by T. R. Harris
“You’ve made active female REVs?” Zac couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Cross grimaced. “Not completely. The dosages I’ve been using have been very mild, but the results have been excellent. The potential is certainly there. However, even if I could make a full-fledged female REV, I don’t think society is ready for pictures of female REVs returning from a mission, covered in the blood of her victims, or worse, her body shot to pieces. Besides, the REV scream would scare the shit out of people if it came from a woman. Everyone thinks it’s a form of torture.” At this point, Cross was bouncing on the edge of his chair.
“But what’s really exciting is how easy it is to manipulate the DNA of females as compared to males,” he stated.
“What do you mean, manipulate?”
“Let me back up, Mr. Murphy.” Cross took a deep breath, trying to reign in his enthusiasm. “The natural mutation resulting from AC-3 primarily manifests with the testosterone in the body. Of course, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but that’s where it starts. Now I’ve found that estrogen is even a better catalyst, a better incubator for AC-3. The female body is built around reproduction and the introduction of genetic material. This makes them more susceptible to manipulation through the use of AC-3 and other ingredients I’ve added to their formulas. As a result, I’ve been able to modify certain females to guarantee that—when mated with a male natural REV—the offspring will carry the mutation.”
“The baby would be born a natural REV?”
“That’s right.”
Zac leaned back on the couch, his jaw slack. “This is what you’ve been after all along, isn’t it? But wouldn’t that be dangerous? What would a baby REV be like?”
“Relax, Zac, it’s not what you think. The child isn’t born with full REV abilities, at least not according to models.”
“You’ve made REV babies already!”
“No full REVs, but those with the markers. But, again, don’t read too much into this. According to computer models, full REV potential isn’t reached until puberty, again the result of hormone production and interaction. Rest assured, babies won’t be born who can bench press two-hundred-fifty pounds at birth.”
Zac didn’t know what to say. In the course of half an hour, his whole world had been turned around. He’d lived with Rev his entire adult life, and it had impacted him in profound ways. Now, he just learned it had the potential to alter the future of mankind. If mankind had a future.
Zac smirked. “I guess this whole Antaere invasion thing has really thrown a monkey-wrench into your plans to breed the master race, Herr Cross.”
“Don’t be insulting, Zac.” David was genuinely hurt. “I’m a scientist, simply following the natural progression of research in a particular field. I’m not mad. And if you look at it reasonably, what I’m doing couldn’t come at a better time for Humanity. And in another way, we’re being presented with an incredible opportunity—”
“You want to let the Human race die off so a new species can emerge without competition? Is that your idea? Perhaps you are mad, General Cross.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that we can save the Human race from extinction, and at the same time, produce a stronger, better Human, one capable of surviving against all the odds thrown against it.”
Zac stared at David for a long moment. If this were any time other than now, Zac would have immediately reported the scientist to the appropriate authorities for commitment to a mental institution. The only problem: Cross was right, and about a great many things. Zac had first-hand experience what the drug Rev could do, and in what applications it could be applied. His transition to what was now a mutant had come unexpectedly. But when it did, it changed everything. There was no going back. And at this time in history, mankind needed REVs—all REVs, any kind of REV. The fact that some were mutating was just a strange twist of fate.
But was it really? David Cross just admitted to manipulating the formula to produce more mutations. He was even working on altering the DNA of women so he could make natural-born REVs. Evolution was a way of survival for all species. But it usually came along naturally. Was it right that mankind could take evolution into its own hands and accelerate—even steer—the process? Cross was right. All Zac’s arguments were for naught if the Human race was allowed to be destroyed. There had to be a way to save it. And if not, then there should be a way to rebuild it.
And because of that, Zac Murphy decided to withhold judgment on Dr. David Cross. At least for the next ninety days. After that, he would revisit the subject—if he was still alive.
