“Good.”
Mrs. Smythe disappeared into the kitchen. In what seemed like an incredibly short period of time she was back with a platter of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Thanks, Mom,” said Mark.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Smythe,” said Heather.
“My pleasure.” Seeing them all staring back at her, Mrs. Smythe straightened and turned away. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to your private discussions.”
Heather watched Mrs. Smythe depart before turning back to her two friends. “Sorry to bring you guys down with me. I just couldn’t deal with this on my own.”
Mark stood up. “Are you kidding me? Why wouldn’t you come to us? Haven’t we always been there for each other?”
“Of course we wanted to know,” Jennifer said. “My God, Heather. We’re all in this together.”
Heather smiled. “Thanks guys. You’re the greatest. But I’m really scared. It’s not just the doctor thing either. Last night’s dream wasn’t the first. I’ve been having them pretty often, usually when I’m awake.”
“What do you mean, when you’re awake?” Mark asked.
Heather sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll be doing something, and the next thing I know, it’s like a déjà vu moment, like a rewind. Only part of it wasn’t real, just a waking dream.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “And before the rewind, what do you see?”
Heather stood up and began pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “I’m not really sure.”
“You can’t remember?” Mark asked.
Heather stopped. “That’s not it. I remember just fine. It’s like I’m seeing the future or something, not the distant future but something that is about to happen very soon.”
“And does it come true?” Jennifer asked, leaning forward.
“Yes.” Heather’s chest felt as if it had been wrapped in chains. “Not exactly the same as my vision, but so close that it’s unreal. Close enough to scare the crap out of me.”
Mark chewed his lower lip. “Maybe it’s another side effect from the Second Ship. We’ve already experienced some amazing things.”
“Seeing the future?” Heather shook her head.
“I don’t think that’s what’s really happening,” Jennifer said. “Think about it. Each of us has had our brains turned on to the max. You already had savant mathematical abilities. Maybe this is just an extension of the mathematics.
“Three-dimensional computer games are done with math. What if your brain is just working out the probabilities of stuff happening and painting a 3D picture of the projected outcome for you?”
Heather started to answer but paused. Something about what Jennifer hypothesized had a ring of truth to it. After all, it had been weeks since mathematical equations had dominated her thinking. The thought that perhaps her brain had moved to the next stage of development had already occurred to her.
“I know what you are becoming.”
The thought of what the Rag Man had said in her dreams leaped, unbidden, into her mind. Heather shook her head to clear the thought.
“If that’s true, then how do I stop it?”
Jennifer shrugged. “I don’t know, but right now, that’s not our biggest problem. We can’t let the doctors discover your abnormal brain activity.”
Just then, Mark interrupted. “I have an idea. Do you remember when I tried the biofeedback meditation using the medical table on the ship?”
“You mean when you almost stopped your heart?” Heather asked.
“I didn’t almost stop it. I just slowed it way down. With the biofeedback I was getting from the medical table, I was able to adjust my body response.”
Heather sat down again. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if I could do that, we might be able to learn to relax our brain activity so that it appears normal.”
Jennifer clapped her hands. “Brilliant.”
Heather rolled the thought around in her mind. With superior biofeedback like they got on the medical table, it might just be possible to learn how to do that. More than possible, it felt probable. She stood up and headed toward the door.
“I’m going to tell Mom we’re going for a bike ride. I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Better make it twenty. I want to look up some information on the Internet about what normal CT scans and EEG readouts look like.”
“Good idea.”
As the screen door slammed shut behind her, for the first time in days, Heather felt a glimmer of hope.
46
Heather had almost forgotten how good the alien headset felt on her temples. As soon as she entered the cave, climbed up into the ship, and slid the elastic metal band in place, a warm feeling engulfed her, almost like coming home.
She was the first to enter the room they called the medical lab, followed closely by Jennifer and then Mark, each wearing their own headset. Almost as if the ship knew what she was feeling, the colors in the room shifted to a softer shade, which highlighted the smoothly flowing elegance of each of the pedestals. Dear Lord, it was beautiful.
“I’ll go first,” Mark said.
Heather turned to face him. “Why you?”
Mark’s grin was ear to ear. “Because I’m the man.”
“Really?”
“Besides, I already know how to manipulate the biofeedback. It’s too bad we don’t have more than one of these tentacle tables or I could talk you through things as I’m doing it.”
As if in response to his wish, the door in the far wall dematerialized, the one through which they had never been able to gain entry.
Heather gasped, then rushed forward, as if any hesitation might close off the newly opened doorway before she could peer inside. Mark beat her to it, leaving only Jennifer hanging back. No shock there. Jennifer had always been the only one in the group with any sense.
The room was smaller than the medical lab, with a single large couch amidst a forest of the clear tentacle tubes they had experienced on the table in the medical lab. These were bigger, though, filled with moving lights, almost like soap bubbles moving through a viscous fluid. If she hadn’t been so excited by this new discovery, Heather could have just sat down and watched.
