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There had been little warning and by the time they knew, it was too late. Schuman Kransfield
smacked into the northern reaches of the Siberian wastes and humanity breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The rogue comet had missed anywhere that mattered. There were repercussions, of course, but none as
severe as if it had landed in a center of population.
Then the deaths began.
At first, no one linked the disease with the comet. Gradually, as the plague spread and they
traced its origins, the realization came. Schuman Kransfield had carried a passenger through the far
reaches of space. Once on Earth, travel was quick and easy.
It caught a train to Moscow. From there, it boarded a plane to Frankfurt. Once in Frankfurt,
it was just a short hop to most of the other population centers in the world.
#
Row upon even row of green-striped sun lounges stretched across the park. Warm, clean sunlight
filtered down from above. It filled his limbs with strength and energy. Kids dashed between the rows
of people relaxing, chasing each other in and out of the sun lounges.
Eaters, thought Simon. It could only be Eaters. No sensible Photo kid would be
wasting this time of day. He turned lazily to the side, first one way, then the other, seeing if he
could catch sight of them. It appeared they'd run off for now, somewhere out of the park. He stretched
languorously, exposing another part of his skin to the sun's remaining nourishing rays. It was at times
like this that he wondered why they couldn't just pack all the Eaters up and send them away somewhere.
Eaters-- they were supposed to be just like him, but he couldn't help shuddering. Just because
they were supposed to be people didn't mean he had to think of them as the same. From time to time Simon
wondered what it was like in the Plague Years-- not that he could remember those times. Maybe if he
could, he'd be able to find a bit more sympathy, or maybe he'd just end up hating them more.
Millions had died of the mystery disease back then. Some were immune; some had survived. The
survivors had been left with the legacy they passed on from generation to generation and now it lived
within them all. The others, the immunes, had become the Eaters.
The sun glided past the tree line at the park's edge, splitting the light into shafts that dappled
the broad open spaces. He sat up and yawned. All around him, others were sitting or getting to their
feet. He leaned down, snagged his shirt and pulled it on as he stood. While he slipped into his trousers,
he scanned the periphery, searching for any further sign of the Eater kids, but they were gone. They'd
be off somewhere now, no doubt preparing for their dinner. He gave an involuntary shudder. Horrible
pink-skinned creatures shoveling food into their mouths: it wasn't a pretty thought.
The park's other occupants were drifting off in ones and twos, heading off to their families or
jobs. Simon made a mental note to pick up some supplements on the way to work; supplies had been getting
short since the start of the Eater action. The slow-down on production wouldn't hurt him personally,
not yet. He had a supply of Nutri-Grow direct from the production line. He'd be fine. But he still
needed some other things.
Who did the Eaters think they were trying to hold everyone to ransom? It wouldn't do them any
good. Maybe that's what things had been like back in the dim dark days of the racial equality movement
before the Plague had changed everyone's life. People had the solution then, but sadly, the Eaters didn't
have a home they could be shipped back to. They were everywhere, damn them.
Simon shook his head and walked slowly from the park. It would be dark soon, and he didn't want
to be late-- not with the current problems brewing.
#
Schuman Kransfield Disease, or SKD, as it came to be known, swept across the globe. Its appearance
was rapid and devastating. Through Africa, it moved more slowly, but the results were the same. People
died in droves. Some survived. Some were immune, though the immunes were few and far between.
They tried treating it a number of ways. None of the solutions worked. When the survivors started
turning green, they tried to treat that as well.
Then the survivors stopped eating.
#
Simon stood on the street and stared up at the glass and metal edifice of his office building.
All around him, the street was full of other Photos arriving for work. Elsewhere in the city, the Eaters
would be going about their business, preparing for nights in front of their televisions, or congregating
in bars. Then they would sleep, while the real people got on with their lives. He grimaced and made
for the front doors. He had a life to get on with too.
He nodded as he passed security and headed for the elevator. They were waiting for him when he
walked inside.
"We're down to 75% already," said Cosgrove, before Simon even had time to put down his things.
"At least give me time to get in the door," said Simon. The panic was starting already. Bill
Cosgrove, normally level headed and calm, looked worried. A deep frown was etched into his big square
face. Simon dropped his belongings on the desk and turned to face Cosgrove. "We can survive on that,
can't we?" he asked.
