space/time. If you go in, you're gone for good! Tibor has a theory it's an entrance to some kind of multi-dimensional junction where connectives leading to several parallel universes converge. He just hasn't figured out how to survive entering it, yet, let alone returning safely to confirm his theory to a breathless audience. I imagine he'd receive the same level of incredulity that greeted Stanley after he returned from Africa claiming he'd found Livingston and established the direction in which the river Niger flowed!
Close by the Abyss, lies Benjia. It's an old world, orbiting a yellow dwarf star which has seen better times. The future of the inhabitants of Benjia is not at risk, however - leastwise, not for several million years. Even so, like enthusiastic boy scouts, they're already preparing for their world's demise. The planet is denuded of natural resources. Recycling has become an art form. Environmentalists run virtually every government department, population control has enthusiastically embraced the very worst aspects of eugenics, and no one talks about economic growth. If any population might be interested in asteroid mining, or finding a new place to set up home, the people of Benjia are certainly on the list. They're also a mean spirited bunch! Any stranger who hoves to on the horizon is automatically regarded as being a scrounger. Even getting to talk to a traffic controller requires a person be able to prove they (a) are not in need of assistance; (b) ate recently; (c) don't need to eat until tomorrow; (d) have enough funds to pay for parking their ship - including a non-refundable deposit; and, (e) have enough fuel to make it to their next way point. As I said, they are MEAN!
"Are you sure it's worth the trouble?" I asked Sashi.
"They're in the market for a new home," she said. "And, they've had mining operations working their asteroid belt for centuries."
"What about planetary survey missions?"
"Not yet."
"Could they have something the Missii might want, in exchange for a set of coordinates to an inhabitable world?"
"They might have recycling technology to sell?" She taped more keys. "We could use it as a pretext for being here."
Like I said. She's indispensable!
This place is so clean you almost wish you could float along the boulevard, rather than walking along it. I even looked behind me to see if someone was erasing the scuff marks my spiky heels might be making on the sidewalk! We'd been vetted and found to be "good people", I assumed, because we had no problem meeting an official in the Benjia Department of Trade. He even provided a translator device for us, similar to the one we'd rented on Cuscott. I took its being here to be a confirmation of my theory: that possession of such technology was a clear indication the Missii had blown into town. The official was very open with us, not because their society is given to being so, but because he'd been part of the delegation who'd negotiated the deal with the Missii for supplying them with soil reclamation technology and wanted everyone to know how clever he was. In response to my enquiry as to what the Benjia would receive in exchange for this technology, the official clammed up. Not to be put off, I mentioned, in passing, that the Benjia would soon be in the market for a new home. He tried very hard to convey nothing to me, but Sashi saw through his defensive screen, as did I. My thoughts churned! Soil reclamation technology would be an absolute boon to the Astu and the Tingu, if they managed to survive their recent stupidity. But, they weren't going to! They were dust! They just hadn't reached the end of the process, yet. My mind pulled up short. We couldn't be that lucky! I decided we should run with the idea, just to see where it might lead.
We were offered nothing in the way of food - which, for me, is a serious 'No. No.' We did, however, receive two small cups of water. I told Sashi we were heading back to the ship. She raised no objection. I guess she was as unimpressed with the Benjia as I was.
Back on Leġnis I worked the file store keyboard while Sashi prepared us a meal. Three things bothered me about our current approach to this investigation. First, it's way to easy when working on a story to put two and two together and come up with what seems to be the right answer. In other words, by the very nature of our profession - not to mention our previous experiences - we're driven to seek out evil and scandal wherever it might lurk - and, we've seldom been disappointed! However, the danger that we might convince ourselves we've found it where none really exists is ever present! Second, only the Missii knew what they were up to - assuming they were up to anything in the first place. Only they knew what deals had been done with what races. Third, what were they getting out of it if they were, in fact, up to no good. They certainly lived like the nomads they seemed to be. On the other hand, power can be an end in itself. Don't some art collectors acquire stolen paintings and hang them in a room only they will ever have access to? Are there not those who prefer to make kings rather than become kings, themselves? I do not, and never will, understand the attraction of hiding one's light under a bushel. My power is exercised openly. I require instant compliance, or there's hell to pay!
We had to get into their minds - though their data store would likely suffice - before we would know for certain what they were up to. And, running around the quadrant, hoping to trip over something, then making two and two add up to five, was not going to produce an accurate and truthful story. When Sashi returned from the galley with our meal, I asked her, "Do you know where Anu Keefer hangs his hat, these days?"
"Last I heard, he was doing 'three to six' on Beta Tropka."
"For what?"
"For what you're thinking of asking him to do for us?" She waited for me to say something, then added, "He ran a surveillance hack and sold the information to their mortal enemies, the Caswari."
"That's a capital crime on Tropka," I said.
"There were extenuating circumstances." She laughed. "He did the same thing to the Caswari and sold the information to the Tropka. They locked him up for his own safety. Guess they think they can use him again."
"Maybe we can bail him out? Pay a fine or something?"
"I'll set the Nav. coordinates, shall I?"
"Absolutely!" I pulled a bowl of pasta towards me and dropped a couple of spoonfuls on my plate.
Beta Tropka Penal Colony.
The proximity alarm started warbling and the incoming message light on the Comm. panel flashed. "Will you take this or should I?" Sashi asked, pressing the button below the message light.
"You're the smooth talker," I replied.
She grinned and pressed the 'connect' button. "Er... Hello?"
"Smooth," I whispered.
The deep, resonating voice of a prison guard informed us, in excellent English, that we were in closed space. Another Missii trading partner, for sure!
Sashi was too immersed in her role of the 'lost traveler' to notice. "We were hoping for a visit with one of your inmates." The penny dropped! She looked at me and mouthed, 'They speak English?'
I put my finger to my lips.
"Visiting days are clearly posted at the Central Department of Incarceration and Restitution on A-Tropka," the guard replied.
"We're not from Tropka," she said.
"Ignorance of standing procedures is not an excuse. You must return to A-Tropka and make an application, using form...."
"Can't we just land and work this out, somehow?" she wheedled.
A long pause suggested the guard was running through the math. So much for a new ground vehicle. So much for a new dress for the little woman. So much for that vacation to Ginsky Sunset Park. "Sending approach vectors. You will be met when you land."
Sashi winked at me and patched the incoming vectors to the auto-pilot.
Laying in a hammock, doing hard time!
Anu Keefer was a geek, and he looked like one. He was stretched out on a hammock, and rolled his head to watch us as we entered his cell. "Don't bother to get up," I said, tersely.
He stretched out his right arm to pick up a glass containing a greenish colored liquid that stood on the floor beneath the hammock.
"Sashi, lift his head so he can drink," I said, sarcastically.
He rolled slightly and raised the glass to his lips. He took a sip, lowered the glass and said, "Sashi? Long time no see."
She glowed. I scowled.
"We're here to get you out," I told him.
He put the glass back on the floor and looked around the cell. "I'm pretty comfortable, here."
"I could tell the Caswari where you are," I said, pushing against the wall, as if estimating its blast resistance. "One of their new missiles should do it." I exchanged a knowing look with Sashi. "It wouldn't leave much for your family to bury."
He looked panicky. "You wouldn't?"
"I would, but I won't... Provided you do something for me."