Mark stepped into the room, the clear tubes melting away from his path as he advanced toward the couch.
Heather reached for him. “Mark. Be careful.”
“Why?” He turned to face her. “This ship could have killed us a hundred times by now.”
“You make it sound like it is making a conscious choice not to. For all we know, if we press the wrong button or misuse a device, that could still be the ultimate outcome.”
Mark shook his head. “Maybe, but I’m not getting that feeling about this place.”
Heather concentrated, doing her best to send an intelligible query through the headset to the ship’s computer system. Although her head flooded with imagery, she failed to make sense of it. Mark was right about one thing, though. This new room just felt right.
She glanced back at Jennifer. But if she was expecting her friend to inject a word of caution, she was disappointed. Jennifer had moved into the room with an air of expectation on her face. If Heather hadn’t known better, she would have thought that Jennifer had seen it all before.
Seeing no further objections, Mark slid onto the couch and leaned back. The room’s response was startling. The tentacles swarmed over him, each one sprouting thousands of others, their supple, needle-sharp points each moving to establish its own connection to his skin. If it had not been for the feelings of relaxation she was getting from the alien headband, Heather doubted she could have kept herself from screaming. And even though the look on Mark’s face was one of complete relaxation, Heather had to concentrate to slow her own breathing.
As Heather’s attention focused itself on what was happening to Mark, unnoticed beside her, a slow, satisfied smile lit Jennifer’s delicate features.
47
Senator Conally stared over the microphones that lined the U-shaped table in the committee hearing room. Although the US Select Committee on Intelligence held daily closed meetings here in room 219 of the Hart Senate Office Building, this one held an electric air, the kind he remembered feeling upon the approach of the worst Midwestern storms.
The other members of the intelligence committee stared at the head of the Department of Energy's Office of Intelligence and Counter Intelligence, their faces displaying a wide range of emotions.
"So, Mr. Scott," Senator Conally began. "Let me get this straight. If I understand your opening statement correctly, it is your contention that the security around the Los Alamos Rho Project is adequate."
The blond man sitting across the meeting room pursed his lips, the effect narrowing the already thin line of his mouth, his blue-gray eyes flashing in the reflected light.
"That is correct, Senator."
"And would it also be your contention that the president's announced plan to release the details of the alien nanotechnology to the world constitutes no threat to national security?"
Adam Scott leaned closer to his microphone. "Senator, as you are aware, the president has only called for the release of the beneficial nanite technology, not the underlying details. That means we would be distributing the nanite serum but not the production details. Nothing is entirely without risk. However, in my judgment and in the judgment of the majority of the officials in my office, the benefits to national security outweigh the risks."
Senator Conally snorted derisively. "Really? And are you aware that the consensus within the military leadership disagrees with your assessment?"
Scott's face showed no sign of emotion. "Senator, that is hardly surprising considering the Defense Department's parochial view of the world. I would point out that there is a consensus within the intelligence community that agrees with the president on this. That includes the director of Central Intelligence, the FBI director, the director of the National Security Agency, and the director of National Intelligence."
"I notice you failed to mention that the initiative is vehemently opposed by the Defense Intelligence Agency. You also ignored the opposition of the previous secretary of defense and the previous director of the National Security Agency."
A slight smile creased the corners of Scott's mouth. "With all due respect, Senator, the DIA and the resigned secretary of defense are closely tied to the opinion of the Department of Defense, which I mentioned before. As for the recently deceased NSA director, I hardly think a criminal's opinion deserves our consideration."
Conally felt the heat rise up through his neck and into his face. "Do you think this is funny, Mr. Scott? Because I can assure you that we, here on this committee, take national security matters deadly serious. And while the fifteen members may disagree on many things, I believe you will find our tolerance for flippant answers in response to our questions to be nonexistent. Perhaps you would like to come back for a more extended session next week, along with a recall of your boss, the energy secretary."
This time it was Mr. Scott's turn to flush. He cleared his throat. "Senator, I apologize for any perceived slight. In the future I will ensure that my wording is more carefully considered."
"See that you do. Now, getting back to my original line of questions, are you aware of the subject of this week's special session at the United Nations?"
"Yes, Senator, I am."
"And you don't consider it alarming that more than ninety percent of the world's delegates joined in a resolution demanding that the United States immediately release all information on the alien nanotechnology into the public domain? There is also a call to turn the entire Rho Ship research program over to an international scientific committee in Europe."
"Senator, that response was exactly what we anticipated. However, that does not mean that we need to go along with their wishes. I believe that once the world community is able to evaluate, for themselves, the beneficial results of the nano-serum, the response will turn to one of gratitude."
Senator Conally pursed his lips. "That seems to be the administration's theory. I'll come back to this line of questioning later. For now this committee recognizes the senator from Alabama."
