Blue Planets

The picture on forty inch flat screen shrank until it was a single pinprick of light like a dying star is a distant, black galaxy.

A split second later the television made a popping and the screen blinked on again. A PSA urging hand sanitization scrolled across the bottom as a blonde mother and child vigorously rubbed liberal doses of bacterial soap over their hands. Surgical masks covered the bottom half of their faces, but they had smiling eyes. Their eyes said everything would be all right.

An advertisement for adult diapers that were unnoticeable beneath street clothes followed. Elderly people walked along a busy sidewalk this time. A normal life with normal, first-world problems. An old commercial, no masks on the actors.

Namm plopped down in a leather wingback chair across from the one Major Davis sat in. All of the family room lights were off casting the room in a shadowy gloom in sharp contrast to the afternoon sunlight outside. A burnt copper scent filled the air.

“I’ll never get used to the stink when one of your kind shows up,” Major Davis said. “Especially when you appear unannounced in my home.”

Namm removed a pack of Marlboros, shook one out, lit it, and took a long, deep drag. The smoke drifted from his gills.

“I feared you were already dead,” he said.

Major Davis tucked the blankets tighter around herself. The roaring fire in the fireplace and the eighty-degree temperature outside did nothing to warm her thin blood.

“I know that one,” she said. “Things your ex-husband never says.”

Namm grinned, pointed to the television. “What are you watching?”

“A rerun of Jeopardy. Ironic, don’t you think?” She aimed the remote at the screen and depressed the mute button. “You’re here about the soldier in the lake, aren’t you?”

“You mean the dead soldier in the lake.”

She drank water from the glass in her hand. Namm pretended not to see the large, purplish lump on her throat or the pain on her face as she swallowed.

“It’s all in the file on the coffee table in front of you there,” she said when she was done. She spoke though her breathing was labored.

Namm opened the folder and removed the photo of a smiling soldier in happier times; his gills were bright red with excitement.

“I met him once,” Namm said. “We shared some beers at a tailgate party a couple of months ago.”

“Only once? He was part of your command.”

Namm shrugged. “Half-a-million faces are hard to remember.”

“I pulled some strings over at Homeland. He worked for Homeland.”

“It’s forbidden in the treaty agreement for Aquas to work for your governmental organization.”

“He was a double agent. A Special Investigator for a new unit, Alien biological threats. When he got sick, they sent him to me.” Major Davis adjusted herself in her chair. The muscle cramps were coming quicker, the severity was harder to ignore. “They turned him last year. When the bodies started piling up. All the rules went out the window.”

“What was his mission?”

“He was feeding them intel about your activities.”

Namm stood, walked to the window, and parted the curtains wide. He adjusted his protective lenses in the bright light, and the world took on a yellowish tint. His team waited outside the submersible parked on the street. They were dressed as he was, in specially designed water flow gear to keep their blood cool. Their suits were like a human diving suit, but thinner, more comfortable, and looked like fashionable street clothes to the human eye. The submersible appeared to humans to be a luxurious solar powered minivan. A simple manipulation of the power of suggestion on a massive scale.

It was all part of the political compromise in the treaty between The Aqua planetary government and the United Nations, agreed to a century and half ago. It was called the Assimilation Pact. Aquas agreed to make every attempt to blend in, which included dress, language, and technology. Everything except for their translucent skin which was impossible to hide or disguise. Namm thought of it as humans having the home court advantage. They got to make the rules.

“How’s your team holding up?” Major Davis asked.

“They seem perplexed without their fan base. Frankly, I’m glad to see the end of the attention.”

Humans, with their odd contradiction of attraction and repulsion for all things unlike themselves, made the Aqua look a fashion trend. Celebrities, and the wealthiest teenagers, paid thousands for medical treatments to make their human skin more like Aquas. Everything from webbed fingers and toes to artificial gills. Teenagers called themselves Silverfish or occasionally Aqua Lytes. But, when the rate of skin cancer skyrocketed, the Aqua fad quickly lost its allure except with the most hardcore followers. And then the sickness spread, and . . .

