Super World Two

by Lawrence Ambrose

The USSC Commander glanced at President Tomlinson, who nodded. "At top superluminal speed, less than five minutes – most of that time being preparation."

  Jamie rubbed her face. She knew her eyes were bulging in amazement but there wasn't much she could do about that. "You can travel faster than light? Some kind of Star Trek space warp drive?"

  "Ah, yes." The General cleared his throat, receiving another nod from the President. "Something like that."

  "That's amazing," said Jamie. "I'm having trouble understanding how you managed to develop so much advanced technology, especially while keeping it secret."

  "There are rumors, of course. Fortunately, they're the province of conspiracy-spouting nutcases." The President's smile suggested a wink.

  "Right." Jamie wondered what else her nutcase dad was right about.

  "Returning to the subject at hand," said President Tomlinson, "tricking the Elementals into teleporting a MAME into their ship. Wouldn't they be able to tell a bomb from a person?"

  "I'm not sure." The specifics of how much control Brian Loving had over the teleportation "portal" remained unclear to her. "My impression is that they had granted a key to the teleportation device to Brian Loving – that the aliens weren't exercising much oversight there. But then maybe that's because of the Fifth Column."

  "The alien dissenters." President Tomlinson's lips curled around the word "dissenters."

  "Yes, Mrs. President."

  "I'm not married. 'Madam President' or a simple 'Ma'am' will do."

  "Yes, uh, Ma'am."

  "You would be capable, Jamie, of moving a three-ton object?"

  "Yes. The problem would be getting something that size into a house or church and whether it could fit into the teleportation gateway."

  President Tomlinson turned again to the ARD Director. "Jacob, how small and how powerful can you make a MAME?"

  "Most of the size of a Proteus missile is devoted to propulsion and the containment chambers. The antimatter itself weighs only 28 kilograms – around sixty pounds. The antimatter and propulsion chambers are about two tons. Eliminate the propulsion chambers and the weight of the missile itself..." Director Kushner tapped his thin lips, gaze turning inward. "You could condense it to a bomb weighing something less than a ton and measuring perhaps eight by five feet."

  "That could almost fit through a normal door," said the Defense Secretary.

  "And we could reduce it more by eliminating some of the safeguards/redundancy systems."

  "Can you imagine what a 12 gigaton explosion would do in the Las Vegas area?" Professor Whitehead growled.

  "A lot less damage than virtually anywhere else," said Defense Secretary Sanders. "It's basically an oasis in the middle of a huge desert."

  "Certainly, Secretary Sanders, if you overlook Los Angeles – only a few million there – and San Diego, Bakersfield, Phoenix, and dozens if not hundreds of smaller towns in between – "

  "All right, Professor, your point is taken," President Tomlinson snapped. "Yes, it would of course be a very bad thing if a MAME detonated in Las Vegas or anywhere else in the U.S. It would also be a bad thing to kill all the people held in the ship. But if the threat Ms. Shepherd poses is real, we may have no choice but to do bad things. I'm sure I'm stating the obvious when I say we're facing an adversary with far more advanced weaponry than we possess. We'll need to pull out every trick in the book – and a lucky miracle or two – to defeat them."

  "Or, alternatively," said Professor Whitehead, "we could approach them hat in hand and ask politely what we might do to change their minds?"

  Jamie watched the expressions of the President's advisors vary between thoughtful consideration, defensiveness, and disdain. President Tomlinson had arranged her features in a semblance of neutrality.

  "Isn't that how Jamie saved her Earth?" Jerome Whitehead asked. "She got them to change their minds?"

  "I don't recall her going hat in hand," General Akron drawled. "If I recall, they tried to kill the aliens who controlled the 'Death Star.'"

  "But it was their act of mercy which won the aliens over, General."

  "Did your government consider asking the aliens for a meeting, Jamie?" President Tomlinson asked. "Pleading humanity's case?"

  "No. We were afraid that if we revealed we knew about them that they might cut their Noah's Ark project short and destroy us."

  "That would be what I'd be afraid of as well," said Jacob Kushner.

  Another round of thoughtful silence followed.

