The Ares Decision

“But it’s wild, isn’t it? Big sky country. I love that phrase.” She used her hands like a symphony conductor when she repeated it. “Big sky country. It explains so much.”

She had an engaging way of talking just a little too fast, as though there wasn’t enough time in life to say everything on her mind.

“I never thought about it. I guess it does.”

“But you’re not here to listen to me babble. You want to talk about parasites. Do you have an interesting one for me?”

He looked around him, confirming that none of the students were within earshot. “That’s the problem. I’m not really sure. It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Of course. Viruses…How awful for you.”

“Sorry?”

A pained expression spread across her face. “Well, I mean, they’re just little bags of DNA, really.”

“I take it you’re not a fan.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to be insulting, but they’re technically not even alive, for God’s sake.”

“They may be small, but they pack a big punch,” he said, feeling a sudden inexplicable urge to defend his life’s work.

“Oh, please. What’s the best you’ve got? Smallpox? Malaria — now, there’s a nasty little parasite that’s killed more people than all other diseases combined. In fact, you can make a lucid argument that it’s killed half the people who ever died.”

She grabbed his arm and tugged him toward an enormous glass tank against the lab’s far wall. “Let me show you something.”

Her size belied her strength, and he allowed himself to be dragged along.

“This is Laurel,” she said pointing to a foot-long fish swimming around the tank. “She’s a spotted rose snapper from California. Tap the glass. Go ahead. Get her attention.”

Smith did as he was told and Laurel swam toward him, opening her mouth as she approached.

He barely managed not to take a step backward when he saw something that looked like a small lobster staring out at him from the fish’s maw. “What the hell is that?”

“Hardy,” she said, grinning broadly. “Cymothoa exigua. When he was young and tiny, he swam through Laurel’s gills and attached himself to her tongue to feed off the blood from the artery underneath. Eventually, the tongue rotted away and Hardy replaced it. Doesn’t harm the fish at all. They’ll live together like that for their entire lives.”

“You win,” Smith admitted. “That’s truly disgusting.”

“Isn’t it brilliant?” she said, snatching a worm from a dirt-filled box and dangling it over the tank.

As Smith watched her feed the unfortunate fish, he couldn’t help thinking of his fiancee, Sophia. They had worked together at Fort Detrick and she’d had the same endless fascination for her field as Sarie did. In the end, though, it had killed her.

“Colonel Smith? Are you all right? I’m sorry. Did Hardy upset you? He has that effect on some people.”

His smile returned and he concentrated on making sure it didn’t look forced. “No, Hardy’s fine. In fact, if you have somewhere we can talk privately, I may be able to one-up you.”

Her tiny office was crammed with books that looked like they’d spent most of their lives in the field, but most were completely obscured by her fetish for sticky notes. There was hardly a square inch available anywhere that didn’t have a reminder of some type attached to it. He paused in the doorway to read one demanding — with multiple exclamation marks — that she not forget a faculty meeting held just over two years ago.

Sarie cleared a spot on her desk and pointed to the courier bag slung over Smith’s shoulder. “Is your specimen in there? Is it from Maryland?”

“No and no.”

Smith’s attention was drawn to a picture of her and a very old man standing over a dead antelope of some kind. She was holding a rifle and grinning out from beneath a broad straw hat.

“Eland?”

“Kudu. Terrific eating if you get a chance while you’re here.” She pointed to the case again. “Now, did you mention something about a new parasite? Something no one’s ever seen before?”

He chewed his lower lip. “What I have in here is very secret and—”

“Ja, ja,” she drawled. “You told me that over the phone, Colonel. Or do you prefer Doctor?”

“Jon.”

“Jon. Secrets are so corrosive to the soul. Why don’t you just show me? I’m certain it will make you feel better.”

“I need to impress on you that this is something my government would consider at the very least top secret.”

“You’re killing me, Jon. I am absolutely sweating with anticipation.” Her tone turned playful. “I understand that if I talk, you’ll have to kill me.”

“I’m not sure that’s the case, but it’s an option that would get discussion.”

She started to laugh but then seemed uncertain that he was joking. There was a brief pause before she nodded. “Fine. I swear on my father’s grave. Now, give it here.”

She seemed a bit perplexed when he pulled out a laptop and set it on the desk, but lowered the shades behind her and leaned over the computer to watch the video that was starting.

Smith cleared a chair of books and dropped into it, a cloud of dust rising around him as he watched her turn increasingly pale.

“Hectic,” she mumbled when it was over. A few moments passed before she could get anything else out. “Who were the people that died?”

“It’s not important.”

“I’ll bet it is to them.”

He didn’t respond.

“Where was the video taken? Somewhere in central Africa?”

“Uganda. The men you saw were there to try to capture Caleb Bahame.”

“Bahame?” she said, the hatred audible in her voice. “I’m sorry they didn’t find him. Find him and kill him.”

He held out a redacted copy of the CIA’s report and the information Star had come up with on the parasite angle.

“Eighteen ninety-nine?” she said, leafing through it. “I see you like to keep your research current.”

He actually managed a half smile. “So what do you think, Doctor?”

“Sarie.”

“Sarie. Could a parasite cause that kind of behavior?”

“It’s certainly possible. Making people violent isn’t all that difficult.”

“But the behavior is more sophisticated than that.”

“You’re referring to the fact that they don’t attack each other?”

He was impressed. She was as quick as her reputation suggested. “Exactly. That’s why we’re leaning toward the cause being a combination of narcotics and charisma. But we want to be sure.”

“What do you know about the blood?”

“It’s not painted on, if that’s what you mean. But they could have cut their scalps for some kind of ceremonial purpose.”

“I doubt it. Ceremonial cutting, sure, but why hide it under your hair? Why not a big, intimidating slash across your chest? And as far as them not attacking each other goes, it wouldn’t surprise me. If a parasite is affecting their brains, what mutation could possibly be more beneficial than one causing them to recognize other infected people and leave them alone? It would be a huge evolutionary advantage over similar parasites that cause their victims to end up in some kind of free-for-all. From the parasite’s standpoint, that’s suicide.”

“Still,” Smith said skeptically. “The kinds of specific changes that would have to be made to the human brain in order to make all this work seem far-fetched.”