With a nod, Tipler answered. His energy seemed to build with each sentence. “It is easy enough to understand, Marshal, if you think of it in terms of analogy.” He drew a deeper breath. “First, we will remember that there are only two means of neutralizing the force of a bullet. Both methods, however, involve the same rule of physics, and that is to absorb, rather than resist, the force. In the first method, the bullet simply cannot make sufficient contact to actuate the intended trauma. The struck substance surrenders so completely that contact, if any, is so insignificant as to be nullified. Perhaps an example would enable you to visualize that type of situation.” He paused, then: “Ah, yes. For instance, if one would suspend a silk handkerchief in the air by two corners and then fire a bullet at the hanging portion, the silk would surrender so completely and quickly, even matching the velocity of the bullet, that there would be almost no contact at all.
“This method, of course, is not an option for a target which, because of immutable physical laws, cannot surrender with such alacrity. Now, the second method involves a partial surrender, or absorption of the force of a bullet’s impact. For, upon contact, the shock is dispersed or spread in a pattern over resilient, multi-flexed fibrous tissue that removes the bullet’s force. Needless to say, this fibrous material would have to be exceedingly intractable, similar to substances utilized in the manufacture of ceramic-steel plating. An example would be ... ah ... oh, yes; let us imagine that you tossed a bulletproof vest in the air, and shot. Now, the vest would absorb far more of the impact than a scarf because its weight would negate complete surrender. But it would surrender nevertheless and the impact suffered would be dispersed across the fibers, as I’ve already mentioned, in shock waves. Not unlike ripples created when one tosses a stone into a calm pool. The surface absorbs the impact and sends the resulting trauma out in waves. Now, for the optimistic analysis. This creature, as you said, Nathaniel, is essentially exempt from injury from small-arms fire. However, if you possessed a weapon that could fire a projectile at far beyond supersonic speed—a speed that would not allow its fibrous molecular epidermis sufficient time to absorb and disperse the shock on impact—you would be able to overcome this spectacular defensive faculty. And, in fact, you have almost done this exact thing. Bobbi Jo’s weapon—” He gestured toward her.
“The Barrett.” She smiled.
“Yes, yes, the Barrett. That very large gun that she utilizes with such effectiveness does this. Although it has not yet devastated this animal’s epidermis, it has obviously wounded it. What, may I ask, is the velocity of those bullets that you are using, Bobbi Jo?”
“They’re three-hundred-grain bullets loaded with 1110 Hodgdon powder. The ones we chronographed before the mission began were ranged at 4,372 feet per second. It was a hot load but I’ve boosted the power with some CFI for more explosive detonation. I’d say they’re pushing five thousand feet per second because I also dropped to a 195-grain Teflon-tipped bullet. A smaller bullet allows higher velocity as long as it’s not so small that it’s affected by windage.” She paused, shook her head. “I’m probably pushing the gun to the limit right now.”
“Yes, yes.” Tipler nodded. “Exactly my point. Certainly, if one calculates the velocity, size and form of the other bullets fired at the creature against the damage resulting from Bobbi Jo’s vastly more powerful weapon, you can acknowledge that the creature does have a threshold of tolerance. Subsonic ammunition probably has no effect whatsoever, but when a projectile’s speed is faster than the faculty of the epidermis to disperse the force, then it can be injured by weapons. Unfortunately, I fear, a majority of those weapons that protect the complex are useless against it.”
Chaney spoke in a thoughtful voice. “That would seem apparent, Professor. But even if the shock of a bullet was ... was dispersed, as you said, this creature would still suffer a blunt trauma, wouldn’t it? Something like bruising?”
“In a sense, yes,” Tipler answered, eyes closing suddenly to a sting of deep pain. “But if the creature possessed an enhanced healing factor, then any resulting blunt trauma would be quickly erased. So the only advantage we would gain would be through its pain, and the consequential distraction, both physical and mental. For even a short-term and superficial wound would reroute its chemical reserves into the laborious act of healing, thereby subtracting these same substances from its superior strength and endurance. Quite probably, the lack would consequently weaken and slow it, which would be another advantage.