7
Perry’s first dose of AC-3 was scheduled for 10-hundred hours in Building 49 two days after Zac’s late-night meeting with Cross. The building sat next door to the facility where the pilot was subjected to the stress test. Zac was present for the session, although Angus and Keith didn’t attend. They were at the south end of the base, drilling the Deltas in advanced assault techniques. The Deltas didn’t need the training, but it was good to keep their minds occupied, and the activity instilled in them a sense of purpose concerning the upcoming defense of the planet. It was better than sitting on their hands while the Earth faced the ultimate doom.
B-49 was a Quonset hut constructed in 2003. It originally housed a sophisticated array of advanced stealth detection equipment designed to make the invisible visible, at least to the good guys. Since 2042, it had sat empty, until a year ago. Now, Zac was surprised to see a fully functional flight simulator with all the bells and whistles sitting in the middle of the room. There was also a multitude of monitoring equipment, along with a dozen military technicians moving about with purpose.
“You set this up pretty quick,” Zac said to the pre-occupied General David Cross. The doctor locked eyes on him, conveying the unspoken message that the conversation they had a couple of nights ago was off-limits to any except the two of them. Zac shrugged, while Cross turned back to his work.
“It’s not what you think, Mr. Murphy,” he said. “This is a standard flight simulator for the Bandits and other fighter craft. All we did was have Langley download a program for the 308 Starfighter. The graphics will be authentic, but the controls are different. The important thing today is to see if our test subject recognizes any of this once he’s on AC-3.”
Mark Perry was already in the pilot seat, wearing his customary flight suit and helmet. From the video screens Zac could see, the pilot knew his way around this particular cockpit arrangement, even if it hadn’t been designed for the 308. That made sense. One did not become a 308 pilot without knowing how to fly everything else.
“Is he getting the standard setup?” Zac asked. By now, Dr. Cross should have been armed with a full arsenal of information regarding Perry’s physiology, with time to modify the formula for his specific biology.
“He’s getting the standard the first time out,” Cross answered. “I’m not concerned with him handling the formula, but rather whether he can operate the equipment under the influence. Any amount of AC-3 will tell us that. If he can do what we want, then I’ll refine the chemistry for maximum efficiency. That will take several additional sessions.” Cross cast a sideways glance at Zac. “And before you ask, I did run a couple of the Alphas through here yesterday, to see if their enhanced abilities would shorten the training time. It’s possible to get them up to where they’re adequate with the spacecraft in about sixty days, but nothing near what it would take to operate the Starfighter at full capability. And that’s why we’re doing this. If the Alphas can’t do that, then it’s better to stick with the trained pilots we already have.”
Zac stepped away from the senior officer and took a seat off to the right, a place where he could see the monitor that showed the simulator screen as Perry saw it. The Air Force officer was ensconced in a white, box-shaped container about twelve feet square and placed on articulators to simulate the movement of the spacecraft. The motion he would experience wouldn’t be true to life, but it would
give the pilot at least some sensation of flying.
Zac looked at Cross and begrudgingly felt a smidgeon of respect for the man. He was an asshole, but he was also a genius. And at this time in history, he may be the right man at the right spot. Turning pilots into REVs might have been Zac’s idea, but if it were possible, David Cross would make it happen.
Another screen on the console displayed a face-on view of Mark Perry. Below the helmet, he now wore the ubiquitous REV collar, a one-inch thick metal ring that contained an array of sensors, cameras, and bio-meters, along with the all-important drug injection apparatus. Not only would the collar deliver the AC-3 to the subject, but also the Twilight drug when the time came. This collar was also fitted with RG9 and Supreninal, two of the drugs that helped reduce Rev in the bloodstream after Twilight. Normally, these drugs would be administered by the recovery team or in a field hospital after a Run. But with the proposed operational area of the 308s, it was decided to test the collar’s programming with regards to autonomous bio-maintenance of the REV. Unlike the beat-up and wounded REVs coming in from the field after standard ground operations, a pilot was expected to leave an engagement area fairly intact and able to receive a full array of counter drugs on the way to the recovery ship. If not, then his starship was more than likely nothing more than a diffused cloud of debris, with the pilot floating dead somewhere in the frozen vastness of space.