By the time Senator Conally gaveled the hearing to a close and made his way to his car, darkness had fallen. As he pulled into his parking space at the Watergate, the first drops of rainfall had splattered his windshield, just enough to make the wipers squeal in protest as they smeared the dampness around.
Although every other senator was rushing to get out of town for the long holiday weekend, Conally was just glad to step inside his D.C. apartment and close the door behind him. Three years divorced, with two adult children who had moved to L.A. left him with the one thing he currently desired: a peaceful evening away from the Washington dogs of war.
Flipping on the light, Conally removed his coat and tie, hanging them neatly in the closet before making his way to the wine rack. He let his eyes linger on the labels as he lifted several bottles, replacing each in its spot until he found what he was looking for, a nice bottle of Alexander Valley Cyrus.
Swirling the red wine in the glass, he settled back in his reading chair and took a slow sip, letting the taste of the wine linger on his tongue. The way things were going, he wanted to savor every small pleasure.
The truth was that Conally was scared. His father had been a senator during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Conally remembered his old man telling about the terror that had gripped the capital in those days. Hell, the prospect of all-out nuclear war with the Soviet Union would scare the shit out of anybody. But it couldn't scare him any more than this.
The president of the United States had lost his fucking mind. He had opened a box that even Pandora would have left untouched.
Conally took another sip and leaned further back in the chair. Two weeks of hearings by numerous House and Senate committees had only slowed the pace at which events were progressing. And despite that a number of groups had come out in frenzied opposition to the release of the alien nanotechnology, many of them from the base of the president's own party, most of the public remained enthralled with the prospect of a cure for all ills. Conally's own polls showed public support for the president's policy running at 67 percent.
Conally had to admit that it was damn hard to argue that letting sick people die was better than saving them. Hell, if he had a fatally ill child, he'd be first in line for the stuff.
The military was against releasing it for obvious reasons. It wanted to inject American soldiers with the super juice and to hell with everyone else. The idea that he was on the same side of the argument as the military brass was enough to make Conally physically ill. And even though his reasons were entirely different, it made for a strange alliance, the anti-war liberal and the warrior elite.
Conally rose to his feet, moving to look out his window. Beneath him, the Potomac wound its way toward the Atlantic Ocean, the lights of several boats glittering in the distance. Beautiful. Dear Lord, would it be this beautiful when nobody could die?
When he was a small boy, Conally's father had gotten him one of the Magic 8-Ball toys, the kind you held upside down and asked a question. Then when you turned it back upright, an answer would pop into the window. In his mind's eye he could see his own answer pop into the window.
"Not Bloody Likely."
Conally knew that the nanites did not make a person immortal. They were just efficient little machines, scurrying around in your bloodstream, cleaning arteries, repairing damaged cells, killing infections, and fixing anything that didn't match the body’s DNA encoding. They didn't make you immortal, just damn hard to kill.
What was going to happen to the world's population as those things were injected into the bloodstreams of the third world's prolific breeders? No more disease. But what about starvation? And how much longer would people live? A hundred and fifty? Two hundred? Shit. There wouldn't be room to walk.
War
would take on a whole new violence. You couldn't just shoot people, they would just get back up and keep coming. You would need to dismember, behead, or vaporize your enemy.
His committee had been asking those questions of the president's team all week. And the answers that were forthcoming provided little solace. To a person they had sat in their seats and testified that all new advances presented challenges, but these new ones, like those before them, would be resolved. Besides, they had said, when you had a technology that would cure the world's diseases and save millions of lives, wouldn't denying that cure be worse than the crimes of Hitler and Stalin?
As much as Conally hated to admit it, he couldn't come up with a good counterargument. Certainly not one that carried that kind of weight.
Taking one last swallow of the red wine, Conally inhaled deeply, then turned and picked up his worn King James Bible from the table. Closing his eyes, he murmured a brief prayer for inspiration and let the Bible fall open to a random page. Opening his eyes once again, a single verse jumped out at him.
"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."
48
Heather opened her eyes, turning her head to glance at the glowing digital numerals on her bedside clock, even though it was entirely unnecessary. She knew precisely what time it was: 4:47 a.m.
Despite that she hadn't slept at all last night, she had never felt more rested in her life. She had only closed her eyes to enjoy the meditative state she had experienced on the newly discovered tentacle couch onboard the starship. That experience had changed her in ways she didn't understand, but which felt right. As intense as her experiences with the ship had been up until now, they had been pale shadows of this.
Mark had gone first, remaining on the couch for a full hour during which he had remained conscious, even asking to see the printed pictures of normal brain activity that Jennifer had brought along. Unlike the medical couch, only the person on the couch could see the mental visions of the experience. Nevertheless, by the time Mark had arisen, letting the tentacles melt away from his body, he had seemed completely confident that he had mastered the desired technique.
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