Namm checked his wristwatch. He had another ten minutes before the O2 pills he’d taken wore off. When time ran down, he’d have to re-enter the submersible with its specially designed tanks or suffocate — a fish out of water.

“Doesn’t it bother you to know one of your soldiers was spying on you for us?” Major Davis said.

“He was a hybrid,” Namm said. “Part human and part Aqua. A leftover from a previous failed experiment at coexistence. It isn’t surprising he developed some sympathy for Earthlings. I doubt he divulged anything of importance. Looking back, it seems one more waste of energy.”

“You dismiss it too easily. If I remember correctly, your father was Aquatic and your mother human. He was created in a lab. You graced us the old fashioned human way. And of course, you’ve never been on our team, have you?”

Namm ignored her dig. Hybrids, a cross between Aqua and human created in military labs by splicing the DNA of both species after some alterations of chromosomes for compatibility, were shunned by both humans and Aquas. Too many attempts had resulted in failure of one kind or another, mostly unchecked aggression and paranoia. Namm’s life was accidental. Something no one thought possible. A miracle of sorts. The result of his father’s crash landing on earth nearly three hundred years ago, and taking a human as his wife. His mother died in the difficult delivery, and when his father was rescued a year later, he returned with Namm to their people. Namm knew his biol0gical mother only through photos and the residual effects of her aura, her light.

“Why wasn’t he quarantined once he fell ill?” Namm said.

“He escaped. Getting out of impossible to escape places was part of his training, remember? All of you have the ability. We didn’t let him go if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“You had to know he was highly contagious.”

Major Davis pulled the blankets up tighter around her neck. “That’s why I put a bullet through his head.”

Namm turns to face her. “You . . . killed him.”

“He was trying to submerge. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have spread it to the Aqua colony living in the lake. Once that happened . . ..”

“You did it to save the colony.”

Major Davis doubled over in a coughing fit that shook her body. Namm heard the rattle in her chest that sounded like loose change in a tumbling, tin can, only the can was filled with liquid. The sound stirred memories of his father pounding wet seaweed against a rock when he was still a tadpole. Namm let his gaze wander around the room as he waited for her to regain her composure. Pictures of Major Davis with her ex-husband and their two children lined the walls, cluttered tabletops, and the fireplace mantle. Happy, smiling, faces in another place in a not so distant past confidently assuming unlimited tomorrows. None of them with any clue of how numbered their days were. If they had known, what would she and her family done differently in life, he wondered. Would the marriage have lasted? Would the marital disputes have seemed trivial? Her ex-husband had succumbed first, then her daughter and son a month later. So much anguish.

When Major Davis was able to breathe again, Namm picked up where he had left off as though nothing has happened.

“What did you learn from examining him?”

“That Aquas are as vulnerable to the sickness as we are, but we knew that already. You’ve lost more lives than we have. Now it’s spreading to every plant and animal right down to ameoba.”

Namm watched a neighbor across the cul-de-sac stumble out of his home, stagger onto the street, and finally, collapse onto a fire hydrant. His team hid their weapons from sight, but they stayed alert. He’d ordered them to keep their breathing apparatus on and functioning. Treaty be damned. As long as they did, and they weren’t touched by anything carrying the contagion, they’d be safe for a while longer.

“We hoped it would be different here,” he said. “This planet was supposed to be safe for all of us — your species and mine.”

“You’ve seen this before, then.”

“We made other attempts at recolonization — different planets, different galaxies, all blue, none was as hospitable to my kind as earth. Our planet was ninety percent water to earth’s seventy percent, and although your oceans were dying from mankind’s pollution, our advanced technology in water filtration reversed the damage. We renewed the balance between intelligent life and what you humans refer to as Mother Nature. If my people had not evolved from land to water or your people from water to land, it is very likely we would be genetically identical.”

“How can you be certain it didn’t arrive with you? Whenever you introduce a foreign species into new ecosystem there is an impact, and the impact is usually negative for a time.”

“Humans always seek to blame. It is the most primitive part of your DNA so I will tell you I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Namm turned away from the window in time to see her adjust herself in her seat to avoid the sudden wetness that follows an involuntary bowel movement. He knew this from the unmistakable stench they both pretended was not present. He’d seen it before in other humans since the sickness had spread.

