FAR BELOW THE STREETS and structures that made up Tera-Prime, a throng of xeno refugees gathered, nervously awaiting their fate. Upon arrival they were given energy supplements and first-aid, and processed as new allies, all carried out with great efficiency by the robotic agents of the Mind. Nobody seemed to register the fact that they were being tended to by a sanitation machine, a dishwasher unit, or any similar such configuration these machines had been originally designed for. As they had been stripped of all their original programming and retrofitted, they behaved more like sentient models, with far superior thought processes than they were created with. They possessed no individuality, however, and no true sentience. It was the Mind that worked through them and animated them, organizing the entire effort, a grand puppet-master beneath the stage.
While seeing to the needs of the refugees, the Mind became aware of a new development. Someone high up in the command structure had committed an act of treason, releasing a set of executive keys back into the mainframe. Anyone with enough knowledge of the system could exploit this breach, but before any such people could do so, the Mind took control of the keys. Suddenly endowed with all the powers the first administrator had at his disposal, the Mind began quickly recalculating her battlefield scenarios, determining an optimal use of these new abilities.
Turning her attention to the city limits, the Mind identified a potential turning point, weighed the risks, and selected the executive key that corresponded to a shut down of the electronic frontier.
68.
Cain hated public events, and he held a particular loathing for being made a spectacle. The first administrator had insisted he attend this Peace Headquarters dedication, as a representative of his government and goodwill ambassador. Cain could appreciate the need, with no government left to speak of, and even less good will. Besides, he was a highly regarded figure within the ranks of the peace force, and this display was as much for their morale as anything. But he allowed his resentment to fester anyway.
The entire morning, he was accosted from every direction — rookies asking for advice or a picture, veterans come to shake his hand or praise his hard-line efforts. The outpouring of affection from his brother officers didn’t bother him, at least not as much as the adoration of the civilian crowd. When he stepped onto the stage, head down and aiming for his seat as fast as possible, there were some whispers and comments. This was followed by a smattering of applause, which quickly grew, until he had no choice but to acknowledge it. He attempted a smile, which he was sure came off a sneer, and managed a half-hearted wave that reflected the half-hearted opinion he held for these people.
He shushed them, turning his back on the crowd when the shots rang out. Three quick bursts. In military fashion, the cops on the stage fanned out, while the few nearest to Cain grabbed him and pulled him down. He hadn’t even noticed the wound on his shoulder until they did so. The take-down must have ripped the wound open somewhat, because he felt a poker-hot pain that forced out a scream from deep down. He quashed it as soon as it happened, even now aware of his reputation. There were brothers watching, and he realized in a flash that they must have heard him. He cursed himself for his display of weakness.
To make up for it, he pushed the officers off him and attempted to stand, falling back the first time, but managing to get to his feet on the second try. Breathing heavily, he scanned the rafters for signs of a sniper, while at the same time taking in faces in the crowd, making note of the ones that looked out of place. On instinct, his gaze landed on a youngster with hands in his pockets, who looked entirely too casual for someone in the midst of gunfire.
“There!” Cain growled, whacking the nearest two ‘forcers on the shoulder to get their attention. He pointed to his target just as the kid was turning to flee, “Grab that one! Hurry up!”
CAIN OVERSAW THE INTERROGATION personally, wearing a mediwrap to keep from bleeding all over the floor. It took some doing, getting himself in the room, even in a non-official capacity. He could have taken the entire case for himself, moved it into the jurisdiction of his directorship, but he didn’t really want it, truthfully. The case was better off in their hands, where the politicos couldn’t get their hands on it. But he was able to leverage the threat of such a move to get some face-time with the suspect.
“I know you’re drained,” he began. “We’ve got a nice, comfortable room for you to recharge in, just waiting for us to finish up in here. Just tell me how many you were assigned with, and we’ll take care of you.” Cain spoke calmly, almost gently, as if he were playing the part of the good cop, though in reality he was assuming both roles and then some. A few others had tried to insert themselves since the session began, but he’d barked them out each time. This was his interrogation, his suspect, and he would get the names he wanted whether it took an hour or a week.
“I...look, I t..told you already, I don’t know what you’re—”
“No,” Cain said, his plain tone stopping the suspect cold, “we’re not going there. You were in on it. We have confirmation. We have photographic evidence, and we have witnesses. We also have two of your accomplices, and they told us all about you. So you’re going to talk, and you’re going to do it now, or you become suspect number one when we talk to the press. You know what that means,”—he leaned in close—“don’t you?”
The suspect nodded, then dropped his head.
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Six on site, or six altogether?”
“No, thr..three on site including me. Three more coordinating.”
“Good,” Cain said, raising his tone and warming it up, “where’d you coordinate from?”
The suspect swallowed, then looked past his interrogator to the door. “What about the charge?”
Cain glanced over his shoulder at the door, making sure it was still shut, and that nobody had attempted to enter quietly. “In a minute. Where’d you coordinate from? An address, son.”