"Sure, but if it drops any lower--" said Cosgrove.
"Yes, yes. I know," said Simon. "It's not getting any better. Have you seen it? Panic buying's
already started on the supplements. I tried to pick some up on the way in. Not a hope. Carla, have
we received their latest demands?"
Carla Matheson nodded from the corner. "They're unchanged. They want double overtime and a 10%
raise on basic."
"Who the hell do they think they are?" muttered Cosgrove. "Bloody Foodies."
Simon pulled out his chair and sat. "Bill, unless you're prepared to go and slave away on the
production line yourself, unless we all are, then they can do what they damn well like. I don't think
we should put up with it any more than you do, but unless we can come to some sort of agreement, they've
got us where they want us. You know what they're like." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
"No sensible Photo is going to work the factories, are they? So, we've got no option. Have we done
the sums? Can we afford what they want?"
"Not a chance," said Carla. "It'd send us broke within half a year."
"Oh, great. The Board is going to love this," said Simon. He turned to look out over the darkening
city. What next? he thought. He held out his hands, palms down to the desk and stared at the
green-tinged skin. "We're going to have to set up a meeting," he said. "Who's their spokesperson?"
"Some guy called Marcus Hall. He's pretty hard-line by the sounds of him. I don't like your
chances. He's your typical Foodie. You know the sort," said Cosgrove.
Simon grimaced and nodded. "Well, what can we give them? No, scratch that. What can we afford
to give them?"
"Um...looking at the figures," said Carla, "we might get away with 5% at most and time and a half
on overtime, but that would be stretching it."
Simon maneuvered past his chair back and walked over to her corner. The slight purple light of
the grow lamp perched over her desk tinged her face with blue-white. "Show me," he said. She handed
him the papers and he walked back over to the window. He stared down at the figures, verifying what
she had said. She was right; any more would be really pushing it.
He sucked in his cheeks and looked out across the skyline. "Right," he said, "we'll offer them
two and a half. Bill, go ahead and set up a meeting."
#
Initial efforts concentrated on isolating the invader. It was identified as a new virus. Then
came the realization that those who survived were infected with something new-- chloroplasts. The finding
was met with disbelief. After more tests, the result was undeniable. Some bright researcher remembered
experiments that had treated primitive plants with antibiotics in an effort to prove that chloroplasts
were originally the result of an infectious symbiotic agent. The disbelief was replaced by guarded acceptance.
The teams were running out of options. As a last desperate measure, they tried it. It worked remarkably
well, except for one problem -- the subjects died. The chloroplasts were gone, but the cure had killed
the afflicted. Slowly people started to realize; the Photosynthetics were among us.
One by one, we fell.
#
Simon sat at the boardroom table, playing with his pen. A sheaf of papers lay before him. They'd
met the Eaters half-way, organized the meeting for three in the afternoon. It was cutting into valuable
sun time, but it would be worth it if they could reach some sort of compromise. Carla sat beside him,
her recorder in front of her.
"What's keeping them?" she asked.
"Would you expect anything more from Eaters," said Simon. "They'll be here. You didn't really
believe they'd be on time, did you?"
She gave a wry snort.
There was a knock on the door, and the Eater representatives were ushered into the room. Marcus
Hall took the lead. Simon recognized him from his picture in the company files. He wore stained blue
overalls, the company logo on the breast pocket. Simon didn't recognize his two companions.
Hall was a heavy-set man with a ruddy complexion. Sandy hair was cropped short on his bullet-
shaped head. He carried a stack of folders under one arm. The others, Foodies both, stood a little
behind him. One was a short black man, the other older and graying. He had an unhealthy pallor about
his fleshy pink face. Simon swallowed back his feelings and forced a smile as he stood.
"Gentlemen, please." He indicated the chairs on the opposite side of the table. "I'm so glad
you agreed to meet with us at such short notice. Please, take a seat and we can get things underway.
Now, would you like anything to, um ... drink, before we get started." All three shook their heads.
Hall took the lead, dumped the stack of folders on the table, and pulled out a chair. The others sat
on either side of him, crossing their arms in front of them. Hall spoke first.
"Right, let's get down to it, Leary. We all know what the deal is. Is the company going to meet
our demands or not?"
