The living dust has caked my entire suit. Despite the reassurance of my  grip on the hatch handle, I feel lost in the sticky fertile cloud. Pinkish  fuzz smears my visor. I can barely see. In the distance I hear the alarm  bweeping frantically. That sound doesn't worry me. I purposely tripped it  when I knew they'd never get here in time. It's the deep whoosh that  tightens my gut. The tether is invisibly winding its way to the ground. I  spent hours calculating its trajectory to avoid populated regions, but the  molecule thick Buckyball strings are capable of slicing through expensive  machinery like paper, and I never was an ace in math. 

Dome Six just split cleanly in two, followed by Dome Four. Several others  in their proximity hiss from ruptures, but the auto-seals should mend  them. Expensive contents of two enormous, climate controlled but --thank  God-- unoccupied, warehouses are now vaporizing in the Ganymede vacuum.     That answers the tether question.  

From the lingering brilliance above me, I take it Station Twelve is still  on fire. Just how many Oxygen tanks did I plant? By the time the flames  run their course, there won't be a piece larger than a quarter hitting the  ground. Orb was unsure about the fire, but I insisted. No sense taking  precautions to save lives merely to allow a space station the size of a  city to crush them. Besides, I was watching, the explosion nudged the  cloud outward, widening its initial range by at least two kilometers.  

Everything is proceeding according to the schedule. 

Nothing to do now but wait to get arrested. The Press should have just  received the memo. Unless the cops detain them, my apprehension will be  recorded for the evening transmission. May as well get out of this suit,  and put on something nice. I'm going to be on the Holotube quite a bit.    

Funny, Orb loved the Holotube. I miss her already.  

She was a kind, intelligent, and generous friend, even through the  stupor of her final days. She never refused assistance to someone who  needed it, nor expected a debt of gratitude, when she did. How can one  being live so long, and remain so immaculate? I don't think she ever  punched a nasty comment into her translator bowl, and she easily could   have. Dozens of idiots prodded her daily, and she wielded sufficient power  to at least bring them down a few notches, but no. It was beneath Orb to  apply vengeance, especially to those whom she oversaw. I will always  remember her explanation, so simple, so beautiful; It should have been  obvious, and it shamed me for not seeing it. 

Revenge is selfish.   

Orb hated selfishness. She found it to be a cumbersome character defect.  She told me several times that I got the job as her head of security  because I wasn't selfish. She had selected me over the agglomeration of  more qualified candidates because my motives were to provide a better life  for my family. The others considered it a positive career move. They  didn't say that of course, but Orb knew from their interview;  "It would be an honor to work with such an important member of the ARC  Assembly."   

"I have always wanted to visit other worlds." 

"I will consider the tour in your charge a tremendous learning  experience." 

All I told her was my husband got transferred to this sector, and her  opening was the only Police Force position available. I would either work  for her, or stay on Earth with my daughters until another job appeared.  Colony rules stipulated every adult must fulfill a predetermined need  before visas were granted. Ganymede was the strictest because of their  success in terraforming.  

She hired me on the spot, and we have been friends since.   

In the twenty six years I worked for her, she had not required anything  from the friendship. I, on the other hand, cannot enumerate how many times  she had aided me. Both my daughters received full scholarships to the  EnEmy University. My husband holds a great job, despite losing his arm in    that afterburner disaster. He's damned good at it, but colony rules  specifically state all handicapped personnel are to be returned to Earth.  Orb demanded an exception. Orb hardly ever demanded anything, so she got  her wish. On a smaller scale, she rearranged shuttle schedules for me to  return for Grandmother's funeral, I never missed a school play, or a ball  game. I even had a social life. Orb insisted on baby-sitting. My  daughters loved her. . . Well they did after they got over the initial  shock. EnEmies are wondrous beings once you're used to them, but beet red,  two meter tall, three legged organisms with hundreds of prehensile quills  draped over their heads do take some getting used to. They just weren't  designed for baby-sitting. Aside from their appearance, they were one of  only nine ARC species who couldn't mimic our language, so they walked  around with these ridiculous bowls on their heads, their "keyboards",  attached to a speaker on their torso belt. The translators gave them  speech, but with their quills serving as both the key punch and the  support for the bowl, they were perpetually jiggling a huge silver object  over themselves whenever they communicated. That newsman said it best when  he called them "Trees holding a balloon".  

