by Bob Mayer
Mrs. Parrish put her hands on her hips. “To quote a great man, ‘this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is the end of the beginning’. The beginning you have all worked so hard on.”
She stepped down from the command chair dais. The techs were chatting, abuzz with excitement.
Mrs. Parrish issued an order as she brushed by. “Maria, inform Major Turcotte of his time constraints and forward the images of the ruby sphere on the surface. I’m going to the Facility to check on out-load progress. Meet me there.”
PRIVATE ISLAND, PUGET SOUND
“We need information,” Nosferatu admonished Nekhbet. “So do not drink.”
“I am sated for the moment,” Nekhbet promised. “Somewhat.” She was leading the way, half leaned over, sniffing, following the blood trail into the forest.
“After battles,” Nosferatu said, “wounded humans would crawl off the field to trees or bushes and gather there in clumps. From both sides, friend and foe, now comrades in dying. It was always strange to see. As if lying out in the open to die was somehow more terrible.”
Nekhbet paused.
“What is it?” Nosferatu asked.
“I was waiting to see if there were more to your story or if I could concentrate on what I was doing?”
“Go on,” Nosferatu said. “I will remain silent.” He was letting her lead, even though he had more experience tracking. It was easier to keep an eye on her this way.
The dense Pacific Northwest old forest, with lots of deadfall, reminded Nosferatu of the fact that this part of the United States had been prime feeding ground for serial killers; and Vampyr. Nosferatu had shined a light into that shaft and seen all the bones at the bottom. Knowing Vampyr as he did, had, he had no doubt those victims had not met their end easily or simply.
Nekhbet began to run, an awkward thing given she was still hunched over. Nosferatu hustled to keep up. She slithered over a thick, moss-covered log, then spun about, poised to strike. Nosferatu leapt over the log, landing between her and the human, one of his feet landing on the man’s hand, breaking it with an audible crunch.
The man screamed.
“Apologies,” Nosferatu said. He glanced at Nekhbet, but she seemed able to restrain herself for the moment. He knelt next to the man. “Who are you?”
“Just an Engineer.”
“You opened the vault?”
“Yes.”
Nosferatu indicated the wounded leg. “Why did they do this to you?”
“He was supposed to kill me,” Engineer said. “He spared me.”
“That is what I was asking,” Nosferatu clarified. “Why were you left alive?”
“Mercy.”
“Mercy to leave you to die out here?” Nosferatu shook his head. “I think you are mistaken. Where is the BioCube?”
“Don’t know.”
Nekhbet leaned over Nosferatu’s shoulder. “What do you know?”
“The guy who took it, the Virologist. He wore a lab coat.” The Engineer paused, taking a couple of breaths, pain written across his face. “There was something written on it.”
Nekhbet hissed and tried to push past, but Nosferatu held her at bay.
“Details, please. My partner does not have much patience.”
The Engineer opened his eyes. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
Nosferatu put his hand on the man’s throat, feeling his pulse. “Your heart is strong. From your pallor, you have enough blood to live. You’ve managed to stop the bleeding. Do you want to live?”
“Yes!”
“What was written?” Nosferatu said.
“408 Technologies.”
“A number or was it written out?” Nosferatu asked.
“A number.”
“Ever hear of 408 Technologies before?” Nosferatu asked.
The Engineer shook his head. “No. I assume he works for the people who hired me.”
“Perhaps,” Nosferatu said. “But the people who hired you don’t know where he is either. They’ve done a cut out. You know what a cut out is?”
Nekhbet stirred impatiently.
“Ah,” Nosferatu said, “it does not matter. That is something for us to follow up on. Anything else?”
“The helicopter,” the Engineer said. “It took off heading north. Not to the SeaTac airport.”
“Possibly local,” Nosferatu said. “Good.” He looked up, half expecting to see the Swarm Battle Core looming overhead in the evening sky. “My friend, you actually don’t want to live.”
He let Nekhbet have him.
THE FYNBAR
“There are multiple Swarm scout ships which have cleared the Asteroid Belt on path toward Mars,” Leahy said. “And others heading for Earth. You’ve got a tight window to retrieve the ruby sphere before the first scout ship arrives at Mars. Their arrivals will be tightly staggered. I’ve picked up several larger vessels, each twice the size of a mothership, clearing the Belt. I believe they are warships. At least one is on course for Mars.”
“Tell us something Mrs. Parrish’s assistant didn’t already relay to us,” Turcotte said.
“Apologies,” Leahy said. “I’ve been busy and don’t have time to check everything. Just give me an affirmative if you’ve heard it and I’ll move down the list.”
“Affirmative,” Turcotte said, earning an eye roll from Yakov.
“The Swarm are shoving a number of mid-size asteroids on trajectories toward Mars?”
“Affirmative,” Turcotte said. “But Maria said they didn’t know why.”
“I don’t know either,” Leahy admitted. “Next. Ruby sphere?”
“On the surface,” Turcotte said. “Perhaps for self-destruct or as a weapon. Yep.”
