Mother Ship

by Scott Bartlett

  “That’ll be a first.”

  In the corner of her vision, Cynthia saw Peter twitch. “We’ve never treated you like a weapon, Max,” he said.

  “Then what did you treat me like, exactly? Would you prefer the term science experiment?”

  Peter sat back against the side of the truck, and Cynthia could almost hear him smolder.

  Max turned back toward Cynthia. “What will Andrews want me to do?”

  “He’ll want you to get ready. There won’t be a moment to waste. Your days will be filled with briefings and training simulations—GDA technicians have also developed state-of-the-art virtual reality, well beyond what was available on the market. In between, he’ll probably put you through strenuous PT, to prepare you to go to space. Plenty of strategic planning sessions, too.” She shook her head. “You’ll need to be brought up to speed on the tech, as well as the strategic situation, as quickly as we can manage. The world’s population has already taken a devastating hit, with more dying every minute. We don’t know if there’s even a chance of recovering global society, in any form. But we have to try. So every second will count.”

  Max wore a thoughtful expression, and she let the conversation lapse into silence, wanting to give him time to process what she’d told him.

  “What if Andrews isn’t there?” he asked at last. “What if he didn’t make it from Washington?”

  She blinked, momentarily surprised that he knew Andrews was coming from Washington. But of course, Chambers would have told him. “He’ll be there.”

  “What if he isn’t, though?”

  “Then Janet will be in charge. But he will be there, Max.”

  “So there are no other personnel in the installation to resist her?”

  “There are security forces, and admin personnel, not to mention thirty-two fighter pilots who rotate out of the facility in two-week shifts. But I doubt they’ll oppose Janet. She’ll outrank everyone there, if Andrews is missing, and she claims that she’s acting under his authority. Even though he would never authorize the things she’s done. But he’ll be there, Max.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  They fell into another silence, underscored by the rumbling of the tires on the asphalt of whatever highway they were on. Judging by their speed, Janet had ordered the rest of the convoy to outpace the Bradleys, whose top speed was only thirty-five miles per hour.

  Then, suddenly, the quality of their ride changed. It became bumpier, and the truck slowed noticeably.

  A dirt road, then. Had they reached the access road already?

  Max gave no sign he’d noticed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. At last, he spoke. “I want you to tell me something. How was I…bred? And what was I bred to be?”

  A lump formed in Cynthia’s throat, and at first she couldn’t speak. “You were made to fight them, Max.” Her voice came out strangled, and she cleared her throat. “To stay competitive with China, the US government has pursued selective gene therapy, in secret. And they went well beyond what the general public considered ethical. They figured out which genes contribute to heightened intelligence, along with enhanced will, and a host of other psychological attributes. In short, you have the ability to resist them. Like no one else does.”

  “What about physical ability?”

  She knew where this was coming from. What he’d done to those lookouts, in order to free her and Peter…it had raised questions in his mind. Questions she had no answers for.

  She shook her head. “Not even your genetic enhancements should have given you the ability to do what you did back there. That was something else. Something I can’t explain.”

  He nodded. Then, he asked the question that felt like a dagger plunging into her heart.

  “Did you ever meet my real mother?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “No, Max. I’m afraid not.”

  He nodded again, falling silent.

  Less than two hours later, the convoy came to a halt. Long minutes passed, piling up until Cynthia thought she would go mad with anticipation.

  At last, the back of the truck opened, casting the interior in sunlight and making them all squint, though it wasn’t nearly as blinding as when Janet had kept her in total darkness for days.

  She could make out Janet’s slender silhouette, with a six-man team beyond her, spread out to either side with tranquilizer guns held at the ready. Each dart would be filled with the exact dose to safely take down someone of Max’s weight—which was information Cynthia had provided them with, of course. Just one of the many records she’d kept on him, since the day he’d come into her life.

  Behind the soldiers, the installation’s heavy metal doors stood open.

  “I won’t keep you in suspense,” Janet said, and even though Cynthia still couldn’t see her face, she could hear the woman’s triumphant grin. “Andrews isn’t here.”

  Cynthia’s stomach sank as two of Janet’s men entered the truck, seized Max by the arms, and dragged him outside.

  41

  4 days to extinction

  They rode back to Fort Benson in silence.

  The big farmer rode beside Ted at the head of the returning search party, saying nothing as their horses wove through the oak trees. Yago trailed behind, his lead rope attached to Daisy’s saddle.

  Benson’s not stupid. He’d figured out that Ted was special ops, and now he could almost hear Benson piecing together the final pieces of the puzzle: that the reason Ted was here was directly related to the alien invasion. Maybe Benson would even figure out that his guest belonged to an organization formed to fight the aliens, and that his lost ‘son,’ Max, was currently the focal point of that organization.

  His silence wouldn’t last, Ted knew. Soon, he would start asking questions—maybe alone, maybe in front of the others. And he would expect answers. Especially if he thought Ted’s presence might be endangering his people.

  When they broke from the trees, reaching the wheat farm at last, it seemed like the cleanup from the battle had barely begun. A breeze wafted toward them, carrying the scent of body odor, and innards that had begun to bake in the Kansas sun. Ted highly doubted they’d have the property cleared before all these corpses started to reek.