“This is why, after Bobbi Jo struck it with the sniper rifle, it retreated. It was not wounded, merely shocked.” Holding a hand briefly to his chest, Tipler inhaled deeply before continuing, “Yes, it had to retreat because of the loss of strength, and the distraction of pain. But when the pain subsided and it replenished itself with nutrients to replace those used in healing, it returned even stronger. You see, its body was learning, conditioning itself to the phenomenon of injury, probably even mutating to compensate for the new threat. As it will no doubt continue to do. For its spectacular proclivity for enhanced evolution within hours seems to pace the evolution Homo sapiens experience in as many centuries. I do not doubt that, shortly, if it is not destroyed, there will be no weapon powerful enough to defeat it.”
Chaney had approached the bed as the professor spoke, and Hunter could clearly see that the marshal wanted to continue. “Are we exhausting you, Professor?” Hunter asked. “We can continue later, if you wish.”
Raising a hand weakly, Tipler answered, “No, no, I am fine. Hear me out...before I rest, which I must do shortly.” He took another deep breath. “So, that is why bullets fail to sever its multi-layered epidermis. However, and remember this, an edged weapon provides the very opposite kind of force. An edged weapon, such as a knife or sword, reinforces speed and structure to create what is known as ‘pyramidal penetration.’ Which is exactly ... as it sounds. You see, instead of the base of the pyramid making impact, allowing a dispersion of force created by the combined factors of velocity and form, a pyramidal impact delivers a singularly focused edge of contact that multiplies weight and velocity into a razor’s edge. And by this means the fibers are unable to disperse, share, or otherwise escape the trauma. So this, in a simplistic way, would explain the creature’s near-invulnerability.”
Chaney said nothing, seeming to realize that the professor had reached exhaustion. Then with a nod he murmured, “Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your help.” He walked slowly over to Hunter.
He didn’t look Hunter in the face but stared at the closed room of the infirmary; the nurse had been ordered outside so that they might talk in private. Bobbi Jo was monitoring the displays at her station. Finally Chaney said, very quietly, “Hunter, tell me something. Just how strong, exactly, is this thing? Don’t tell me that ‘strong as a gorilla’ stuff. I want an exact estimation.”
“Strength?” Hunter returned the question. “I would say that nothing short of a bank vault, and I mean a big one, could stand up to a full-scale assault from that thing, Chaney.”
Chaney grimaced. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure.” Hunter nodded curtly. “I’ve tracked it. I’ve fought with it. And the only reason I’m standing here is because I’m lucky. I can tell you about many who weren’t. And I can tell you something else. Whatever this thing is, it was created. That much I’m certain of. Somebody, Chaney, with a secret agenda wanted that thing to live, so they made it happen.”
Chaney frowned.
Hunter’s conviction was complete. “Chaney, if you can handle the truth, this isn’t some undiscovered species. It’s an extinct species. Its time came and went. There is no way that a race of these things could have existed in those mountains for the past ten thousand years without somehow revealing themselves. Even if they had stayed in the mountains or high on the North Ridge, there would have been occasional sightings, the discovery of bones or tools, campsites or caves. Something. Anything. But there�
�s nothing. Not a trace. Not even a footprint. This land, this territory, may have been its haunt once, but not for a long time. Like ten thousand years.”
Hunter leaned closer as Chaney recalled the magazine article from Hamilton’s town house. It was all coming together, now. Almost to the last. Then Hunter added, “The only thing we don’t know is who found the relic of this creature, how they used it somehow to re-create it, and what their intention was.”
“And something else,” Chaney said, staring with anger and a tinge of fear. “What their intention is.”
“That, too. And when you figure out who ultimately created this monster, and why, you’ll know why they killed Gina and Rebecca. And so will I. I already have an idea, I just can’t prove it yet.”
“Dixon?” Chaney asked.