“India-Pakistan nuclear exchange?”
“Is it over?” Turcotte asked.
“If thirty million immediate dead could be called over,” Leahy said. “India launched first, hoping to take out Pakistan’s nuclear weapons in a surgical strike. But they’d already been dispersed to launch platforms. The back and forth of nukes might be over, but they’ve detonated over eighty. That’s going to fuck up the planet for the next couple of years. A layer of smoke is spreading and it’s going to cover the world. Not to mention the fallout.”
“I think the Swarm makes that irrelevant,” Yakov said.
Leahy appeared old and tired. “Yeah. You’re right. The news isn’t exactly flowing out of the radioactive heaps that are the major cities in both countries. Next. Status of mothership?”
“Actually,” Turcotte said, “the scout ships, ruby sphere, asteroids and nuclear exchange were it. The warship thing was new. What’s the status of the mothership?”
“Eighty-two percent loaded with supplies. Mrs. Parrish has implemented the Canaan option of Exodus. Which is moving the people from here to Area 51 for loading. Initially it was planned to bring the mothership to them, but Ethos doesn’t factor there’s time to do that.”
Yakov spoke. “Who are the people in this Facility? Who has she picked to keep mankind alive?”
“Humanity two-point-oh,” Leahy said. “The Chosen. Five thousand. The planned total was six-thousand-two-hundred-and-fifty including the Mentors.”
“Mentors’?” Yakov repeated. “Security?”
“No,” Leahy said. “The adults who take care of the Chosen. They’re all children, between the ages of two and eight. The number is a bit below that right now because--” she paused—“well, it just is.”
“Makes sense,” Yakov said. “Better to have kids than old men like my friend here and I. The future is the young.”
“Why five thousand?” Turcotte asked.
“That’s what Ethos came up with,” Leahy said, “after generating a survival curve with sufficient gene variation. Technically, ten thousand would have been the optimum number, but we also had to factor in the size of the mothership, the amount of space inside and—“
Turcotte interrupted. “How did Mrs. Parrish know how much space w
as inside the mothership?”
“She had access to the Majestic data from Area 51,” Leahy said.
“Right,” Turcotte said. The time when the mothership rested in its cradle inside the cavern of Hangar Two seemed long ago. “How were these kids chosen?”
“Ethos found them,” Leahy said. “Officially, the search was for resilient children from all over the world. Complicated a bit by the fact they have had to be orphans. Or at least that’s what we were told. Whether those gathering the children had such scruples is questionable in my book, given the Parrish’s lack of ethics.”
“What is a resilient child?” Yakov asked.
“Children who are not just survivors,” Leahy said, “but thrivers. That sounds like a cliché, but there are children who can overcome the worst possible circumstances and still succeed. They exhibit similar traits. Competence, confidence, and the ability to cope no matter what the odds.”
“So that’s the future of the human race?” Turcotte asked.
Leahy hesitated, glancing away for a moment. “Yes.”
“What?” Turcotte demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s not important right now,” Leahy said. “There’s a lot going on.”
Turcotte checked the screen. Mars was closer. He remembered all the missions he’d been on, infiltrating at night on a helicopter or in the back of a C-130 rigged to parachute. The infiltration was just the beginning; then came the actual operation. Then the exfiltration. In this case, back to Earth with the ruby sphere if they were successful.
“Can I trust Mrs. Parrish when we get back to Earth?” he asked. “Once she gets the sphere?”
Leahy shrugged. “Trust? Never. But as long as you have the regeneration tube, you have leverage. Don’t give that up until you’re on board the mothership and leaving the Solar System.”
“Will you be on the mothership?” Yakov asked.
“I’m working on that,” Leahy said. “I’ll update you if anything significant occurs.”
The screen went blank.
“She’s got a plan,” Yakov said.
“She said she had one,” Turcotte said. “Her own Strategy. But she’s not very forthcoming with details.” He leaned back in the pilot’s depression, closing his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap. I don’t think there’s going to be much sleep in the next few days.”
“What is the song?” Yakov asked. “’I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead’?”
“’I’m Dead’,” Turcotte corrected. “Funny guy.”
TESLA LAB, DAVIS MOUNTAINS, TEXAS
Alerted that Mrs. Church was on the way to the Facility, Asha had hurriedly left to return.
Leahy walked over to the table holding the project she’d been putting the final touches on: a smaller, more powerful, Tesla coil. It was attached to a Tesla cannon that was pointed straight up, at a shaft in the roof of the cavern. The wire on the coil was silver making it the most expensive Tesla coil ever made. Years of fine-tuning her grandfather’s invention had come to this.
Leahy ran her hands over the toroid, caressing it, forgetting for the moment the larger crisis enveloping the solar system. Pure science. If only she’d had more time. She could have made many of these. So many things not quite done yet.
She removed her hands and walked across the room. She stepped behind a grounded shield. While Tesla had famously promoted his picture sitting in the Colorado Springs lab while his large coil sent bolts of electricity through the air, the reality was that the photo was a fake, a double exposure.