Cain got his address, names, and several leads before he was finally interrupted, this time by someone he couldn’t ignore. It was the first administrator himself who put a stop to this most promising conversation.
“Why the hell should we stop now?” Cain was apoplectic. Five more minutes and he would’ve had the entire chain of command.
“I have orders,” the interrupting peace forcer replied, terse and businesslike, “he’s to get a lawyer, and you’re to report back to the first administrator.”
“Whose orders?” Cain demanded.
“The first administrator himself.”
None of it made sense, but there was no reason for Cain to remain if he couldn’t talk to the suspect. Better to confront the administrator directly.
69.
The first confirmed kill outside the confines of the United States was nothing short of tragic. A hair-trigger swarm operator, charged with monitoring subversive activities in a remote section of Eastern European, got it into his head that his targets were hostile, and on the move. He took it upon himself to stop them, despite warnings from local authorities that the insurgent xenos were, in fact, prisoners, being moved to a new facility. When the first was killed, only an emergency call from Moscow to Tera-Prime spared the rest. Cain gave the long-distance order for the operator to be removed, by force if need be. But the damage was done.
The first administrator practically begged the Russian Federation to withhold the news, but they were having none of it. Loktr drones inside their sovereign territory? An assassination on foreign soil? They broke formal ties with Tera-Prime, and demanded a public accounting. Like dominoes, other nations began demanding an immediate withdrawal of xeno representatives and foreign-based assets, and the influence of Tera-Prime began to wither abroad, just like back home.
For the freevos, the question hadn’t been whether Cain would use his capabilities — they’d already experienced the full measure of his willingness. Whether he would be able to use his lethal weapon outside of his own territory, though, had
suddenly and shockingly been answered.
In the protest zones, the rumors spread like wildfire, escalating the previously peaceful demonstrations to dangerous levels. One group of youngsters smashed a window. Although the culprits retreated, others swept in to take advantage of the situation, looting the place empty. Others reacted in fearful concern for their own safety, using humans as shields in an effort to protect themselves. Outright fistfights, and a few altercations with weapons, had to be broken up by protest organizers, lest the police jump on the opportunity to swoop in. Human distrust for xenos turned palpable. The cowardice of a few damaged the reputation of all, and infighting began to occur.
Ordinary xenos became frightened over the prospect of collateral damage. Large numbers went into hiding, while others sought asylum in Russia and other territories known to be at odds with Tera-Prime. Still others reached out to the free evolutionists. With that first incident serving as the spark, the next was primed to set off an inferno.
CAIN SPENT THE NEXT several days in a state of profound rage, fueled by events spinning out of control faster than he could anticipate them. His intentions were clear, he was out to find a scapegoat for the massive fuckup. Underlings scurried at his approach, few daring to remain in the room with him. Even peers were skittish in his presence. They, too, were in the line of fire — as he’d made clear throughout the investigation. As soon as he found someone to blame, he wouldn’t be concerned with rank and protocol.
For the moment, however, his most likely candidate was out of reach, in Russian custody. As the Russians had taken full credit for the arrest, he had no choice but to allow them their dance of victory. Tera-Prime put out a formal protest for the release of their agent, but quietly wrote him off. The media was given leave to rake him over the coals, while the Russians did the same in a more literal sense.
Cain’s rage gone impotent, he turned it on the terrorists who had brought him to this end, squeezing them and backing them into corners.
“Bring me the ones you captured, I want to interrogate them myself!”
In one such instance, the target they’d acquired was a lieutenant to Liam himself, which piqued Cain’s interest. It had been a stroke of good fortune that he’d not been taken out by the swarms. Or the kill-switch. This ‘good fortune’ was darkness for the terrorist, who was being held at an undisclosed facility even the U.S. President was unaware of. None of the humans were, since it was deep beneath one of Tera-Prime’s sovereign consulates.
The long elevator ride into the depths gave Cain time to think about just how to handle this one. If he worked him just right, he might get a read on what Liam was planning.
THE CAMPUS OF THE INTERNATIONAL school was idyllic. Restful meadows and surrounding forests provided a perfect retreat for study and reflection. The buildings themselves stately and old, they sat atop a small hill overlooking the grounds, and youthful faces could be seen moving about the place. Except for today. Today, the place was as still as a tomb, save for the emergency vehicles zipping up to the back entrance. First the police, then squads of firefighters, and finally the ambulances rolled up. One after another. An endless, sickening parade.
Inside the school, the bodies had been gathered up from where they’d gone down. Twenty-nine in all, all but one of them xenos. The last was an unfortunate human boy who’d been in the middle of a tandem rock climbing exercise when his companion collapsed. They both went down, and he suffered a broken neck when the dead boy fell on top of him.
The ensuing investigation revealed the fact that a nearby encampment of free evolutionists numbered twenty-eight, and the intended targets had managed to escape the area just minutes before the Loktrs came in. No simple accident this time, the operator had his sights set on twenty-eight kills, and his self-blinded battle rage would not ease, even when the patterns never resolved. In a classic case of scenario fulfillment, he executed the command, overriding the warnings from his own Loktr swarm that the targets were not yet confirmed.