The first time Orb came over to watch the kids, both girls screamed in  terror. They clung to me shivering, nearly drawing blood from my thigh. I  was about to call the whole thing off, when I was ordered out of my own  home. The only time EVER, that Orb pulled rank on me. I hated her for it  then, but couldn't refuse. My husband and I left two terrified children,  ate a troubled, indigestion destined dinner, and hurried back to find the  three laughing together at the Virtual performance of Monty Python and  the Holy Grail on the Holotube. The girls cried when she left, and were  furious with us for returning so quickly. They wanted to play with "The  Red Tree Lady" some more.  

I never asked Orb for the assistance. She somehow managed to always  discover my needs, and quietly tended to their resolution. Whenever I  tried to thank her, she merely swirled her quills in a flighty manner, and  typed "We are friends Judy. Speak no more on this"    

So many more fond memories are flooding through, I can't slow my mind  enough to savor them. No matter, I'll have ample time for that in the  stockade. Better now to bask in the warmth of my time with Orb. I'll  recant specifics in my cell. I'll cry for her then. 

My friend Orb.    

I reenter the station through the access hatch with some difficulty. The  pink dust keeps compromising the seals. No, wait, the dust is different.    It's clumped, forming long cotton candy like wisps. God that was quick.  Orb wasn't kidding when she said it would proceed exponentially. Better  change quick, and meet the cops on the landing platform. They'll waste  time securing the perimeter before looking for me. We don't have time.    

I should have called the Press first. Maybe I won't be allowed to make a  statement. Maybe they'll whisk me away for questioning, and it will be too  late to warn them.  

No, it has to be in this order. Police Force badges legitimize my  statement. There won't be stragglers clinging on, thinking I'm conjuring  up some sort of Alien bluff. Orb was right to suggest this sequence. I  need the cops, or people will die. 

No one can die. That was the primary ground rule. Come to think of it, it  pretty much was THE ground rule. Nothing else beside it, and the mission's  success was considered in our plan. We spent months arguing, researching,  arguing some more, measuring, moving funds, building, rebuilding,  testing, and retesting,. It seemed tedious, and impossible, but finally,  Orb and I worked it out. Well, I worked it out, and Orb nodded. Poor thing  was a bundle of primordial cravings towards the end. I doubt she  understood we had won. A seventy five percent chance of success, with zero  human fatalities, the caveat -- We were inflicting astronomical and  incompensatory expenses.  

That's too bad.  

Insurance companies will lessen the blow. As for justice, they have me  for fodder. They'll probably go after my family too, but what can they do  to them other than bitter harassment? My kids can take that, especially  for Orb. Once I heard what my friend needed from me, once I realized the  cost, I knew my family would understand. My friend even took measures to  insure their safety, while she had the capacity to do so. They're all  contently relocated on Io. I logged one last conversation with all of  them before I proceeded. Their safety wasn't a concern. Orb assured me,  and that was enough. I simply don't know what prison privileges for  traitors are.  

I said good bye to everyone today.   

I did it gladly for you Orb. Benevolent Ruler of the magnificent EnEmies.  The coolest name of any sentient species. You yourself picked it after  hearing how American Indians were named. Many got their English titles  when a scout from a warring tribe described them to his Cavalry boss.    

"Who are those people Scout?"   

"Enemies." would be their answer in the Scout's native language.  

Orb chose it instantly, twisting the accent to allude also to the sea  organism that resembles them. She loved irony. Profound irony it seems  now. 

If only the World Builder Research Foundation had completed its work. How  much effort does it take to fuse a bunch of asteroids together? If those  lame bureaucrats would've done their jobs, we could have avoided this  altogether. But the WBF vacillated, begged for increased funding, and  vacillated some more, until Orb realized there was no hope there. That  must have hurt like hell. She alone was shouldering the dual monolithic  burdens -- survival of her species and coexistence in the Earth Assembly  -- and was counting on the WBF to provide a satisfactory relief for both.    

