by Hammond, Ray
‘And why on Earth would rebel guerillas do that?’ demanded the President testily.
‘FARC gets a huge income from the cocaine trade, from ransom kidnappings and by imposing local taxes in the large territory they control,’ explained State. ‘They then endow hospitals and university facilities all over Venezuela. They’re buying the Venezuelan government off, and they’re winning the hearts and minds of the people.’
There was a silence around the table as the nation’s leaders absorbed the information. The aides continued to quietly make their notes.
‘The question is,’ continued Secretary Gill, ‘what, or who, prompted FARC to take such an interest in theoretical physics in the first place? ‘ She paused, then answered her own question. ‘Alexander Makowski, of course.’
‘And FARC has sworn revenge on us ever since we destroyed their camps seven years ago,’ pointed out General Diamand.
‘What is the Venezuelan government saying about all this?’ asked the President.
‘They’re denying all knowledge of Humans First and the HFDA group,’ Faith Gill told him. ‘They say that if Makowski’s party has reformed they’re certainly not in Venezuela.’
‘Do you believe them?’ asked Brabazon.
‘Well, the problem is that FARC runs a state within a state, operating with the tacit approval of the majority in the Venezuelan National Assembly. What happens in FARC territory is known only to them.’
‘Can’t we go after FARC again?’ suggested General Diamand. ‘Under cover of the war on drugs. We might get lucky and hit HFDA locations.’
‘Venezuela is a strong supporter of the United Nations,’ the Secretary of State reminded him. ‘They’d complain to the Security Council immediately.’
‘O.K., let’s focus back on the specific threat,’ said Brabazon. ‘If we imagine for a moment that Humans First has somehow built a working bomb, what sort of damage could it do?’
The President glanced round the table and Mike Ryan sat forward again.
‘Depends where it was planted, sir,’ he began. ‘The test weapon that was exploded in 2025 left a crater twenty miles wide, but we know that that particular test ran out of control. At the very least I would say that we’re talking of an explosion on a nuclear scale.’
‘And fallout?’ asked Brabazon.
‘Not with a gravity weapon,’ said Ryan with a shake of his head. ‘I’m told that the thermonuclear energy occurs at a particle level, though dimensional rupture, rather than through atomic fission. There’s very little radiation.’
‘O.K.,’ said the President placing his hands flat down on the blotter in front of him and glancing around the table. ‘We haven’t closed down any of the technology companies Humans First has listed, we haven’t announced any legislation to stop the development of the technologies to which they object and I have no intention of resigning. Tell me how you’re going to prevent them from using this weapon on our homeland?’
*
Although careful not to excel in any combat skill other than hand-to-hand fighting, ‘Gary Tipton’ proved himself to be a willing and brave HFDA volunteer during his first two weeks at the FARC training camp in the Andes mountains.
Three further large intakes of HFDA recruits had now arrived in the camp and the British infiltrator and the two other original volunteers had found themselves in the company of almost 200 young men from North America and Europe and even some from Asia and Japan. Militant anti-technology sentiment was becoming a global phenomenon it seemed.
All HFDA recruits were driven to improve their fitness, gain some basic fighting skills, get used to handling weapons and explosives and generally learn to behave like disciplined soldiers who were ready to fight for the cause. The course had even included a dozen training jumps from the parachute tower, although there had been no explanation about why HFDA volunteers might need such a skill.
At meal times and during the evenings Floyd was immersed in idealistic anti-transhumanist chatter and radical pro-biology sentiment.
‘Have you ever tried out one of these so called virtual assistants?’ Rod Kantor asked Floyd one evening after they had eaten a meal of grilled chicken and beans. ‘They’re so seductive, man. You have them in your ear, or in your head, for a few days and all of a sudden you can’t do without them. It’s like you form an emotional relationship with a machine – with a fucking machine!.’
‘Did you read about that woman in Berlin?’ put in Hoogervorst quickly. ‘She murdered her children and her husband just because a machine assistant told her it was a good idea?’
‘Terrible,’ agreed Kantor. ‘The tech companies deliberately make them too much like us, so nobody realizes that they’re actually soulless machines.’
‘It’s got to be stopped,’ Floyd had put in angrily, to keep his end up.
Now, at the end of the two week course, Floyd lay on his bunk in the accommodation hut to which he had been assigned thinking about Kantor’s comments about virtual assistants. He was missing Mondogirl Maria so badly it seemed like a nagging ache. No one had warned him that the presence of a virtual assistant inside his head could be so addictive and so difficult to withdraw from. But he’d lived thirty-three of his thirty-five years without such an intimate companion and he could do so again.
Floyd was lying on his narrow bed and the other Humans First Direct Action volunteers of his intake, Kantor and Hoogervorst, were talking quietly beside the window. All of the other FARC recruits who had shared this accommodation hut had left camp earlier in the day, heading for an unknown destination. It was early evening and the three volunteers had just returned from taking their evening meal in the outdoor canteen with the other HFDA recruits.