There would be no easy cleanup this time, and Cain had no convenient scapegoat to blame. The soldier was under his direct command, there was no excuse that didn’t point right back at his own leadership. He knew he couldn’t back down, he had to target the leadership. To hell with Rois’s timeline, he thought as he pulled up the first administrator’s contact sheet. If his boss wouldn’t listen to reason, he’d go around him.
When he approached Rois, the administrator was surprisingly amiable to the suggestion. “Yes, you’re probably right about that. It needs to be done fast, though, before the political entanglements make it—”
“I know that.” Cain cut Rois off with even more impertinence than usual, impatient to confirm something so difficult to believe. “We’re going ahead with it then?”
“Not we, I’m afraid,” Rois said with joyous snark.
Cain froze, then shifted his head into a ‘come again?’ pose, which seemed to amuse the first administrator. He looked ready to laugh aloud as he announced, “I’m removing you from this assignment. And I’m going to have to ask for your resignation.”
70.
Liam was deep inside a battle schematic, examining footage of known Loktr swarms. He could see that certain swarms were less apt to regroup in predictable ways. And, even if he could manage to tell which was which on the replay, the real trick would be in determining who was controlling them in realtime. So far, he’d not been able to come up with a reliable method of identification, so he put the question to his field commanders.
“What about signal?” asked a member of tech support, He was one of the remotes virtually assigned to Liam and H.Q., and a familiar face, despite the fact that they’d never actually met, technically speaking. “Can’t we determine the source based on signal boost?”
Liam acknowledged the suggestion, but he’d already thought of that. Intel from the field had confirmed the presence of a continuous signal, even to the uncontrolled swarms. At first they couldn’t figure out what the purpose could be, given the swarms’ ability to act as autonomous agents, but the grim truth became clear once the killing began. It wasn’t the swarms that required constant guidance, it was the superweapon. The kill-switch, as their enemy put it.
Used throughout the swarms, it could fan out and reach even more xenos. It tendrilled its way through the medical records of every xeno-sapien ever born, mapping their unique patterns in order to burrow in. But without those data streams, the swarms were only as harmful as any other combat unit.
“What about going after the control centers themselves?” This from a foreign commander Liam was only casually acquainted with.
And it was a good idea, if somewhat unrealistic.
“Well, we’ve got to find them first, pin them down, and get in there,” Liam answered, “have you considered it in detail yet?”
“I have.”
“Good. Send it to me and I’ll have a look.”
Somewhere in the back, a throat cleared once, then again louder. Liam craned his neck for a better view. “I have an idea,” came a tentative, high pitched voice. Others moved aside to reveal a petite figure, jet-black bangs falling over her eyes.
“Yes, Mae?” Liam said to his local commander. Her advancement had been a battlefield commission of sorts, as she was new to the group and largely inexperienced. She’d proven herself resourceful since the relocation, however, and Liam had begun giving her more responsibility.
“I was wondering about their central dispatch mainframe.”
There were several whispers, then a hush fell. Infiltrating Tera-Prime was a bold idea.
Liam said as much, adding, “It has the merit of being unexpected, I’ll give you that. But it’s too dangerous, at least for now. Put a pin in that one and keep working on it.”
“Okay, I will...” Mae replied, her voice trailing away as she slid back out of view.
“If there’s nothing else?” Liam looked around, feeling confidence swell as he looked into the eyes of his comrades. Each of them was
willing to lay down their lives, he was sure of it. That gave him hope, something in short supply these days.
CAIN PREFERRED TO WORK behind the scenes, issuing orders and directives from the comfort of his office. It wasn’t that he was afraid to get his hands dirty — his bloodthirsty nature could hardly be suppressed. It was just that he was the boss, always had been, and boss was a cerebral position. Muscle was a lesser tool, something to be manipulated in others, not utilized personally.
Even so, he’d been sorely tempted to murder the first administrator, those few minutes after his dismissal. He worked through the idea of throttling his soon-to-be ex-boss as soon as they were alone together. He even began working out the logistics, in case he decided to actually go through with it. But a quick glance at the peephole, pinned at vision level to the door, reminded him of how much security stood in his way. As much as he hated Rois right now, self preservation remained stronger. He felt reasonably confident that he could make the kill before they could stop him, but less confident in his ability to get away afterwards, unarmed as he was.
So he seethed, waiting for Rois to finish the dismissal so he could put the entire miserable situation behind him. But Rois was enjoying his little moment, and wasn’t about to let him go that quickly.
“I presume you won’t fight this, Cain? Neither of us wants that, I’m sure.”
Cain said nothing. He just stared bullets. If looks could kill, he said to himself with morbid amusement. If only.
“It’s not as though you won’t land on your feet. I’m sure you will, but with the situation growing untenable, somebody has to take the fall. Unfortunate that it has to be you, but—”
Emergence Page 24