Cross placed a commset over his head and positioned the microphone close to his mouth. “Comm check,” he said, his voice bellowing through multiple speakers in the hut. “Major Perry, are you ready?”
“Roger that, sir. Everyone keeps telling me this won’t hurt. I’m anxious to find out if they’ve been lying to me.”
“Relax. And I want to thank you again for volunteering. This is a big moment for you, for all of us.”
“I just hope it works. They say I won’t be out for too long before I’ll know the results.”
“That’s right. Unlike with the old REVs, AC-3s are only out for about thirty minutes after Twilight. With the NT-4s, it used to be up to forty-eight hours, sometimes longer.”
Zac took exception to being called an old REV, but it was true. In his case, he was the oldest. And Cross was also right about the recovery period after an NT-4 Run, although, after his last one, he’d been kept under for three months as the doctors fought to lower the residual level of Rev in his system. That was several years ago, and they never did get his levels down. That’s when they discovered his body was making its own NT-4.
“All right, general. Let’s get this show on the road. I’m familiar with the flight controls of this simulator, although they don’t integrate that well with the 308 program. But it should be enough to let us know if I can still fly.”
“Very good. Attention everyone. We’re beginning the test, major. You’ll take off and begin flying as normal. Then at one point, we’ll introduce the AC-3 and study the results. Ready when you are.”
“Roger that, Control. Beginning liftoff. Using VTOL controls rather than aerodynamics. I’m off.”
The graphics on the screen were spectacular, as realistic as modern technology could make them. It was as if Zac was watching a video of an actual takeoff and transition to a flight course stable at thirty thousand feet, all in living color. It was decided this first test would remain in the atmosphere since that required more basic flying ability than cruising through space. Perry piloted the simulation with expert skill, and soon he was testing the integration of the flight controls with what he knew of the 308 program.
“Pretty basic stuff, with the controls I have available,” he spoke into his comm. “The 308 has about twice the inputs and monitors, but this is good enough. Are you going to give me a countdown before hitting me with the wacky juice?”
“Do you want one?” Cross asked.
“I think so. I don’t have enough anxiety as it is. Might as well let me build up a little more.”
“It will be a short countdown, then. Here we go. On the count of three, mark. Three, two, one…mark.”
There was no emotion in Cross’s voice as he gave the command that could mean the difference between Humanity surviving beyond the next ninety days or going extinct. But Zac didn’t have time to study Cross’s lack of emotion. Instead, everyone in the Hut was shaken by the primal scream blasting out from the speakers. It was terrifying, amplified by the power of the emotion conveyed. It was over by the time anyone thought to turn down the volume. Major Mark Perry had just received his first dose of AC-3, making the transition from Human to REV. There would be no going back.
Despite the REV scream, the next few moments were anticlimactic. The spacecraft continued on a level flight path while Perry sat motionless in the seat, his right hand still gripping the control stick. Zac quickly realized this was to be expected. AC-3s could be activated in-place—it was called—and they would remain that way until given a command. Now the moment of truth was upon them. Cross’s voice was programmed into the collar, giving him sole command over the newly minted REV.
“Designate REV One,” Cross said into his microphone. This would set the identification marker for the REV. “Change altitude to thirty-five thousand feet, up five degrees. Execute.”
Immediately, the altimeter on the monitoring equipment began to move, gaining altitude. Fifteen people were crowded into the Quonset Hut at the time; they simultaneously burst into cheers.
“Quiet!” Cross commanded, having cut the link with the pilot. The gauge now read a steady thirty-five thousand feet, and Cross looked over at Zac. He almost smiled. “We have to try more complicated commands,” he said, addressing the room more than just Zac. “And the fact that he can obey commands doesn’t mean he can autonomously fight an enemy warship. We won’t have direct control of the pilot during combat operations as we do now, so this will be vital to the viability of the plan.”