‘You men – come with me,’ called a deep voice in Spanish from the doorway.
It was one of the FARC security team, a man whom Floyd had seen around the camp, permanently armed, permanently watchful.
With the three other men, Floyd was led a short distance across to the large wooden building that served as the camp’s communications centre.
The guard walked up the steps to the door then pushed it open for the recruits to enter.
Inside, Floyd saw that all of the other HFDA trainees in the camp had been gathered together. Although the room was large, there was no room for chairs and the men sat cross legged on the floor or stood at the back. An array of high-tech screens filled one wall in front of which was a modern smart-desk, complete with a touch-screen glass surface. Behind it sat a pale-faced middle-aged man in camouflage fatigues. Standing behind him, arms folded, was Sergeant Ramon Resigo.
The man behind the desk nodded for the new arrivals to enter and to sit. Floyd noticed that his uniform was different to standard FARC issue fatigues and he wore two silver stars on his grey epaulettes.
‘I am Colonel Andreas Poliza,’ the man announced in German-accented English as Floyd and his companions sat down. ‘I am Director of Military Operations for Humans First Direct Action.’
The self-proclaimed colonel glanced around the room at the many pairs of eyes that were fixed on him.
‘I am pleased to welcome you as fully trained direct action volunteers.’
This is new, thought Floyd. HFDA never had a formal military structure before.
‘And you all know Sergeant Resigo,’ continued the HFDA colonel with a nod towards the man standing at his side. ‘From now on Sergeant Resigo and a number of his FARC comrades are seconded to our forces until further notice.’
‘They’re just fucking mercenaries,’ Kantor whispered in Floyd’s ear. ‘They don’t give a damn about transhuman technology.’
‘Now that you have finished training you are about to undertake a very special mission.’ The colonel glanced from man to man, ensuring he had their full attention. ‘This evening you will have the great privilege of seeing Professor Makowski’s final warning to the transhuman world leaders. What you are about to see will be broadcast in two day’s time.’
Poliza touched his
desktop and the image of the leader of the Humans First Party appeared. He was standing in what looked like a sun-dappled garden, dressed in a smart grey lounge suit with a white shirt and burgundy-coloured tie. Only the gauntness of his face and his fixed, staring expression prevented him looking like any prosperous middle-aged banker or businessman.
‘Not one of the world’s technocratic governments has so far announced legislation to ban the technological developments which threaten the future of the human race,’ Makowski said in a quiet, controlled voice. ‘And not a single corporation, laboratory or university department developing such dangerous and obscene technologies has been shut down.’
The camera tightened in on the leader’s angular face.
‘As a result, fourteen days from today, two weapons of a nuclear scale will be detonated, one in Europe and one in North America,’ he continued. ‘We will regret the inevitable loss of civilian life that will follow, but we will be directly targeting centres of transhuman technology development. The only way to prevent these attacks is for transhumanist governments to immediately and publicly shut down and ban permanently all such immoral development which threatens the future preeminence of human beings.’
The image of Makowski morphed into the Humans First logo then froze.
Silence filled the communications hut as the HFDA volunteers stared at the screen and then back at the German-born colonel still seated behind his desk.
‘If we are lucky these two explosions will be enough for the people in Europe and America to turn against their transhumanist governments and bring them down,’ Colonel Poliza said somberly to the gathered soldiers. ‘But Professor Makowski believes that even after such powerful explosions, the technology lobbies that fund and support the technocratic governments will not give in quickly or easily. They will exert influence on the media and the transhuman cyborgs will cling on to power.’
The colonel paused for effect and his eyes swept over the 200 idealistic young men gathered in the room. Floyd saw them shake their heads and exchange glances of dismay at the idea that whole societies could be so easily manipulated to accept technologies that threatened the future of humanity.
‘This is our last chance to halt humankind’s slide into what seems like a seductive, machine-aided future,’ continued Poliza, passion growing in his voice. ‘But the truth is that such a future would see control of society and of this planet as a whole passed on to a machine-based successor species. We have to save humanity!’
It was old rhetoric that Floyd had now heard a thousand times, but the HFDA Colonel clearly believed every word he was saying. There was a fire in his eyes as he addressed his men, as if he were preparing them on the eve of battle.
‘You men will help us force the transhumanists out of office, so they can be replaced with decent, natural human beings with human morality and sensitivity,’ the HFDA colonel continued. ‘You are to undertake a large scale military mission which will be the finale of our campaign. With your help we will be presenting the transhuman capitalists with an ultimatum they cannot ignore.’
Once more Colonel Poliza glanced from face to face in the room.