"Now, let's slow things down a bit can we, Marcus-- if I can call you Marcus? We need to discuss
the options here. You have to understand, it's a question of economics. The company appreciates all
the hard work you men put in, but there's the bottom line to think of."
Hall sat back, his hands flat upon the table. "Cut the crap, Leary. I don't need to hear your
company garbage. Just tell us what we want to know."
Simon could see this wasn't going to be easy.
"All right, the company has carefully considered your proposal. And after lengthy analysis of
the operating costs, and productivity, we have found your demands to be a little, shall we say, unreasonable?"
Hall snorted and moved to pick up his folders. Simon quickly raised a placating hand. "But wait, please.
Hear me out. The company is prepared to make a counter-offer-- one that we think is very reasonable
under the circumstances. And we really hope that you'll agree with the fairness of our proposal."
Hall glowered at him across the table and crossed his arms. "I'm listening," he said. Simon
glanced at Carla before continuing. This was it.
"The company is able to offer two per cent. We will be stretching our capabilities at that much."
Before he could continue, Hall growled something unintelligible, angrily picked up his folders
and shook his head. He motioned to his two companions who also stood, hostility written across their
faces.
"No way, Leary," said Hall. "You'll be humming a different tune when your precious supplements
dry up." He stalked from the room with his companions in tow, slamming the door behind them.
#
Within the space of a few short years, everything changed. Famine became a thing of the past.
Africa and the Indian Subcontinent clambered free from their hand-to-mouth existence, and they thrived.
Populations, stripped of their numbers by the Plague Years became re-established, and the equatorial
regions grew strong and healthy. Then came the polarization between the infected and the immune-- the
halving off of Eater and Photo into their separate strands. No longer did the world have many races:
it now had two.
#
Simon sat nervously in the President's outer office. The secretary glanced at him a couple of
times, but was more intent on her keyboard. He wondered how much she knew.
"Mr. Klein will see you now," she said finally.
Klein was standing by the window looking out over the darkened city when Simon entered. Subtle
lighting tinged the office with purple and blue.
"What's the story, Leary?" said the President without turning. "I thought I could trust you to
settle this."
Simon gave an involuntary swallow. "I know, sir. The food-shovel-- um, Eaters weren't there
for reasoned negotiation. They were there to make a point."
Klein swung to face him. "I don't care why they were there. It was up to you to fix it. I was
relying on you, Leary. Now, what are you going to do? No, not what are you going to do. What are you
doing?"
"Our only option, sir, is to try and set up another meeting. I suspect that it's not going to
be that easy. But unless we can come to some agreement soon, the company is going to start hurting."
"And we don't want that, Leary, do we? I'm giving you to the end of the week to get this thing
resolved. If you can't come up with something by then--" Klein turned back to the window, his implication
lying heavy in the air.
As Simon left the secretary's office, his mind was cataloguing and rejecting options one after
the other. If Klein thought there was any possibility they could reach a compromise by week's end, he
was crazy. "Dammit," he breathed to himself. He was going to have to find another way.
#
Integration was the first thought, but the living patterns of the two strands were so different.
Photos lay in the sun during the day, recharging their bodily stores. Their social interaction became
different. No longer were there dinner parties, or going out to grab a bite to eat. They developed
an abhorrence of many things which had, until a few years before, been natural parts of day to day existence.
Photo suburbs arose. As the infection passed from generation to generation, the numbers grew.
In the colder, more northern climes, the Photos started to take supplements to counter the lack
of sunlight. There was vast migration to the equatorial regions, but others chose to stay. Centers
of population, finance and industry gravitated to those regions best suited climatically. Not only was
there a societal shift, but a geographical shift as well. Vast agricultural belts diminished in size,
only having to produce enough to satisfy the Eaters. The farms were run by Eaters. Distribution was
run by Eaters. And slowly, there appeared Eater shops, and Eater schools and Eater towns. Crossover
appeared in those areas where there were mutual daytime activities, or when a means of production more
suited to the Eater population somehow matched the needs of the Photos.
#
Short of violence, what Simon was considering seemed the most likely solution. He went through
personnel and found all he could on the man, Marcus Hall. Hall lived in a downmarket Eater suburb.
A wife, two kids, all the normal stuff. No criminal record or disciplinary problems during his history
with the company. He'd been with Justin Klein Maglock for fifteen years, working the factory floor.