Leahy began to send power to the coil. The air in the lab became charged. She increased the power, watching the gauge. The coil was holding all that power, the only indication a slight shimmer around the toroid on top. A red mark on the top of the gauge indicated the max she’d ever been to get one to contain prior to this. She pushed beyond that. Further.
The shimmer extended six inches, but otherwise the coil held. The power level reached a black mark she’d put there years ago; the goal.
Leahy looked at the flexpad to the right. It showed the top of the mountain above. She hit a button and all that power was released in a single burst of plasma via the cannon up and out. Via the flexpad, Leahy saw the bolt come out the top of the shaft, into the sky. Sensors hidden on the surface recorded the result.
Leahy re-powered the coil, swiftly moving the power to the black mark. Then fired again. And again. After five, she shut the coil down. She left the safety of the shield. Checked the coil.
No degradation in the coil’s efficiency.
She’d perfected one of her grandfather’s greatest legacies: the Tesla cannon. It was different than other weapons developed on Earth in that it fired plasma, one of the four fundamental states of matter, the other three being liquid, gas and solid. Plasma doesn’t exist naturally; it can be manufactured by subjecting a gas to a strong electromagnetic field. In essence, doing the same thing the sun did.
THE FACILITY
Mrs. Parrish looked down on activity inside the Facility through the one-way glass. Electric trucks were lined up along the center road. The first of the Chosen were being loaded, along with their mentors.
“How long?” Mrs. Parrish asked Asha.
“We’ll have the Facility emptied in two hours,” Asha replied. “Shuttling by air to Area 51 will take some time.”
Mrs. Parrish faced Asha. “Why did you tell Maria about her granddaughter?”
Asha met her gaze. “It was the decent thing to do.”
“It was wrong,” Mrs. Parrish said.
“It was human.”
The door opened behind them and Maria entered, immediately sensing the tension. George’s hackles rose. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Mrs. Parrish said. “How did Major Turcotte take the news you sent him?”
“He listened,” Maria said.
“No reaction?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did it sound like he’d already been given the information?” Mrs. Parrish asked. “Perhaps by Leahy?”
“No, ma’am. He asked a few questions for clarification.”
Mrs. Parrish nodded. “It is time for us, Maria, to prepare to relocate to Area 51. Asha, you will remain here until I come back and personally release you. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come,” Mrs. Parrish ordered Maria.
They departed, leaving Asha standing alone, overlooking the rapidly emptying Facility.
‘LIVE AND DIE ON THIS DAY’
CYDONIA, MARS
Nyx stood in front of the regress locker. Labby sat at her side, tail swishing back and forth across the floor.
“Stop it,” Nyx snapped.
The tail moved faster.
Nyx didn’t see how the base’s sub-routine computer could stop her if she overdosed on regress. It could control the atmosphere and air locks, but not her hands. The human ship was very close and she had no idea if the self-destruct would go off when, and if, it landed at the base or if the destruct would wait for the arrival of the Swarm.
Whoever had programmed the destruct had not been specific imparting the details, just the instructions. Nyx doubted such a strange situation had been factored in. Machines had their limitations. Which caused her to glance at Labby.
Nyx shut the drawer.
Humans. The species that defied logic. Which had cost her husband his life.
There were other ways to die.
She considered shooting the Fynbar down with the weapon at the center of the massive solar array. There was more than sufficient power. But what then? The Swarm scouts were not far behind the humans. And behind the scouts would be warships, which would make short work of the entire base; that’s if they didn’t land the warships to reap.
Nyx would rather be dead before that happened. She couldn’t count on the destruct, which would most likely wait until the last second, when the sub-routine computer determined the maximum possible damage could be inflicted on the Swar
m.
Nyx departed the control center for the armory. Between Aspasia’s ill-fated mission to Earth with the talons and the attempt to build the communications array on Mons Olympus there was little left.
Nyx grimaced as she realized the only combat-rated suit she could use was the black of the Kortad, the Airlia police. Reluctantly she sealed herself in it. Drew a sword and spear from a rack. Both were unfamiliar in her hands. She’d received some training in basic, everyone did, but extensive combat training had not been part of the astrobiologist regime.
Which didn’t matter, because her goal was not to fight, but to die.
VICINITY MARS
“One minute.” The time hack came out of the flexpad’s speaker.
Turcotte had coordinated with the commander of the mercenaries in the pod; more accurately, the commander had laid out the plan Mrs. Parrish’s Strategy had concocted. Turcotte would have protested, except the plan made sense and he didn’t have anything better. Thirty minutes ago he’d done a delicate maneuver, turning the Fynbar, allowing the pod to go past, then decelerating as they closed on Mars. After slowing sufficiently, he’d reversed the process and now the Fynbar was once more in the lead.
They were coming in very, very low, skimming above the surface of Mars, to avoid being a target for the solar array weapon. Yakov had likened it to attacking a tank from close in, below what the barrel of the gun could depress to target. Turcotte had considered that wishful thinking. He was struggling to keep the Fynbar, and the pod, from grounding.