  They couldn’t stop working, Ted knew. Not if they were going to keep this place livable. They had to keep going until the cleanup was complete.

  Benson turned to the man beside him—Vick, if Ted remembered correctly. “Tell everyone currently working to take a break. We’ll have to take over for them. After that, we’ll continue on in shifts.”

  Vick nodded, then kicked his horse to a higher speed. It carried him toward those working to drag bodies away from the house and barn.

  “Gord.”

  Benson looked at him, a strange mix of fatigue and watchfulness flashing in his eyes. “Ted?”

  “Today was too close. And now you have even fewer numbers than you did.”

  “That’s true. But what are you saying?”

  “There are a lot more savages out there. Fort Benson stood today, but other enclaves may have fallen. That frees up more of the mindless to come here and try again. It’s only a matter of time.”

  The man’s lips formed a tight line, and he said nothing. They reached the house and dismounted to lead the horses into their stalls. That done, Ted followed Benson inside the farmhouse.

  The house was already cleared of bodies, but the metallic smell of blood emanated from everywhere. People were busy scrubbing at the red stains on the carpet, walls, and furniture, but Ted could see this was a multi-day job. Possibly, they’d never get the stains out. Maybe not the smell, either.

  “Take a break,” Benson told them, nodding toward the front door. “Get some fresh air.”

  Wordlessly, they dropped their rags and sponges and filed out, barely looking at the two men.

  Benson kept a brave face until the last of his people left. Then, looking around his ruined living room, his shoulders slumped. He kicked forlornly at the leg
of a shattered end table.

  He looked a mess, too. Dark stains covered his blue-and-red checkered shirt, as well as his jeans. They hadn’t taken the time to change before going out searching. There had been an unspoken agreement that every second had counted.

  Well, they’d been too late. Max was gone, and now Benson was living his own personal hell: the house where he’d tried to keep his friends and neighbors safe was soaked with their blood, as well as the blood of those who’d tried to tear them apart.

  “You’re right,” Benson said. “We’ve lost almost half our people. We can’t hold this place anymore. It’s time to move on.” His shoulders fell further. “I just don’t know where to take the ones who are left.”

  Ted sighed. Screw it. What’s the point in keeping secrets now? “I may know a place.”

  His new friend looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes. Ted realized he’d just thought of the farmer as his friend, but they were becoming friends, weren’t they?

  “Yeah?” Benson said.

  Ted nodded. “Gather your people together. Around the porch step might be best.” Fresh air was much preferable to the stinking abattoir this house had become. Ted had noticed that most of the bodies had been removed from around the front steps.

  “All right.”

  It took twenty minutes to find everyone, and even then Benson still kept a full complement of lookouts in their positions around the property. “We can fill them in later. Until we leave, I won’t risk removing our only warning system.”

  That made sense to Ted. He looked around at the folks gathered before him. Fighting men and women, who’d battled the Ravagers to keep their loved ones safe. Their families—women and children and pets who looked almost as worn out as the fighters. Everyone seemed dead-tired, their eyes empty. It’s only been a few days since the aliens invaded, and look what they’ve done to us.

  Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. Of course, he already knew pretty much everything Ted was about to say. Although, maybe he’d left Fort Benson altogether, and no one had noticed.

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you. In fact, I haven’t been honest at all.”

  That brought some life to their faces. A frown here, narrowed eyes there. But no one prompted him to continue. They waited to hear what he had to say.

  “I’m not a farmer. In fact, I’ve never planted anything in my life. I’m an agent with an organization called the GDA. You don’t know what that means, because the American public was never told about GDA. But I’ll tell you now. It stands for the Global Defense Agency.”

  “Defending the globe from aliens,” Benson said. It wasn’t a question.

  “That’s right. GDA has been preparing for this invasion for decades—since the late forties.”

  “After Roswell,” Vick cut in. “Right?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Knew it.”

  Ted opened his mouth to answer, then decided against it. Instead, he continued with his…well, whatever he was doing. A speech, I guess. “The aliens are making everyone go crazy, using what our scientists call a neural smart dust. It stimulates our amygdala in ways we don’t understand—it overloads it, and makes us go insane with intense emotions.

  “The people affected are driven to do violence to others. They can’t concentrate enough to operate a car, or to use a firearm, luckily for us. But they can still do immense damage, as you’ve seen. The fact that you’re not trying to kill each other means you have a natural immunity to the aliens’ influence. As for the GDA, we developed amygdala-suppressing drugs that are allowing us to keep our sanity.

  “In the recent past—the last few decades—our main goal has been to breed humans with a natural resistance to the alien mind control. But we only managed to breed one person like that before they came. His name is Max, and mere hours ago he walked among you, here. I called him my son, but he’s not. He’s much more than that. He’s our species’ only hope.”

  This time, Vick didn’t cut in, and neither did anyone else. They all stared at him, silent and solemn. Even in their fatigued state, Ted’s listeners now seemed intently focused on his words.