So, what was it now that had suddenly made him so vocal? Until a month ago, there had been agitators,
but Hall was not among them. Was it something to do with the family? He went over the file, but it
was not enough. He had to get to know the man. Then he'd burn the bastard. He smiled wryly.
Steeling himself for the charade, he stretched for the phone.
A rather dumpy Eater woman answered. She wore an apron and dark hair sat haphazardly atop her
head.
"Yes?" she said, looking confused. The sound of kids fighting came from the background. She
turned and gave a strident yell over one shoulder. "Pipe down in there!" Then she turned back to face
the screen, adjusting a strand of hair. "Sorry, um, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Marcus please."
A frown flickered across her face.
"And you are?"
"Simon Leary, Head of Employee Relations for JKM."
"Just a minute." She disappeared from the screen. Her voice drifted through from the other room.
"There's a Greenie on the phone, Mark. Says his name's Cleary or something, from the company. You want
to take it?"
A moment later, Hall wandered into the room. He still had on his company overalls, and he was
chewing. Simon swallowed back his distaste and slipped on his practiced smile.
"Yeah, Leary. What do you want? We're in the middle of dinner."
"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Marcus, but I think we need to talk."
"Talk about what? We did all our talking." He reached to cut the connection.
"No, wait! Just hear me out will you, Hall? We need to talk. Seriously, the situation is not
quite that simple. Is there somewhere we can meet...in private."
Hall's face echoed his suspicion. He checked back over his shoulder, then leaned closer to the
screen. "What game are you playing here, Leary. You think I'm some sort of idiot?"
"No game. Listen, the company's not as strong as you might think. I can't talk about it over
the phone. We have to meet."
Hall frowned. He had stopped chewing. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Yeah, well...
maybe if you came here. I can't be seen talking to you. If you can get to my place without being seen--"
"Your place? Isn't there somewhere else?"
"Too many questions. I tell you, Leary, this better be good."
"Oh, believe me, it will be. Tonight? I'll see if I can get there just after midnight. How's
that?"
Hall nodded. He reached forward, still frowning and cut the connection.
Simon sat back from the screen and thought. It had been far easier than he'd expected. Good.
Tonight it was. And after all, every man had his price.
#
Simon pulled into the drive and cut the power. The streets were dead. A window further down
the row of suburban houses glowed with light, but most of the places were dark. He sat staring at Hall's
house, his lips pressed tightly together. What the hell was he doing here? Still, there was a job to
do, so he'd better get to it. He opened the door and stepped out, closing it as quietly as he could
behind him. Klein had better appreciate what he was about to do.
He stood waiting nervously on the porch, waiting for someone to answer. Hall himself finally
came to the door and ushered him quickly inside, glancing out to make sure they hadn't been seen.
"Right," said Hall. "What's so important that you had to come here? I've asked you into my home.
The least you can do is be straight with me, Leary."
Simon looked around. They stood in a hallway. Coats hung on a rack near the door. Pictures
graced the walls.
"Look, can we go and sit somewhere?" said Simon.
Hall rubbed his hand over the top of his head, hesitated, and then seemed to make up his mind.
"Yeah, all right," he said. "Follow me." He led the way into a living room that was little different
from that of any suburban house. If Simon didn't know better, it could easily have belonged to a Photo.
There were pictures of Hall's kids on the mantle, a games console in the corner--one of the cheaper sort--
and ornaments and flowers and anything he'd expect to find in anybody's home. The only thing missing
was the faint purple glow. Hall motioned him to a chair and sat himself.
"I won't offer you a drink," Hall said. "I know your type don't. But maybe some water."
Simon shook his head as he took the offered seat. "Look, Marcus," he said. "I know it's difficult
and I thank you for agreeing to see me. I'm just trying to work out what's happening is all. You've
a good record with the company. Not a hint of trouble, but now you seem prepared to jeopardize all that--
for what? There's more going on here than a few lousy per cent in a pay packet. Tell me there's not."
"What is this, Leary? Some kind of threat? 'Cause if it is--"
Simon lifted a hand. "I'm not here to threaten you. I'm just trying to understand, that's all.
Perhaps we can work out what it is you need. The company may not be in a position to meet the demands,
but surely you personally have needs, if you see what I'm saying?"
