Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

General Rabin slouched lower in his chair and lowered his gaze, a peculiar posture for a general, but Luria knew he did it when he was giving serious consideration to a subject. His forehead below the widow’s peak of silvery white hair wrinkled in thought. He remained silent for long moments before responding.

“Iran is no problem. We know exactly where their nukes and missiles are and how to take them out.

Pakistan? Maybe. No, I’ll call that probably, depending on how much time I have to nail down the locations. And I’m sure you realize we’ll have to do a preemptive strike on both countries as soon as we set the virus loose, as well as Egypt, Syria and Jordan.”

“Why so soon?” Goldblatz asked, brushing a straying lock of hair from her forehead.

“Think about it. Their biologists aren’t dumb and you know they recruited scientists from Russia after the USSR disintegrated. We know they’re still working in Egypt for certain, and probably in Iran. As soon as lighter skinned Arabs start dying, they’ll realize we instigated a new epidemic and strike back at us, just like we would if our positions were reversed.”

“All right, let’s say we decide to do the preemptive strike right after infecting as much of the Middle Eastern population as possible with the virus… what if they have one of their own?”

“You mean a virus targeted toward genes specific to Jews?” Luria asked.

Goldblatz shrugged her shoulders. The movement was barely visible under her jacket and sweater. The bunker was always cold and she had come prepared. “If we can do it, so can they.” She knew the Jewish population was particularly susceptible to a virus that went after particular genes. Jews carried a number of unique genes simply by through long centuries of marrying only their own people.

Luria let a thin smile cross his face. “Don’t worry about it. We have a ringer in the Egyptian’s biowar weapons development center and they pass information around. They don’t have anything like the Harcourt virus yet, or like the one we’ve had for years that can target Arabs. They are doing their damnedest to develop one, though. Which is why I say strike now, while the world is preoccupied with all the blacks dying and we have the chance.” He paused then added what he thought would be the clincher. “The good thing about our bug is that it targets not just the Arabs, but all the Middle Eastern countries.”

“How so?” Goldblatz asked, as a new worry suddenly occurred to her. “How about our own Arab citizens?”

Luria shrugged. “It will get a lot of them, true, but it’s a price we can pay. There’s a lot of Arab sympathizers among them, you know. That will solve another problem.”

“Even so, the world won’t take kindly to this, Yitzhak. And a preemptive strike will initiate a war with all the Arab and Middle Eastern countries. America won’t help us this time, not if they know we instigated the new virus.”

Luria turned to Rabin. “General?”

General Rabin had been turning the complexities of the proposal over in his mind, including the certainty of all out war with their Arab neighbors should they decide to do it. “Let me think,” he said. The bunker was small, but still allowed room enough to pace. Rabin stood up. He lit a cigarette and began walking around the conference table, puffing furiously. Clouds of smoke from the cigarette wafted up toward the intake of the air conditioning vent. When he had smoked the cigarette down so low that the scorched smell of the burning filter was detectable, he sat back down.

“As you say, Yitzhak, we’ll never have a better chance. And Sheila, I have to disagree. The Americans will help. Maybe not publicly, but they’ll see that we have sufficient replacements for munitions and armaments.” He lit another cigarette, got it going good and continued. “There’s the religious factor, too.

Half the people in America already think the Harcourt virus is the work of God, preparing us for the End Times. Those people will applaud us for attacking the non-believers. And despite the anti-Semitism still prevalent there, almost everyone in America would love to see the Arabs get a dose of their own medicine. They’ve been the terrorists too long. Trust me, they’ll help us if we need it. Maybe not with manpower, because they’re tied up at home, but their Air Force will be free to act if we need them. And I know for a fact, they have plenty of munitions stockpiled.”

Goldblatz wrinkled her forehead, trying to imagine why anyone would help them after loosing a virus that might kill a hundred million people—and some of their own citizens as well.

“Don’t bother wrinkling your brain to go with those lines on your face, Sheila. It’s simple. Besides everything else, with the Arabs dead, the oil fields will be up for grabs. Do you think the Americans will let Russia, China, or Japan take them? Or the European powers? Not a chance. They’ll try, though. You name a country with insufficient indigenous supplies and they’ll begin loading their troop transports. The Americans will love it if we get there first.” When he saw that Luria’s Chief of Staff still wasn’t completely convinced he looked at the Prime minister. “Yitzhak, may I?”

“Go ahead.”

“Sheila, The American politicians already have their secret think tanks pinning down scenarios for re-colonizing Africa, and their military planners are working up the contingency plans. They aren’t about to let other countries grab all the oil. But they’re going to be tied down for a while with so many of their citizens dying. This virus will clear out a huge area of oil producing areas. Wherever Mouloukhia is eaten, they’ll die.”

“Oh.” Goldblatz’s frown lines disappeared. She shook her head and said sadly, “Human nature doesn’t change, does it? Well, better we instigate a holocaust this time than be on the receiving end, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we’re superior to the ones who started this. We’re going to be committing genocide, pure and simple. And once the world settles down, we may be tried and executed, even though no country is going to really be sorry to see the blacks and Arabs all dead. However, they’ll need some scapegoats to soothe their sensibilities and we’ll be prime candidates.”

Her statement sobered the prime minister and the general, but the planning went on.

Doug was sorry to see June have to go back to work Monday morning. He held her in his arms while the door to her apartment was still closed. He looked into her eyes and thought about how quickly she had become the epitome of all he held dear. “You’ll call soon as you get off?”

“You know I will, sweet. Or better still, rather than me calling, why don’t you go back and gather whatever you think you’ll need and move in here with me?”

Doug gave her a long kiss, but didn’t let her go. “That might be fine for when I’m off or on the day shift, but I’d disturb you with my coming and going when I started working nights again. This place is pretty small, you know.”

“I don’t care. AT least you’d be here, and don’t forget—sometimes I’ll have to work late, too.”

“I’ll have to bring my guns and cleaning equipment and weapons with me.”

“I still don’t care.”

Doug grinned. “Must be love.”

“It is, stupid man. Now kiss me again and let me leave before I’m late on Amelia’s first day in the Director’s chair.”

Doug did kiss her again, but still didn’t let her go.

“What is it now?”

“A key?”

“Oh. Just a minute.” June ran back to the bedroom and came back a moment later with her spare. “Here.

Make us a nice dinner for tonight. ‘Bye.” She gave him a quick firm peck on the lips and practically ran down the hall toward the elevator.