She had placed all her hopes on fools.  

The next morning, she replaced them on her friend. 

I remember the day she asked me to become a coconspirator. Before she  spoke, I was certain she had some grave concern. After so many years, I  was very good at detecting her moods. I arrived into my office to find her  waiting for me, alone. The leader of the EnEmies was NEVER alone. I knew  then that the matter we were to discuss was clandestine, and more than  likely outside the law. She caught me at the beginning of the day, and  completely bypassed any inquiries about the children; she was therefor  very serious. She flitted the translator relentlessly; An unmistakable  sign of nervousness. Her color was richer, browner, the Ferris Oxide  audibly churned through her capillaries. I half expected to see white  caps. Orb was afraid.  

"Judy, I am in trouble." she began. 

No, Orb was never in trouble. She resolved troubles. It frightened me  that a fire fighter was herself on fire. I remember straightening up. This  was serious duty, worthy of my bloated salary.   

"Go on Orb.", I replied necessarily. She would not have continued  otherwise. Orb demanded full acceptance of responsibility before the  weight was dropped. Yet another thing I will miss.   

"It is almost time for the Diaspora of my species."  

"Your breeding season? Marvelous! I knew it was impending, but weren't  you planning on relocating to that big rock the World Builders were  assembling?" 

"It will never be completed in time, and we cannot put our cycle off.  Soon, very soon, we will unite, and subsequently burst with our progeny. .  . You seem pleased, do not be. Outsiders know barely more than a vague  shadow of our reproductive mechanisms. We have withheld this information  purposely." 

"Why Orb, your species is usually so open regarding personal issues? Oh  my goodness, is it modesty?"  

Orb's lower quills wiggled, her version of a soft laugh, "No Judy, we  feared the Pilots would have withdrawn their gracious invitation to join  them on the ARC those many centuries ago. " 

"Our species was flattered to be contacted by the great wandering vessel.  We had just conquered limited orbital travel ourselves, and were only  beginning to ask questions about what the void of space could contain,  when the void answered. Can you imagine the euphoric vertigo all that  knowledge created? We raced past millennia of trodding research. Our  planet was transformed instantly into a paradise. Then, as if the visit  was not enough to deify the Pilots, we, the ignorant children of the  galaxy, were actually invited on the ARC itself! To sail with members of  every sentient life form ever discovered, on a perpetual mission of  exploration, and benevolence. The prospect was too immeasurably desirous  to risk rejection." 

"So your ancestors lied." 

"So I lied"  

"Orb, that was over thirteen hundred years ago. you're no more than  fifty." 

"Judy, when an organism reproduces asexually, the resulting progeny is an  exact duplicate of the parent. In our species, that includes memory. I  lied." 

"You've been the leader of the EnEmies for that long? Oh Christ Orb. This  is fantastic-" 

"Please let me continue Judy." Orb blurted. Orb never interrupted, and  the realization of her uncharacteristic rudeness embarrassed her. She  slid over to her seat. I went over to mine. Sometimes these moods lasted  hours. I had learned to wait for her funk to quell in comfort.   

She was making me nervous. What was so dangerous about breeding? I  reviewed what I knew of their reproductive nature in my mind. EnEmies  reproduced by consciously budding. They maintained a stable population  based on resource availability, in the case of Ganymede, one hundred  thousand and twenty four. On the ARC it was much more, but that's a moot  point, The ARC's been gone twenty six years..  

No birth occurred, unless a death was verified. Then a council headed by  Orb would determine who would make the replacement. It was really a  passive form of natural selection. Those who were best adapted, were  least likely to die, and more likely to be chosen for progeny creation. As  for how they got their original diversity, Orb was right, I didn't  remember any mention of sexual activity. 

We sat there for what? Five hours? Six? When she finally sloughed off  enough guilt to continue I was done with the month's paperwork.   