Hall rubbed his hand over the top of his head again and looked away. He brought his hands back
in front of his face and cupped them in front of his mouth. He sighed, then looked at Simon over the
tops of his fingers, a long hard look. "You and me, were not so different, are we Leary?" he asked.
"No, of course not." Hall's response had caught him off guard, but the response came automatically.
Hall was still looking at him intently. "Well, why should things be any different for us? Look
at this place. You got kids Leary?" Simon shook his head. Hall gave a knowing nod then proceeded to
crack his knuckles. "Well, if you did, you might know what I mean. You think you can come here and
simply buy me?"
"I don't see--"
"You look at your kids and you see the future. That's what it's all about. That's what I'm talking
about. I want better things for my kids. I want more than I can give them while all you Greenie bastards
are keeping us down. There shouldn't have to be different rules."
Simon stood and walked to the mantle, looked at the pictures lined across the top. "These them?"
he asked, ignoring the blatant slur.
"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "That's Jessie, the oldest and Katrina."
Simon turned and looked down at Hall. He had to at least appear sympathetic. "Good looking kids."
"Right. Look Leary, you're here now. Say what you've come to say. Spell it out. I'm listening."
Simon walked back to the chair and sat. Hall was watching him skeptically, but there was still
that intensity in his eyes. "Marcus, what I started to tell you in the meetings is true. The company
can't meet the demands your people are making. What I offered was as much as the company can afford.
However, if you cooperate, if you can swing the others around to accepting the offer, I'm sure we can
make it worth your while. The others listen to you."
At that moment, a voice came from the hall outside. "Daddy, is that you? I heard voices. I
can't sleep. I want a drink of water."
"Go back to bed, Trina. Daddy's busy."
"But I'm thirsty."
"Go and ask your mother."
"No, I want you to get it."
Before Hall was out of the chair, his little girl had walked into the room. Hall tried quickly
to stand in the way, to block Simon's view, but he was too late. Something was different about the child
as she looked at him with wide brown eyes. She looked somehow different from the picture on the mantle.
Then Simon realized what it was-- the girl's skin was tinged vaguely green.
Simon looked in disbelief. Making sure he wasn't imagining it, he frowned, then sat back stunned.
Hall looked guiltily at him over his shoulder, then quickly ushered the child from the room.
What did it mean? How could an Eater kid be showing green? What had Hall said? "You look at
your kids and you see the future."
It was some minutes before Hall returned, and when he did, he walked very slowly into the room.
"You saw, right?" he said in a quiet voice.
Simon nodded, not knowing what to say. But here was his tool. He could use this. When word
got out among his fellow workers...
Hall slumped into the chair. "It started about a month ago. Only the girl. It hasn't touched
the boy at all. I don't know what we're going to do." He stared blankly in front of him. "Maybe this
is the start of something, maybe it's not. I don't know." There was a pause, and then he seemed to
regain focus. "I guess it's some sort of mutation. I've looked in the books. I know what happened
in history. We try to treat what she's got and--" He shrugged. "We're keeping her home now." He sighed
and looked down at his cupped hands.
Simon nodded. "It must be hard for you. For her. Think about what I'm offering. We could make
things easier for you, for your daughter. And you wouldn't want word of this to get out, would you?"
Hall looked up suddenly, his gaze intense, his voice lifting. "You still don't get it, do you?
You just haven't got a clue. She's not the one with the problem, Leary. It's us. It's the boy."
"I don't--"
"I'm their father. The least I can do is to give them both the same chance. You see that, Leary?
It's going to be easy for her. She's going to be one of your lot. She's going to have everything.
They're both my kids, both of them. They deserve the same. They deserve everything I can give them."
Simon sat back as Hall's conviction washed over him and he slowly realized what the man was saying.
There was too much to think about. He stood carefully, Hall's words ringing in his head: She's not
the one with the problem.
He looked down at Hall--the big man staring blankly at the patch of carpet in front of him-- and
for the first time he saw more than just an Eater. This was a father concerned about his family, his
children. And if the man could have a Photo kid.... Simon stood there for a long time.
"I'll see what I can do," he said quietly, staring across at the man, no longer really seeing
him. He turned and headed for the door.
Out on the porch, he stared up at the sky, looking at the stars and thinking about what he was
going to do.
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