Hunter shook his head. “Hamilton. ‘Cause this isn’t a government issue. It’s private, and has been from the first. The government only got involved on some kind of convoluted sublevel to cover various incompetent butts. I don’t what unit is ultimately responsible but I know that Hamilton is the brains behind it. And he’s civilian with a lot of interest in a lot of things.”
Cocking his head, Chaney had no reservations that Hunter, no matter what form of justice was meted out by the system, would apply his own brand of wrath to those responsible. Although Hunter would probably not kill them, he would certainly use his considerable talent and awesome power to make their lives a living hell.
Brick came to life with that.
“Time’s getting close for a killin’,” he said abruptly.
Together they turned as the ICU door opened and Dr. Hamilton approached. Strolling slowly, hands comfortably cradled in the pockets of his white lab coat, he gazed with unconcealed amusement from Chaney to Hunter, as if he were singly master of the situation and always would be. Halting, he waited in silence.
Hunter knew it was a power display and he remained silent as well, despising the arrogance. Chaney, obviously, also knew that it was a manifest display of authority but wasn’t in the mood for mind games. Staring hard into the scientist’s eyes, he stepped close.
“Tell me something, Doctor,” he almost whispered. “Why is it that a physician, a healer of men, is heading up an operation far better suited to geologists or computer geeks? And what was of such vital import that demanded your immediate presence here when I hadn’t completed my investigation?”
In lieu of an immediate answer, Hamilton pursed his lips. He cast a brief, bemused glance at Hunter before saying, “I see that you have been listening to Mr. Hunter’s outrageous speculation.” His smile was tolerant. “To be truthful, I myself am in the dark as to the creature’s past and his existence. However, I must disagree with the theory Mr. Hunter expounds.”
“Which theory would that be, Doctor?”
Hamilton’s eyes opened wider and he glanced briefly at Hunter, who remained stoic. “Why, I assumed, wrongly it appears, that Mr. Hunter would have already indoctrinated you about his ‘creationist’ theory.”
“Which is?”
A laugh, and Hamilton gestured. “I’m certain that Mr. Hunter can far better illuminate you on that scenario, Marshal. I myself had trouble completely following it when he graced me with his advanced scientific perceptions.”
None of the disparagement seemed impressive to his listeners. Hamilton recognized his diminished status.
“Yeah, he mentioned it.” Chaney leaned back on a table. “But I’m not a scientist, Dr. Hamilton. Why don’t you explain to me why the theory is so unsound.”
“Well.” Hamilton raised his eyes, quite humble. “I am not formally trained in anthropology or genetics, Marshal, as Mr. Hunter may be. I have only a rudimentary understanding of these things. But, and please correct me, Mr. Hunter, if I inadvertently misspeak your hypothesis. But I believe that Mr. Hunter suspects that this creature is somehow, ah, a product of science. He even intimated to me that perhaps these stations which are singly devoted to monitoring seismic activity might be somehow involved.”
“And that’s an outrageous theory?” Chaney stared at him.
“Oh, yes—well, I do not mean to insult Mr. Hunter—but yes, I would categorize it as a bit farfetched. Even if—and I remind you that it is not the case—these facilities harbored the undocumented goal of creating a .. . uh, a creature such as this, what would be the point? This creature has destroyed three facilities already and almost terminated the program. We will never recover from the episode because the congressional funding was a onetime venture that was almost vetoed in the line-item budget. No, for us to create such a thing only so it would cause the expiration of the program would be the most foolhardy of all endeavors.” Hamilton’s confidence, if Hunter hadn’t seen what he had seen, would have been contagious.
Hamilton continued with only the faintest air of superiority. Apparently he knew he’d overplayed his hand and had quickly and gracefully retreated to a pedantic analysis of the theory. He could have been teaching a biology class at a university.