‘There will be another two weeks of specialized airborne training after which you will leave this camp,’ he said. Then he stood up abruptly from behind the desk. ‘Prepare yourselves for a long journey. That is all.’
*
It was gone six a.m. in London and Ray Fox still couldn’t sleep. He was worried about his undercover agent Harry Floyd, but he was even more worried about the nature of the threat issued by Humans First. The thirty day ultimatum Makowski had set had now expired.
The American security services had finally admitted to their British counterparts that the Indiana Project had been a secret Pentagon programme to develop a radiation-free nuclear-scale bomb. And they had also admitted that it was possible that the HFDA had somehow got hold of the classified technology.
Fox knew that outside of the USA, Britain was the most likely target for HFDA terrorists to hit. As always, the British were the closest ally of the United States and Makowski seemed to have developed a particular hatred of his own country since he and his party had been outlawed.
As he lay in his bed, only a quarter mile from the CTU’s Embankment headquarters, Fox and his VA, Sue, went over again all the possible UK sites which Makowski might choose to target. There were a large number of advanced hardware and software companies around Cambridge which worked on computers with super-cognitive capabilities. And any number of private hospitals and clinics dotted around the UK were providing cerebral implants, life extension therapies and genetic enhancement treatments. There were scores alone in the Harley Street area.
Harley Street is a very likely target, agreed Sue.
Fox sat upright in bed. Yes, Harley Street! It had to be worth concentrating the search for a weapon in the Harley Street area.
Encrypted high priority call coming in, said Sue. It’s Floyd.
Fox glanced at his still sleeping wife and swung his legs to the ground.
‘This is Fox,’ he said as he tiptoed out of the bedroom.
*
Harry Floyd walked silently beneath the great cedar trees which surrounded the FARC training camp. It was almost 1.30 a.m. and he was returning from an unauthorized trip beyond camp boundaries.
Following the briefing by Colonel Andreas Poliza, Floyd and the other selected recruits had been taken to a different accommodation hut where they were told they would spend the night. All of their belongings from their original lodgings had been transferred whilst the meeting had been taking place and were now waiting for them on their new bunks.
Then the chosen trainees had been left alone. All talk among the HFDA volunteers was of the prospect of seeing action, of making some sort of stand against the hated transhumanists.
Kantor and Hoogervorst had chosen bunks together and Floyd went over to join them.
‘Getting to do something at last,’ he said as he tossed his HFDA-issued backpack on the bed. All of Tipton’s own personal belongings had now been taken away and replaced with items issued by the direct action arm of the Humans First Party. ‘Can’t be soon enough.’ He lay flat on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Kantor leaned across to speak quietly in Floyd’s ear. ‘Hans says the transhumanists will be shattered by the two bombs – they’re unbelievably powerful. His brother’s on the technical team that delivered them.’
Floyd glanced across at Hoogervorst. The Dutch recruit rolled off his own bed and came to sit beside Kantor.
‘They’re particle weapons, powerful as nukes,’ Hoogervorst whispered conspiratorially to Floyd and the Canadian HFDA volunteer. ‘My brother says they’ve built them inside cargo containers.’
Floyd smiled admiringly and pushed himself up on one elbow.
‘So where are they putting them?’ he asked quietly.
The Dutchman glanced around the accommodation hut. Most of the other HFDA volunteers were gathered in small groups, speculating about the likely nature of the forthcoming mission. The most popular rumour doing the rounds was that the direct action force was going to parachute into a technology campus in Silicon Valley and take it and everyone caught there hostage.
‘They’re already in place,’ Hoogervorst whispered. ‘In the middle of London – and in Silicon Valley.’
By eleven p.m. the hut was quietening; the recruits had all risen early that day and, despite their anticipation of going on a mission, one by one they began to sleep. By midnight, Floyd was sure all were fully unconscious and he rolled quietly off his low bed and pulled on his fatigues.
At the hut door, he checked whether there was a guard or anyone watching the hut from a distance; there was nobody to been seen. All buildings were in darkness.
Yawning ostentatiously Floyd left the accommodation hut and sauntered across the impacted and well-worn grass towards the latrine building. Half-way towards his destination he stumbled, as if he had twisted his ankle, stooping
to check what exactly had tripped him up. As he bent he glanced around the camp; he could see nobody.
In the lavatory building he used the urinal without switching on the interior lights. He examined the camp out of the window – there still seemed to be no one around.
Slipping quickly out of the dark latrine, he moved briskly but silently towards the large communications hut. The door was locked, as Floyd had expected, but he glanced around the camp once more then ran around to the rear of the cabin. He broke a window glass and within seconds he had opened the window and vaulted in over the sill.
All communications equipment was on standby. Floyd touched the sole icon that glowed on the smart desk and cursed when a window opened, revealed a touch-screen keyboard and, in Spanish type, asked for a password.
