Infected Drives
Tomi was in charge of removing the infected storage drives from Amherst Pride’s mainframe. The Captain wasn’t willing to risk touching them, and neither were the officers, so the orders to remove the drives had trickled down the ranks until Tomi’s boss said, “Don’t even worry about it, kid. Your malware protection is up-to-date and you’re young. Even if the virus squeezes through, you’ll be fine.”
So Tomi went into the mainframe tentatively, wearing gloves. With careful movements, they extracted all forty pieces of infected tech and replaced them with fresh imports from the Mothership.
“What’d you want me to do with these?”
It wasn’t until after every crew-member in the refectory had flinched or (in the case of those sitting closest to Tomi) scrambled to their feet and taken several scurrying steps away from where Tomi stood with the contaminated technology.
“Get them out of here!” the Captain boomed.
There was an acid lake not too far from the ship’s landing site. Tomi could probably get permission to fly a transit pod out there and drop the deadly tech into its depths. There would be something quite satisfying about watching the vile contaminants dissolve into harmless sludge.
“Wait!” Gage looked between the drives and the Captain. “What if we sold ‘em? To the terraforming crews in the Dell?”
A murmur of unease swept through the room as the other members of the crew considered it.
“At least that way we’d get something in return for the tech itself, instead of wasting resources,” the Logistics Officer observed.
“Plus, the people of Dell haven’t exactly been friendly ‘n welcoming to us,” one of the engineering crewmen grunted. “You see what they’re chargin’ for basic stuff? It’s price gorging, I tell you!”
Tomi didn’t correct the big crewmember’s use of “gorging” instead of “gouging,” but was surprised when the crew’s Economics Advisor didn’t, either.
Instead, the wiry crewmember said, “It is, in fact, possible that Officer Gage’s recommendation might have very…salubrious effects on our own venture.”
Everyone nodded along, unwilling to be the first to admit they didn’t know what “salubrious” meant. Even Tomi wasn’t completely sure, but they were pretty confident it was supposed to mean “good” as in “good health” or a “good environment,” not “make everyone rich.”
Still, it was one of those words that sounded sort of sleazy, even though it was supposed to have a positive meaning. Probably why people didn’t use it much these days. Except for people like the Economics Advisor, trying to sound like they knew what they were talking about.
“It’s settled, then,” the Captain declared. “Go sell ‘em in the Dell, Tomi. Start with the first ten at the Trading Port, then we’ll sell the others to private buyers.”
The horror of that order took a second to truly sink in.
These drives were infected! No matter how many anti-virus scrubs had scoured and salvaged what they could of the data, they shouldn’t be used again! In fact, basic logic promised that whoever plugged them into their own mainframe would quickly experience the plague and suffering everyone on Amherst’s Pride had been battling for so long.
Of course, that seemed to be what the crew was hoping for. The people of the Dell hadn’t been openly aggressive—they were even welcoming, at times—but they were difficult to communicate with and clearly uneasy about the Amherst crew tromping all around their planet.
Still, it didn’t seem like reason enough to poison them with infected drives!
“You still here, Tomi? Those drives aren’t going to get rid of themselves,” the Efficiency Officer said.
“Be sure to log your profits when you return,” the Logistics Officer called.
Oh, Tomi really regretted asking for opinions on this job. Should’ve just trusted their gut and dumped the drives in the acid lake without taking opinions first. Now they were stuck in the middle of a big, ethical mess.
The easiest thing would be to just follow orders. That was what Tomi was hired for, right? That was how people worked their way up the ranks, right? Everyone would be happy if Tomi just followed the Captain’s orders.
But…it just seemed so wrong!
Tomi docked the little transport pod outside Dell Settlement’s Trading Port and gingerly carried the ten infected drives toward a stand where a grumpy-looking elder with a deep-set scowl hunched over a table.
Perhaps, Tomi hoped, it wouldn’t feel as awful to sell the contaminated goods to an aggressive, unlikeable person.
“What’s the best price you can give me for these drives?” Tomi asked.
“One sec—sorry.” The grouchy trader bent double for a moment, clutching their stomach. “Oh, I ate some fouled-up rations last night and my stomach’s really tellin’ me all ‘bout it.”
A young person with short indigo-dyed hair and a sweet smile emerged from behind a stockpile of boxes and put their hand on the sick person’s shoulder.
“I told you I could handle the counter, gramby. You should just rest until you’re feeling better.”
An audible rumble churned up from the salesperson’s stomach. Tomi winced sympathetically.
“Guess you’re right, hon. Okay, you take over.”
The scowling elder—rather, the cringing elder—shambled away, leaving Tomi alone to face a native Dellian with the brightest, most beautiful smile they’d ever seen.
“How can I help you?” the indigo-haired youth beamed.
“I…uh…”
“Would you like to sell those drives? Have you already scrubbed the data, or should I check them in the mainframe?”
The Dellian reached for the drives bare-handed. Tomi noticed they’d painted their nails to look like little strawberries.
“Never mind!” Tomi blurted, seizing the infected drives off the counter. “Gotta go!”
“Come back any time!” the friendly shopkeeper called after them.
Tomi’s heart pounded as they raced back to their transport pod and dumped the fouled-up drives onto the floor.
What could they do? What could they do?
They pulled up a record of their financial account and dug into their personal savings. Not enough to cover the cost of the drives. Not by half. Not by an eighth if the Captain wanted to sell all the others elsewhere, too.
Did they have to go back in there? Did they have to follow through with such an unethical plan?
Never. Tomi wheeled their ship out toward the acid lake and dumped the foul cargo into the oozing orange depths. The drives were swallowed within instants leaving barely a ripple to commemorate them.
What now? Tomi wondered. They tried to force their mind to work, but it just refused to spin in those directions. They’d never been good at lying or even hiding the truth. They could remember what “salubrious” meant and how to safely extract memory drives, but navigating the intricacies of complex social hierarchies…Tomi was in over their head.
I need help.
Tomi’s ship was soaring back toward the Trading Port before Tomi registered how they’d steered it.
“Back so soon!” the young person with indigo hair chimed when Tomi slammed their hands down on the counter.
“I need your help,” Tomi gulped. “Please. See, there’s this virus.”
The trader listened to Tomi’s halting, scattered story, nodding from time to time.
Then the trader extended their hand, strawberry nails gleaming in the lights of the station. “Thanks for telling me. That was really brave. We’ll figure something out. Together.”
Thanks for reading! This story was originally inspired by a far-grimmer history. British officers Sir Jeffery Amherst and General Thomas Gage sanctioned and even encouraged the distribution of smallpox-contaminated blankets among the Shawnee and Lenape (Delaware) communities in 1763-64. Before 1782, over 130,000 indigenous people died of smallpox in North America. In some areas, eighteen thriving villages were reduced to three.
I write stories like the one above, not to erase or diminish the horrors of history like this, but to ensure we remember what happened, and have ways of imagining alternatives. What if we acted with compassion and integrity? What if we reached out for help and connection, instead of driving divisive distinctions between our people? What if we figured things out, together?
For more about the actual history, check out:
Native Voices: Native Peoples’ Concepts of Health and Illness
[American] National Park Service: “Smallpox Arrived at the Little Village.”