"We are at a crisis Judy. Our population is dangerously homogenous. The  same five or six of my species have replenished those who perished for  thirteen centuries. We are vulnerable to catastrophe, but more important,  we are grossly maladapted for this world. . . The resolution for this  dilemma is beyond the realm of our control. Unlike the asexual, our sex  drives are cataclysmically instinctual." 

"Orb, stop hedging. Please get to the point!"  

"Soon Judy, very soon, all EnEmy will succumb to the urge to unite. We  will push and shove until we meld into a broth of organic material. Our  sex organs, dormant for eons are expanding rapidly, their membranes  straining to contain the countless gametes they are suddenly housing in  preparation for the great moment. If we are successful, all our genetic  material will burst inside the cocoon of our combined biomasses. A frenzy  of recombination fed by our bodies will create a new generation of  EnEmies. They will be sentient but primitive. Disparate fragments of our  memories will facilitate their communication with each other, and help  them eventually understand the technology strewn about their habitat. " 

"But you all will be dead?" 

"No Judy, we will be reborn in a multitude of varieties. Our homeworld's  fossil records indicated seventeen other such occurrences. In all cases,  the trigger was a drastic alteration of the habitat, after centuries of  asexual filtration. We looked vastly different before each transformation.  We will most likely look vastly different after this one. But our species  will survive." 

"Why didn't you trigger on the ARC?"   

"As on Earth, some of the ARC's inhabitants decided to settle on our  Solar System. The Pilots freed a section for our living area by shuffling  newly vacant quarters so we'd all be adjoined. They then adjusted the  climate of that sector to match our ideal comfort. We felt no true change  then." 

"So tragic Orb. You and your kind are dying for your children's sake." 

"Would that our sacrifice was the predominant tragedy, it would be an  exalting time indeed. No Judy, the transformation carries a more sinister  tone. We will be creating trillions of trillions of trillions of tiny  organisms intent on accomplishing the sole task of remaining alive long  enough to become adults. They will enjoy a forty five to fifty hour grace  period where they feed from the yoke they were sown in, but then, nothing  on this world is safe. Some of our ancestors were photosynthetic. Some  ingested radioactive isotopes, and lived off the energy of their decay.  Others were voracious carnivores. I cannot guess what our children will  ultimately be, but I can assure you, at first, we will be a dangerous  species." 

"All those children are blasting throughout Ganymede? How're they going to fit inside the domes?" 

"You do not understand Judy. Our children will not need the domes. We plan on initiating the Diaspora on the raw planetary surface. Many will die instantly. Many more survivors will struggle. Some will be quite successful. We will become them. . . The domes are merely another potential food source." 

I remember how her statement struck me. My voice trembled as I questioned her for clarification, "What about us other inhabitants Orb?  

"You will also be potential food sources, as will the photovoltarics, the Jovian EM converters, life support, dome fabrics. rocks, ice. . . Our children will try to feed on everything. No one can survive within the frenzy. No one should try." 

"What is it you want of me?" 

"The damage we will wreak is significant, but confined. We cannot harm anyone on another world. The World Builders have failed me. I am thickening with the urges, and no longer trust my intellect in devising another solution. Judy, I need your assistance. I want my species to continue, but I cannot allow it to rise on the bodies of others. Help me come up with a plan." 

And I did Orb. It was nothing really. All I had to do was figure out a way to get one hundred thousand and twenty four EnEmies into one location, preferably high above the ground, allow them to explode into little hungry things, essentially scouring Ganymede clean, and evacuate all sentient beings so they won't become meals.  

And still have time to put on a nice suit for the cameras.  

The mag-lev tunnel lights just blinked on. The red incoming strip is activated. They'll be here in fifteen minutes. 

They're going to ask me if I was a Orb's puppet. I don't know what to answer to that. Truth is, I did just about everything from the time I joined the conspiracy. Orb was dedicating more and more of her will power each day, simply to fight the urges. I think asking me for help was her last sentient act. I had to guess my way through the mess. She was so out of it, she forgot to mention that it was the leader - Orb -- who called the species together. If I admit that however, Orb will appear an ignorant slave to her instincts, and animal. On the other hand, by giving up too much credit, I vilify the fledgling aliens, placing Orb's children in danger. I'd better keep with the truth, it's too late to hurt Orb.   