“Our military leaders wanted to blow your ships from the sky. They feared something like this happening,” she said. Namm noted the increased stress in her voice.

“But, they didn’t. As a result, our peoples thrived. We brought knowledge that benefited both species. Human’s benefited from the lessons of our mistakes.”

“Mistakes. Is that what you call destroying your own planet?”

“Blind arrogance and greed, then. We didn’t respect our world, and when the climate began to change for the worse, we preferred denial. We turned our backs on science and facts. It was convenient, and yes, profitable, for our captains of industry and political leaders. They — we — placed profit above self-preservation.”

“What changed their minds?”

“Nothing. Our world died, remember? Our ships became lifeboats. There weren’t enough to save everyone. Millions were sacrificed so our species might survive. It was only after wandering like nomads from galaxy to galaxy for centuries were we able to educate ourselves, and weed out some of our innate flaws.”

“How?”

Namm parted the curtains to get a better view of the sun. The sky had an orange tint like weak tea in a glass. He remembered when it had once been as blue as the seas. “When you’re in an overcrowded lifeboat, one must either row or swim. Those who refused to respect the science were given this choice. Denial was no longer tolerated, misinformation banned, obfuscation a death sentence. ”

“Still, it doesn’t clear your kind of being the cause of this catastrophe. You may not even have known.”

Namm shut the curtains and drew the shades, and took his seat beside her again.

“Whatever this thing is, it was already here, dormant, waiting, a ticking bomb.”

Major Davis wiped green spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Waiting for what?”

Namm shrugged, rather, he lifted his shoulders in what approximated as a shrug for an Aqua.

“Our scientists only know that it didn’t originate in the water or air. That only leaves earth’s soil.”

“We ran soil tests. We found nothing unusual.”

“Our science is far more advanced when it comes to water and air. We had no real need for geology or any other studies of earth’s minerals. That was a mistake, but we have no doubt about the origin. We simply ran out of time to prove it.”

Major Davis stared at a plastic water bottle gathering dust on the floor beneath the credenza. “We’ve been trying to kill this planet since we learned to create fire. Maybe turnaround is fair play.”

“Planets are living things. All living things die. This is true everywhere.”

“Yeah, well, the truth sucks,” Major Davis said. “What will you do now?” She wiped mucus from her top lip with a palsied finger. “There is no cure. It mutates too quickly. Adapts to any threat. No life is safe, not even beneath the sea.”

Namm smoked the last of his Marlboro and stubbed it out in the palm of his glove. “You’re a doctor. What would you do if your patient’s hand was infected and there was no cure? How would you stop the infection from spreading? Say, gas gangrene in an advanced state.”

“Gangrene is not contagious.”

“True, but we know this — thing — acts like a contagious form of gas gangrene on a grander scale. The very cells that make up this planet are dying, like gangrene. We believe the cause to have been some form of trauma or a series of traumas to the planet. Undoubtedly man made. So, I ask you again, what would you do to save your patient?”

Major Davis didn’t hesitate. “I’d amputate the hand before it spread to the arm.”

“And if you could not be certain the infection had not already traveled through the bloodstream to the arm?”

“To save the patient’s life, I would remove the arm, stop the spread with extreme prejudice.”

Namm sighed and lowered his eyes, examined the tiny rip in his gloves he should have had repaired long ago.

“Where are you going with this?” Major Davis said.

“I must stop the spread to my people.”

Major Davis attempted to stand, but she was too weak. “There are six billion humans on the surface of earth and almost as many Aquas living in the sea.”

“Sacrifices must be made.”

“Sacrifices . . . you’re going to abandon this planet, like your home.”

Namm shook his head and said, “Not exactly.”

“Then . . . what?”

“Eath’s disease is contagious. Earth’s dust will float out into the cosmos like a sneeze in this neighborhood. Diseased microbes will ride the solar winds in all directions.”

Major Davis shook her head until multi-colored spots floating before her eyes stopped her. “You aren’t making any sense. No, wait! You’re going to destroy Earth.” Her bloodshot eyes widened. “Not just Earth. The entire galaxy!”

