The Darwin Variant

by Kenneth Johnson

  ARPC Com: Mayday, mayday. This is Everett convoy red leader. We are under attack from rogue ARPC.

  Mitchell: Fuck. Contact your base. Call for support. Now!

  Pilot: ANG base, Black Hawk Bravo Lima Foxtrot, request backup on authority of Bradford Mitchell. Route 23, north of Buford. Monitor 109.3.

  COM: Bravo Lima, stand by.

  Mitchell: Put the pedal to the metal, soldier.

  Pilot: Copy, sir.

  (airspeed increase to 182 MPH)

  Courtesy GA/ANG

  Ronnie Dodsworth. . .

  The ARPC was trying evasives, banking right and left, but Crash was a top gun. Right on his tail. He’d told me to take out the rear turbine that provided forward thrust, but I hadn’t had a clear shot. “Uh . . . anytime there, Veronica.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Tryin’ to get a lock.” I fired once, went wide left. Twice, close right. I paused. Inhaled. Held it. Then sent the third burst, which wasn’t perfect but caught the inner edge of the rear turbine with a flurry of sparks that shut it down. Crash had to peel off quick to avoid a rear-ender. We looked back and saw the wounded ARPC just hanging there over the woods, rotating dead in the air.

  Esteban Ford. . .

  When the ARPCs went off in a dogfight, Smith veered onto a side road and slowed to a stop. “Time to bail, Esteban.” I was still really limp. He popped my seat belt, reached across to open my door, then eased me out to where I crumpled down onto the ground. “Take care,” he said, then sped off down that side road with the right door flapping.

  Ronnie Dodsworth. . .

  We’d banked back toward Route 23 and were surprised to see the CAV truck had gone off on a smaller tree-lined side road. Crash keyed a sat phone, said into it, “Okay, Brenda, showtime!”

  I heard a staticky woman’s voice respond, “Copy that.”

  “Brenda?” I shouted, “Who the hell is Brenda!?”

  Crash just grinned and dived our ARPC down to fly parallel alongside the cab of the 18-wheeler. We were startled to see the driver was Chris Smith!

  We started waving and shouting to him to stop. He recognized us but shouted back really furious, “No! I got this. Back off!” And he kept on driving, even faster. We couldn’t shoot at his tires for fear of wrecking and destroying the CAV-B shipment.

  “What the hell is he doing?!” Crash was annoyed, pulled us up steeply to see where Chris was headed, and we both took an oh shit breath. About a mile ahead, beyond a chain-link perimeter fence, was a natural gas well, and a gas storage tank the size of a barn. Crash understood. “He’s on a kamikaze mission.”

  At that moment we were startled when our ARPC took a severe hit from behind. We looked back and saw that blue civilian car closing on our tail. It was an unmarked ARPC.

  ARPC GSP Unit 494 Cockpit Cam A/V - Date: 05/01/21 Time: 16:32:01

  [Abridged]

  Dash Cam A/V: Shows Rogue ARPC being pursued, 113 meters ahead.

  Targeting Grid: Active, crosshair on, ARPC 494 maneuvering to acquire target lock for El-Stat weapon.

  Pilot: Patton, Brice J.

  Co-P: Green, Timothy R.

  Pilot Patton: Ooo-eee! Almost, Timbo.

  Co-P Green: And you thought we were suckin’ hind tit back there, Brice.

  Pilot Patton: We gonna nail these fuckers.

  Courtesy GSP, FBI

  Ronnie Dodsworth. . .

  Crash dodged and weaved, but they winged us again. Our ARPC started sounding untrustworthy. And they were closing on us. Crash shouted to me, “I’m gonna try something, Veronica. We’ll be looking right at ’em but you’ll only have a second to shoot.”

  I shouted back, “Go!” And Crash spun our ARPC like a plate on a stick into a flat one-eighty. I barely saw them coming at us but fired anyway. The El-Stat burst caught ’em head-on, exploding their cockpit. Crash pulled up just enough for them to pass below us. I saw ’em hit the ground hard, blowing up in a ball of flame.

  Crash was already banking around after Chris. We saw his truck smashing right through the perimeter fence, heading straight for the huge gas storage tank. Our ARPC was shaking, listing to one side, losing altitude. “Crash . . . I don’t think we’re gonna—”

  “Hang on, girlfriend!” His eyes were riveted ahead. “May not be the smoothest, but . . .”