  “The closest thing Max has to parents are the ones that raised him. A couple named Cynthia and Peter Edwards, who also work for GDA. But to save Max, they decided to go against the agency, and they asked me to go against it too. So I did. I’m a rogue agent, now.”

  Benson crossed his arms. “You said they wanted to save him. From what?”

  “Another agent, named Janet Thompson. She’s always been a sociopath, but I now have reason to believe she may have been compromised by the enemy. Either way, she’s going to try to break Max. To bend him to her will.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you all have a right to know this, and to get involved with it, if you want. Because, if nothing else, you’re a better representation of humanity than the GDA, a shadowy organization twisted by secrets it kept for too long.

  “Janet is taking Max to a secret installation in the Colorado Rockies, where there are weapons advanced enough to give him a chance against the aliens. I plan to go after her, to get Max back. To give him his freedom back. Because if humanity only has one hope left, and he’s it, then I’d much rather he fight as a soldier than a beaten dog, bent to an evil will.”

  Ted swept the crowd with his eyes one last time, his gaze lingering on Benson’s face, and then on Maisie’s. For the first time, he noticed Benson’s daughter standing at the back of the group, her face pale.

  “Those still capable of fighting are welcome to come with me, if that’s what you want. For the rest of you, I know of an emergency government shelter that’s on the way. It’s certain to be empty, and roomy enough to house all of you.”

  For what felt like an eternity, but was probably less than a minute, Ted’s listeners remained quiet.

  Then, Benson stepped forward. “I’m with you.”

  Maisie joined him. “Me too.”

  One by one, the other fighters took a step forward, pledging to join Ted. A lot of the non-fighters did, too—including Tara. The glare Benson shot her suggested something about how that would pan out.

  “Thank you,” Ted told them. “On behalf of humanity—especially the ones not capable of saying it themselves—I thank you.”

  42

  4 days to extinction

  They brought him to a room with white walls and left him there.

  The entire room was white. Ceiling, carpet, bed sheets and comforter. Bed posts. Coffee table, end tables. Couch. All the exact same shade of pure white. The white of a blank page.

  The washroom was white, too.

  He lay on the bed and closed his eyes.

  The mattress was good quality, just supple enough for his taste. Had his mattress preferences been determined over years of observation and analysis? Probably not, but maybe.

  Possibly, his standards for sleeping accommodations had simply become flexible after days of sleeping on the ground. This was a big step up, even from the hayloft he’d shared with Tara.

  He found himself wondering if this facility had multiple white rooms like this, each looking like it had come from some Hollywood vision of the future, or if this one had been designed especially to hold him.

  It locked from the outside, so if it had been built for him then that suggested worrisome things about even General Andrews’ intentions, despite everyone depicting him as a paragon of virtue.

  Or maybe the ability to imprison him here was merely a precaution—a hedge against the possibility that he wouldn’t want to fight aliens under any circumstances.

  Now that he thought about it, that idea didn’t seem so preposterous.

  A power tool whined from outside his door, which vibrated visibly in its frame. Max sat up, watching it for a minute or so. Then he fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes again, the room’s whiteness translated into red by his eyelids. That was better, somehow.

  The drilling went on for about a half hour. That was his guess, anyway.
His phone’s battery had run down days ago, and there was no way of telling time in here. Once the noise stopped, someone knocked on the door.

  “Uh…come in?”

  The door opened to reveal a pair of soldiers, who each held a tranquilizer gun crosswise across his chest. They entered, taking up positions against the wall, and another pair followed.

  The fifth person to enter was a diminutive man in a white lab coat—camouflage, in this room. He sported a black goatee and short-cropped hair. Six more soldiers toting tranq guns followed him in.

  “I really spooked you guys by taking out those lookouts, didn’t I?”

  The man wearing the lab coat blinked. “Ah. You’re referring to our…” He glanced at the soldiers surrounding him. “…precautions.”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded primly. “I am Doctor Robert Wick. I would shake your hand, but you understand.” He gestured at the soldiers. “Precautions.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “There is, of course, no need to introduce yourself. I know exactly who you are. Max Edwards. The one Agent Thompson refers to as ‘the asset.’”

  “She does, huh?” The term cemented Janet’s attitude toward him: nothing more than a resource to be exploited. “Based on what I’ve heard about her, I can’t say I’m surprised. But aren’t you afraid of prejudicing me against her by telling me this?’

  “Oh, there’s no fear of that. I’ve been instructed to tell you that Janet has no intentions of befriending you. Affection and respect are not emotions she hopes to elicit from you. Her aim lies on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum.”

  The opposite of affection. Fear, I guess that would be.

  “I’d like you to come with me, Max.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No. It’s just more efficient if you cooperate.”

  Max swung his legs to the side of the bed and got to his feet. As his shoes touched the carpet, twelve tranquilizer guns snapped up to point at him. That was a little unsettling.

  They escorted him out into the hall, and Max glanced back at the door, where he saw what the power drill had been used for. Six heavy-duty latches now lined the frame. Wow. Modifications made in light of his fight with the lookouts, he felt sure.