Breach

fiction by michael werneburg

2002.07.26

"Well for one thing, we've found lots of life, including intelligent life, inside gas giants."

"Oh, right."

"And we're not sure what problems might emerge if we store it somewhere that it might be exposed to hard radiation for a long time."

"I see."

"I think you'll recall what happened when we tried to dispose of some of it into the micro black hole near Hysbik's star?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. I'm from Hysbik II."

She stared at him in astonishment. That world was the scene of Waste Control's greatest failure. "Are you!"

"Yes, it is why I was so honored to be attached to this service, ma- Lieutenant."

She was frankly astonished that they'd allowed him into Waste Control at all. Half his home world had to be evacuated after their branch flubbed an experimental disposal routine. The waste had gone into some sort of strange chain reaction once subjected to the intense gravity of the black hole. Basically, a failure in waste management had killed this young man's parents. One more thing for her to worry about. "Honestly, I'm beginning to think that if we can't keep track of this stuff, we've no right to produce it in the first place."

"The subtime process allows us to travel the stars."

"Yes, there's no way around it right now. Let's check in on our analysis subroutines." Gesturing at her console, the Lieutenant let the song settle back into the background din and started through the reports from her semi-autonomous software routines. "Summarize, please Mother? On the big screen."

An English translation appeared on the translucent hull. Samples of the planet's news broadcasts, its fiction, and its online historical records contained innumerable references to other planets as well as various spacecraft.

The Ensign dug into some news items and told her, "This says the aliens seem to be ingesting the waste as a recreational drug. Don't they realize the dangers?"

Marl's heart sank. Species that liked drugs were always the worst. And a species that developed a taste for the toxic dust in their waste repositories could be particularly dangerous. The waste was radioactive, psychoactive, and mutagenic. The Terra Corporation took great pains to secure the stuff where Waste Control could get to it easily, but then also took pains to secure and monitor the locations. Which is why this crew has a job.

"They wouldn't realize, no. Not at first. It took us quite a while to figure it out just what it was doing to us. You know how long we've been using the tech that produces this waste? Less than two hundred years, nominal. But we’ve been traveling the galaxy a hundred times that. None of these primitives are even close to our kind of technology, and they have no idea that what they're ingesting is the dangerous byproduct of a technical process."

Moments slipped by as they split the checklist between them. Then the AI chimed in, announcing it had identified the extraterrestrials on the planet below. They belonged to a species hailing from a star system uncovered long ago by the Terra Corporation.

"10:42," Hiram recited. "Advanced type I species of known origin confirmed, code named Ci-70. The Terra Corporation maintains a neutral relationship. Given the relatively advanced nature of their technology and the known immaturity of their culture, the risk of misuse of the toxic waste is extremely high."

"So, they're like us?"

"They're a lot like us. The music. The mine that opened our repository looks like a strip mine. They are clearly expansionist and are rapidly developing, technologically. And of course the drugs."

Marl winced. "We need the Captain for a job like this."

The Ensign carefully said nothing while the Lieutenant paced.

Marl scanned the message prepared by the AI. "Mother, in your opinion is our report complete enough and accurate enough to inform and also avoid the perception that we have in any way mishandled this affair?"

"Yes," stated the disembodied voice.

"And you have noted the species in question?"

"Of course."

"Please send it now, marked top transmission priority and top secret."

"10:44. Report sent," Hiram read into the log. Then to her, "Our pre-intervention checklist is nearly complete."

"Yes."

"But we’re off protocol," he told her, concerned. "The Prince hasn't been informed. I'm going to have to go into his cabin."

"Agreed. Thanks for doing it."