“REV One, plot a forty-degree course change to starboard. Execute when ready.”
This maneuver would require more skill, including with the control stick and rudder. He would also have to adjust speed to maintain altitude during the turn. To everyone’s relief, Perry performed the maneuver flawlessly, showing he retained the memory of what pedals to use for a turn and to adjust the throttle by the proper amount. He could read and understand the monitors, which spoke volumes. Zac’s heart pounded in his chest, even causing a slight cascading that added to his euphoria. This might actually work.
“Load an intruder program,” Cross ordered. “Nothing fancy, just something off to port and below him. Let’s find out if he can see it.”
He opened the channel to the pilot again. “REV One, scan nearby airspace for hostile aircraft. Engage if detected.”
There was dead silence in the simulator, broken only by the artificial sound of the aircraft engines as the craft sliced through the imaginary atmosphere. Zac’s heart fell when nothing happened. A minute went by, a full minute where Zac could see the bogie on the screen, even if Perry couldn’t.
Cross paced the floor, fingering the microphone that was an inch from his mouth, deep in thought. He looked at Zac, frustration evident in his eyes. “REV One, do you detect an object at your nine o’clock and below you?”
Zac thought the question was too technical for this stage of the test, but Cross was desperate to get a reaction out of the pilot. The front-on view showed Perry turn his head to the left and look down. The problem with the simulator was that it was only set up to produce a graphic in his Heads-Up-Display, not to the side. All Perry saw were the walls of the simulator. But he did understand directions, which was something. What he didn’t understand was how to read the tactical readouts on the forward screen. This would be crucial in any combat situation.
“I think it’s a communication problem,” Cross said to Zac as he stepped closer to where the REV sat. “If we can work this out, the AI can be programmed with basic instructions. What we need is a phrase or event, something that will trigger the proper response from the
pilot. Let me try something. Controllers, bring the bogie forward of the ship, and begin an attack run.” He waited until he saw the contact begin to move, accelerating and gaining altitude before sweeping directly into Perry’s line of sight. “REV One, engage forward target and destroy. Execute.”
What happened next was a surprise … and a shock. Perry reacted immediately and with such speed and force that he ripped the control stick out of its cradle. At the same time, he began smashing the weapons selector controls on his left armrest, shattering the buttons and sending sparks shooting into the makeshift cockpit.
“Shut it down! Shut it down!” Cross yelled. “REV One, stop engagement. Resume level flight.”
But it was too late. The simulator was offline, the forward screen dark. Perry sat stone-faced in his seat, having resumed his passive, activate in-place demeanor.
“Administer the Twilight,” Cross ordered. “I need to figure out what just happened. Place the subject in the recovery room. Techs, survey the damage to the simulator. Get it up again as soon as possible. Mr. Murphy, come with me.”
8
Multiple times, Zac and David Cross watched the recording of the ten seconds before Major Perry was shut down, and the test ended. Several things stood out immediately to the REV and the scientist. The first: Perry didn’t realize his strength. Both the sudden reaction to the order to attack and his efforts to fire the simulated weapons was done with the strength and reaction time of a REV and with a force the control stick and firing console weren’t designed to handle. Second: the pilot recalled memories of the 308 fire control panel which was not present in the basic simulator. He ended up tapping on the armrest at places where no such controls were present.
The men debated the data for several minutes, both encouraged and disappointed by the results. The obvious thing was that Perry did retain the memory of how to fly the 308. The disappointing part was their uncertainty as to whether he could do it autonomously without the need for constant input and instructions. It was imperative for him to operate independently of the artificial intelligence, an AI which had already proven susceptible to Antaere countermeasures. The computer could track, evaluate and initiate effective combat scenarios, and then relay that information to the pilot, if it wasn’t hacked in the process. But what was needed was separation between the computer and the Human. Perry had to operate independently, able to make his own decisions. So far, it hadn’t been demonstrated he could do that.