At the landing platform, I find the table of materials I laid out this morning. Invoices, and locators for the barges. We paid a fortune from the EnEmy coffers to buy the huge ships. If all the private vessels leave full, the barges can carry the remainder of Ganymede's human population, and the handful of other Aliens. I bet some of the smaller ones can even make a second trip.   

They'll know how to get out of here.  

According the NetTube, they're fueled up, and fully manned. Of course, a laden vessel of that size can't go further than the nearest off world base. In this case, it's Europa. We set up accounts there to provide food for as long as our money holds up. From there, they can decide where to go.  

They'll know where they're going. 

I go over my confession. It sounds good, and most importantly, it's short. 

They'll know who to blame. 

I hear the scraping of brakes. The cops are here.  

The train slams abruptly to a halt. Several passengers topple clumsily. They must have replaced the conductor with a cop. Dumb idea. Doors slide open, and an army deploys. Hundreds of armed police officers rush past me looking for bad guys. When they're all out, I see the Press.  

Funny, all the guns are pointing at air, but the cameras are on me. 

A Captain approaches. I know him. 

"Judy, it's Jim Marshal. We went to academy together. Can you give me an estimate of who they are, and how many. Also, I need to know an approximate death toll." 

This is perfect. He thinks I survived some sort of terrorist attack.  

"Stand your men down Jim. There's no one here but me." 

I notice some of the cops overheard. They're still poised, but their heads are turned slightly to get a peak at what is happening. The Press is moving in. This is it; 

"Captain, I would like to confess the sabotage and purposeful destruction of Space Station Five. I set a series of explosives off near several hundred Oxygen tanks to completely obliterate it, but it's demise was imminent regardless. I jammed the space elevator tether. The result was to winch the station out of orbit. I blew it up merely to avoid casualties on the surface. The consequences of my acts are more dangerous than the destruction of property. All members of the EnEmy species were shuttled aboard the station before I yanked it down. The organic covering you see smothering the surface of Ganymede is their progeny. These new organisms are spreading to every corner of the world, and consider anything on it a potential source of nourishment. As such, all living things must abandon this colony. Transportation has been arranged to Europa, and accommodations are waiting. You have forty hours to complete your Exodus. There is no means of negotiation, there is no compromise, the EnEmy regret the drastic nature of their actions, but it was imperative for their survival, and you have many worlds. I repeat, LEAVE GANYMEDE OR DIE."  

The Press got it all. Some of them are even shuffling back into the train. Jim is dumbfounded. He wanted so much to fight a bad guy. I may as well give him the collar; 

"Captain, As representative of Earth Police force, I would like to surrender myself for prosecution." 

He cuffs me silently, and orders his men to search the area. They complete it quickly. None of them think I'm bluffing. They want to get home, and pack up their families.  

I'm on the final ship out. They've got me guarded by the Squad Elite, the first in, and last out of a crisis zone. I don't think they view me as all that dangerous, they just refused to allow me a seat when some nontrecherous person needed one. I've been slapped around some, but in general, they haven't been too nasty. From the port hole I see the EnEmy spread. The cotton candy has transformed into multicolored patches of life. Looks like there are lots of different EnEmy shapes surviving. Maybe they'll all coexist, and Ganymede will be an entirely new type of alien encounter. I can't help getting excited about the prospect of watching a sentient species develop. Orb got me a lawyer without my knowledge. He was waiting for me at my holding cell. She must have hired him months ago. He told me I've already received some offers from anthropologists, important enough to affect the judicial system. They want me to go with them on a permanent expedition into Ganymede to record the sentients' progress in lieu of my prison sentence. They even promised a secured line so I can keep in touch with my family. I'll probably take them up on it. It'd be in a few years, after the EnEmy frenzy dies down, and the public outcry is replaced by another villain.  

I will be caretaker of Orb's children. Not a bad life actually. 

Good bye Orb.