  We were headed for the storage tank ourselves, angling in from the side to cross Chris’s path, when the ARPC shuddered and listed precariously left. Crash had to set us down so hard that we dug in and rolled over once, twice—thank God for seat belts and airbags—and came to a stop right side up by the storage tank, blocking Chris, who slammed on his brakes. The big rig fishtailed but kept roaring right at us till it stopped about six inches from my door, kickin’ up a cloud of dust.

  Chris jumped out of the truck, hopping mad. “Goddammit! Sonuvabitch! I told you I had this, for Crissake! This load’s gotta be destroyed!”

  “No! It’s gotta be saved!” Crash shouted as he helped me crawl out my wrecked window. “We’ve got a cure, man! A fuckin’ cure! But we need this load as a base to make more. We gotta get this container outta here.”

  Chris was stunned but still livid. “Oh, really!? And you think more cops aren’t on the way? Think nobody’s gonna notice us driving it outta here?”

  “We ain’t driving it anywhere.” He keyed his sat phone. “C’mon in, Brenda!” We heard a thundering thump thump thumping, and flying in over the treetops came the most giant-ass chopper I’d ever seen. “Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion.” Crash grinned at Chris and me. “You saw the pilots at our warehouse meeting. Jose and Brenda. My Air Cav buds.” Crash jumped onto the flatbed holding the container. “Let’s get this sucker hitched up!”

  Within four and a half minutes, the container was secured to cables hanging from the huge chopper hovering overhead. Then it lifted off with Crash, me, and Chris sitting on top of the container, legs dangling over the side, holding on to the cables. Chris was still steaming, looking down at the forest whippin’ by underneath us with a couple roads running through it. Chris shouted over the thunder of the chopper, “And you don’t think we’re pretty easy to spot up here coming into Atlanta?”

  “Not where we’re headed, pal. Relax,” Crash shouted. But he saw Chris was still staring down, fuming. “I know what’s going on here, Dr. Christopher Smith. You’re pissed ’cause you didn’t kill yourself, huh?” Chris looked sharply at him. “Well, you still got that choice, brother.” Crash indicated the ground zipping past below, went on shouting, “A header from two hundred feet’ll do you. Go ahead.” From Chris’s expression I thought he was seriously considering it. Then Crash shouted louder at him, “Orrrrr, you could knock off the goddamn pity party and suck it up!” Chris glanced at him. “Stop indulgin’ your guilt! Being so damn self-centered! Jesus, man.” Crash laughed. “You been given an incredible gift: that big-ass brain in your stubborn head. It was already amazing and then it got supersized with the virus, and now this cure, this Leap, will take you to . . . to another planet!” Chris looked slightly inquisitive. “Yeah.” Crash nodded. “You won’t believe it. Or who found the cure. Lilly!”

  Chris was stunned. Crash laughed again. “That’s right! Wait’ll you meet the all-new and improved Lilly! She’ll blow your mind! And speakin’ of—lemme tell you somethin’—you got a responsibility, pal. You’ve got one of the most brilliant minds there is, particularly about this biochemical shit. If this situation was reversed, what’d you be telling me to do, Chris? Shoot myself and go tits up in the bay or get out there and use my chops to make the world a little better?”

  Chris was pondering the question as Crash’s sat phone crackled, and the female pilot’s voice said, “We’re on final, boss.”

  We’d been passing low over the small green islands in Lake Lanier and were heading toward a very isolated cove on the remote south side of War Hill Park. We recognized Jimmy-Joe on the shoreline, waving to us along with Tina and Doyle, both in scuba gear, in a Zodiac. Our massive Super Stallion lowered
the container down and right into the water. The three of us hopped into the Zodiac as Doyle supervised the lowering of the container until it was completely hidden below the surface and secure on the lake bottom. Chris understood, of course: the individual canisters of CAV-B would be just fine underwater, and we could take them out in small, less noticeable batches.

  Crash and I had climbed onto the shoreline. We sat on a rock and were watching Tina and Doyle free up the cables. Then Crash glanced kinda sideways at me, said, “Nice job out there, Veronica.”

  “Well, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.” I gave him a fist bump.