“Further, I have no idea how, in according with the laws of genetics as I understand them, such a thing would be possible.” He hesitated, as if someone might offer an idea. “DNA, under perfect conditions, may sustain its molecular structure for two or three thousand years,” he continued. “And, in fact, there are documented instances in which it has. However, if I am correct, this is a creature which Dr. Tipler presumes to be from the Pleistocene epoch, which dissipated an incredible ten thousand years past. Now, that is an amazingly long period of time for DNA to withstand destruction. And to be brutally frank with you and Mr. Hunter and, of course, Dr. Tipler, whom I hold with respect, I find it inconceivable that DNA, or even heme units of blood, could survive half that time.”
He shook his head, as if estimating.
“No,” he added firmly, “think what you will of me, gentlemen. I know that you hold me in suspicion of untoward activity. And, in a sense, your suspicions are correct. There are, indeed, some classified purposes of these research stations which I cannot reveal. Why else do you believe its supervising administration is secreted at Langley?” He smiled warmly before continuing. “However, there is nothing that involves the scenario I have perceived from Mr. Hunter. The most I can do for all of you is offer my opinion on the probability of such an event transpiring, and I would have to say that it is beyond calculation. It would be odds of one against many tens of billions that heme units would survive such a period of time. Then, again, it would be odds of trillions against one that these units could be reconstituted in some speculative, and probably quite immoral, adventure of science with such startling success. No, I begrudge Mr. Hunter nothing. We had a disagreement of minds, and for that I apologize. I will admit that, with a rude presumption of my own superior learning in the sciences, I treated you with arrogance. I am a man disposed to such arrogance, something I must constantly guard against. But to imagine such a phenomenon is...well, it is simply beyond me, gentlemen. I am at your disposal to assist in whatever means are necessary. But I cannot in good conscience agree with a theory for which I do not have verifiable evidence or even theoretical explanations.”
Hunter half-smiled, shook his head. “And then there’s common sense, Doctor.”
Turning his head, Hamilton again appeared to raise an invisible guard. “Common sense,” he said. “And why, Mr. Hunter, would common sense lead me to believe that something which I believe is scientifically impossible could occur?”
Hunter tilted his head toward the window where a gathering dark had already activated automatic security lamps on the wall. It would be another thirty minutes before it was dark enough for the gigantic spotlights that would sweep the compound through the night. He looked back at Hamilton without emotion.
“In the last week, Doctor, you’ve lost three one-million-dollar installations. Several hundred personnel. Some creature—and it’s not an animal—has been searching
one research station after another, looking for something that you have. Now, common sense tells me that these research stations are important to it. And so far, Doctor, you’re the only one who has told me that these installations aren’t so important. Why is that?”
Hamilton’s anticipated line of retreat was more polished on its execution. “Mr. Hunter, I know you are not a fool. You are a learned man, a philanthropist, an expert on ecology, and an internationally respected survival expert. I am none of those. I am simply a scientist—nothing unique or special—who operates under a policy of full disclosure to the Senate Intelligence Subcommittee. To whom I report four times each year. You have theories, and they may be good theories, and you may even be correct. But the simple truth—if you accept that as common sense—is that I personally find your theory inconceivable and therefore honestly voice my disagreement.” He accented it with a stare. “If you had one shred of evidence to support such a fantastic proposal, I would listen most passionately. However, you only have a suspicion for which I find no verification. We may not practice full disclosure, Mr. Hunter, but we are not mad scientists conducting some irresponsible genetic experiment gone so terribly wrong that it cost several hundred innocent men and women their lives!”
Hunter said nothing, and Hamilton’s expression revealed that he was finished, both listening and expounding. After a moment of dull silence he turned to Chaney. “Do you currently have any questions for me, Marshal? I came to ensure the welfare of Dr. Tipler, who appears to be recovering nicely. If you do not, then I shall return to the lab. They are conducting classified experiments which require a supervisor for verification.”
“Just a couple,” Chaney replied. “But I’ll make it quick. How many floors are there to this complex, Doctor?”
“Well, there are three floors aboveground and one below, Marshal. It is only a storage area, or warehouse, you might say, for the facility. All of the scientific equipment is located on this floor, and the other floors are dedicated to offices and barracks for the military personnel and medical...uh, I mean, staff personnel.”
Thrilled to Death Page 39