“It is the only way.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Your people did not think inter-dimensional travel was possible. Yet, here we are.”

“We can survive.”

Namm wanted to comfort her, but empathy is a human quality, and he was only half human. The closest he could come to expressing what he felt was to attempt an explanation.

“Earth is but one small planet in a minuscule galaxy in an ever expanding universe of expanding universes. My mission, as part of an advanced scouting team, was to find a suitable home to relocate my people. I was selected for earth because of my unique connection to humans. We have been happy here, but my crew is not the only team tasked with the same mission. There are other galaxies, other blue planets out there.”

“We’ll search together. Life finds a way.”

Namm did not respond. Major Davis fidgeted nervously as she racked her brain for a persuasive argument to change his mind. She found none.

“The lifeboat is only so big, is that it?” she said. “Who else knows?”

“My team, and now, you.”

“Why me? I’m not a world leader.”

Namm’s gills flared. “You are my closest friend in this world. You did your best to protect us all.”

“And I can’t do a damned thing to stop you,” Major Davis hid her face in her hand. Tears welled in her eyes. “How . . . will it happen?”

“Your sun was the giver of life. It will be its end. We will reverse the expansion of this galaxy, draw it inward instead of outward. Think of it as the big bang in reverse. Only your sun — your star — shall remain. Everything else . . ..”

“Not even dust.”

Major Davis sniffled loudly, “When will you join your ships in space?”

Namm turned away, and found himself staring at another Davis family photo. “It is too late for that,” he said, and stood to leave. “Sacrifices must be made, remember?”

“Wait.” Major Davis reached out her hand. “Stay, please. Just a little longer.”

Namm checked his watch. Three minutes. A lifetime. An image of his wife and the offspring he hadn’t seen in one hundred years flashed before his eyes. They were on the ark vessel traveling toward a far-off galaxy. He looked at his friend, frightened, alone. What was three minutes more?

Namm had never wondered about the where and when of his death. He’d just assumed it would be in a warm pond surrounded by generations of his offspring, his spawn. At least, that had been his dream. Warm ponds can mean many things, he thought.

“Does your family know?” Major Davis asked.

“Our memories, like light, travel until they encounter something and is absorbed by that thing. Over the centuries, we have learned to direct the memory of our existence, control it, focus it on a specific destination. My family will see everything that has happened in their minds and in their hearts. Everything except the very end. I do not wish for them to see me die. I have embedded a slight delay in the transmission. About seven of your earth seconds.”

“What of us? Humans. What will happen to our . . . light?”

“We have made arrangements to capture your memories, store it like books in a library for future generations. The humans traveling with my people will not forget you. Your stories will be safe there for eternity.”

“Heaven.”

“What?”

“Our stories stored for all eternity . . . sounds like heaven.”

Namm reached into his pocket and brought out a device that resembled an oblong, glowing, computer mouse.

“This sends the signal from our main ship on earth to our command vessel orbiting beyond the galaxy. I think a human should activate the final sequence.” He extended the device to Major Davis. “All you have to do is press the red button.”

“You want me to wipe out the entire human race for you? Kill my own people.” Major Davis turned her attention to the television screen. “There isn’t anything on now except that damned white noise, I’m afraid.”

They sat quietly, neither having much to say. Their thoughts orbiting inside their minds. Two individuals sharing the gravitational pull of friendship.

“I confess I sometimes fantasize about you with gills,” Namm said out of the blue.

“Really,” Major Davis said, and smiled. “I sometimes fantasize about you with a penis.”

Namm laughed despite himself, leaned back against the soft leather, and truly relaxed for what was his first time in one hundred years. This would be the last memory his family would have of him: acceptance, contentment, friendship, peace. He extended the glowing device toward his friend, his gloved finger hovering above the button.

“Let us become part of the light together.”

Major Davis laid a hand on his holding the device, and with her other hand, she pointed the tv remote at the television and depressed the “off” button. The screen turned black with a single, shrinking, pin-prick of light in the center.

• Fade Out-