  He kept looking at me, sorta deep, then eyed the cornrows on my head. “I think I finally realized what they make you look like—”

  “I know, I know, heard it from couple other wise guys: a hood ornament.”

  Crash laughed. “Actually I was thinking way more classic than that: a figurehead. One of those strong women that sailors carved on the prow of clipper ships to watch out for ’em, keep ’em safe.”

  I gazed into his eyes, very touched. Then bumped his shoulder shy-like, but appreciative. It all felt kinda good. Kinda special.

  We looked out along the cove’s shoreline to where Chris was standing alone at the edge of the water a small distance from us, watching as the operation concluded. Crash got to his feet, came to attention, and saluted his smiling pilot buds, who saluted back as they rotated the big chopper away and banked off into the sunset.

  And still Chris stood, frowning, weighing all that Crash had laid on him. We saw Jimmy-Joe walk over to stand beside him. Then the boy said a few words to Chris. We couldn’t hear what they were, but Chris glanced at Jimmy-Joe, who nodded, like to make a point. Then he touched Chris on the shoulder and walked on.

  Leaving Chris thinking.

  29

  LEAP YEARS

  Dr. Susan Perry. . .

  I’d lost a lot of blood, but Elia Dubrovski and the paramedics saved my life.

  Mitchell was captured, and convicted of the murders of Lauren Fletcher and Dr. Brown. He realized after his arrest that a dictator without a power base was no longer a dictator. In a plea deal to avoid the death penalty, he gave up all his contacts, including those who’d been waiting in Washington. Belligerent, narcissistic, and egocentric to the end, Mitchell decided if he couldn’t be the authoritarian leader, then he wanted no one else to be.

  One after another, the people who had been infected with the primary or secondary virus, who had been driven to seek selfish power and domination over others, were treated with Lilly’s extraordinary formula, and took the Leap. After they inhaled the mist of milky vapor, went to sleep, and awakened to discover their new and exalted mind-set, they were astonished by the transformation within themselves. They gratefully welcomed their startling new consciousness and how they had been soulfully evolved. Each then helped to pass that remarkable change along to others. So the numbers of the 3.0s grew exponentially, like a candle-lighting ceremony.

  Dozens, then hundreds, of infected people were treated and looked out through reborn eyes, their intelligence advanced, their compassion, morality, and humanity not merely restored, but amazingly heightened, strengthened, and embraced. Their entire beings had taken a quantum leap forward.

  Katie watched as her father, Jason; her mother, Eileen; her sister, Lisa; as well as Charley Flinn and the other townspeople of Ashton were all lifted up to the new, august plateau. Tina and Jason agreed to try again, and Eileen genuinely wished them well.

  I witnessed Darren awaken and look up into Katie’s waiting, smiling eyes that were brimming with happy tears. Darren instantly realized the splendid new elevation within himself and reached out to Katie, who hugged him tightly.

  One by one, members of the police, military, media, business, and government, as well as all the ordinary people who had been infected, were administered the cure. All were not merely cleansed, but took the Leap upward on the wings of Lilly’s magnificent discovery.

  Some among the top-level cadre of the Friends became the most changed of all. Many sought solace for their crimes in lonely, self-imposed exile, contemplation, and atonement. The greater and the more ill-used that their power had been, the more humble they now sought to be.

  There were some, however, when arriving upon this higher plateau, who could not face what they had done, nor blame being under the virus’s influence, despite the courts’ willingness to be lenient. Some could not forgive themselves and became disconsolate, even suicidal. I accompanied Lilly to visit one who was in that turmoil. Lilly wanted Hutch to hear in person her genuine forgiveness, to encourage him to use his knowledge and abilities for the greater good.

  We found him very weak, stretched out on the couch in his Montana-flavored town house, his snakeskin boots on the floor nearby. In a low voice he recounted his guilt for the horrors he had perpetrated, not just upon Lilly, but upon the hundreds who had died agonizing deaths at Reidsville prison because of him. He knew that Chris suffered from a similar guilt, but Chris’s had come entirely unintentionally. Hutch knew that his own evil had not. He’d been so swept up by the rush of superiority, power, and entitlement that he’d betrayed the essence of the person he’d always thought he was.

  He pointed to a small digital recorder into which he’d dictated his side of the story. He said he’d recorded his final entry after revisiting the prison, standing beneath the huge old oak tree near the mass grave that the piles of dead prisoners had been bulldozed into. All those he had murdered. Hutch said his soul was empty. He apologized for his cowardice about facing the future, for his inability to bear the impossible weight of that guilt. He stared into an abyss. The remorse Hutch felt for the ugly vein of darkness that had emerged from within himself could only be relieved by the massive dose of Dilaudid he was now succumbing to. He turned away and whispered that we should leave him. That he deserved to die alone.

  But we remained. The last thing Hutch saw was Lilly’s forgiving face.

  The several thousand who’d been infected by the viruses became new and far better people than they ever could have imagined: far more intelligent, yes, but most importantly far more empathetic, compassionate, and desirous of treating others the way they would want themselves to be treated. They became truly humane.

  The most wonderful aspect of Lilly’s solution was that it not only transformed virus victims, but transformed everyone who breathed it in, including the 1 percent who were AB negative, because Lilly quickly engineered a modification that worked on them. She also formulated a treatment to cure aggressiveness in infected animals.

  All of our scientist colleagues and Resistance compatriots, like Gwyneth, Chunhua, Alex, Rachel, and the others who had worked so diligently to help, eagerly stepped up for their breath of fresh consciousness and expanded intelligence. That naturally included Katie; Eric; Nate; Justinia; Fernando and Maggie; Simone, Clarence, and LeBron Frederick—who was thrilled to get his long-wished-for brain boost. It also gave him a jolt of lovely humility that greatly pleased his parents.

  True to their independent spirits, Crash and Ronnie, who’d become a couple, were content to stay as they were. At least for now. And it was one of the great joys of my life when Chris asked if I would administer Lilly’s formula to him, which I did wholeheartedly.

  Naturally we also reached out to many others across the scientific community, notably to Concetta Cordaro, PhD, the astrophysicist who’d first realized that Comet Avery was heading our way. Connie spread it to her colleagues, and they to others, and so on.

  It really was like a candle-lighting ceremony—on an epic, global scale. Within only a few years, Lilly’s magnificent solution has spread the evolutionary, revolutionary miracle around the world like a balm.

  Nate had said it was like Plato’s dream of the ideal society come true. But I thought it was even better: it was Sir Francis Bacon’s dream. He believed that there would be no gain to humanity if the extension of knowledge brought no gain in benevolence.
“Of all virtues and dignities of the mind, goodness is the greatest.” Sir Francis had longed for an Age of Reason, a true Enlightenment.

  Thanks to Lilly’s brilliant gift the entire populace of Earth is becoming enlightened: setting aside ignorance for knowledge, discarding superstition for science, facts, and truth. This enlightenment is marrying spiritual altruism with meaningful social action. It is replacing racism, sexism, and bigotry with understanding, empathy, and tolerance.

  With America leading, the individual people across our entire planet are evolving for the better. It is certainly not Utopia yet. There are still too many areas of overcrowding, poverty, and potential famine, but thanks to the overwhelming international outpouring of compassionate thinking and concerted, hands-on action, the tide is turning. We’ve taken the first steps to hammer our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks, as Isaiah counseled, to ensure that “nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” We are moving swiftly toward the brightest possible future. Yes, there are still tribes and nations and varying religions, of course; but above all, and transcending all, there has come a new way of living in harmony with our fellow creatures.

  A new human ethic.

  We’re no longer facing a dystopian Brave New World, but exactly the opposite: a worthwhile new world. Populated by good people who are properly human-istic.

  Best of all, we’ve discovered over recent years that this ethic is passed along to our children, who are being born with this wonderful, pervasive enlightenment built in.

  And candle lighting has quickly become a magical way to celebrate our new world.

  The Enlightenment is now an annual international celebration on the winter solstices: December 21 in the Northern Hemisphere and June 21 in the Southern, when Earth is tilted farthest away, toward the darkness of space, and beginning its journey back toward the light. People by the hundreds, then the thousands, and now uncountable millions gather before dawn that day on their village commons, small town centers, at sports stadiums, in Times Square, the heart of Jerusalem, Trafalgar Square, Red Square, the shore of Sydney Harbor, the Hollywood Bowl, Rio de Janeiro’s Ipanema Beach, China’s Forbidden City, the banks of the River Ganges, the mystical mountaintop at Machu Picchu, everywhere there is humankind.