  "Perhaps we could pursue both strategies," said Vice President Molly Winters. "We ask for a meeting, attempt to engage them, while at the same time having a more aggressive option available."

  "We offer a carrot while holding a stick," President Tomlinson mused, nodding to herself. "The question is, would they give us the time and opportunity to deliver the stick or would they cut us off the moment we asked for a meeting?" She directed her gaze to Jamie. "Are they basically reasonable, as your story suggests? Would they at least give us a hearing? Your gut feeling."

  "I think they would." Jamie hesitated, trying to hold onto a moment of optimism, but her "gut feeling" saying otherwise. "They'd meet with you, but I don't think you could argue them out of this. What could you say that they wouldn't know? Begging for mercy wouldn't work, because this isn't about being merciful."

  "If they're truly reasonable beings," said Professor Whitehead, "surely they'd be open to persuasion?"

  "They might be, but it probably wouldn't be anything obvious – like talking about all your accomplishments and good deeds or whatever. They'd already know your history. It's not about what humanity did, but what they believe it will do."

  "Then you wouldn't recommend trying to talk to them?" asked Vice President Winters. "Just go for the military option?"

  "I wouldn't say that. I'd just say be prepared to take immediate action if they turn you down."

  "We should inform the other world leaders, in my opinion," said Jerome Whitehead. "This should be a world decision, not one country's."

  "You want to have some two-bit dictator from Saudi Arabia or China or a crazed Muslim leader or a Russian oligarch representing humanity?" The President snorted. "The Elementals would probably use their death ray after five seconds in the room with those barbarians. We are the strongest country on this planet, the home of the brave and the free – truth, justice, and the American Way, etcetera. We represent the best of humanity. Who would have a better chance of persuading the aliens?"

  The President's words resonated in Jamie like a chord with some of the right notes that also contained some disturbing dissonances. Jamie had grown up believing that her country was the freest, most prosperous, and just, but here things had taken a turn for the bizarre. Perhaps other nations had gone even further into the abyss? If that were the case, she couldn't see them offering much of an argument for being spared, unless the aliens approved of tyranny and perpetual war.

  The members of the virtual conference responded with mostly non-committal expressions. General Akron coughed quietly into his hand. Professor Whitehead wore a sad but stoical smile.

  "Aside from that," President Tomlinson added, "there's the security issue. The more people involved the more likely someone will slipup and the Elementals will be warned. Our best chance is to keep this 'in house.'"

  "I agree, Madame President," said Defense Secretary Sanders. "Besides, we're the only ones in possession of antimatter weapons and superluminal space craft, among other things. They have nothing to offer us."

  President Tomlinson surveyed the others. "So we ask for a meeting through Brian Loving or go straight to a military strike?"

  "In my opinion," said the Defense Secretary, "we need to talk about this some more – not rush into any decisions. If I had to vote right now, it would be for a strike, plain and simple. Once we talk to the aliens, we've shown our hands and lost the element of surprise. They could respond by shutting down their whole operation and blowing us to kingdom come."

  M
ost of the others nodded and murmured their assent without enthusiasm.

  "All right," said President Tomlinson. "You make a good case, Burt. We'll hold off on that decision. For now, our first order of business is create the smallest but most powerful MAME possible and as swiftly as possible. She turned to the ARD Director Jacob Kushner, who nodded. "No expense or time spared. Full priority."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Once we talk to Brian, the Elementals will know anyway," said Jamie. "Saying that we want a meeting could buy us some time. We have to talk to Brian either way."

  "Understood," said the President. "What do you rate our chances of getting Loving to go along?"

  "Better than convincing the aliens to leave us alone, I'd say."

  "I was hoping, Jamie, that as someone who has already made some headway with him you would act as our agent."

  "You'll probably also need me to get the MAME through the gateway."

  "That was my thought." The President's voice had gone wary.

  "Which I'm willing to do," said Jamie, "on the condition that you immediately defuse the implants and remove them from Zachary and my family."

  President Tomlinson opened her mouth with an expression that suggested a forthcoming curse, but then clamped her lips shut. The Vice President and Secretary of Defense regarded her with worried expressions. The taut lines in Tomlinson's face slowly relaxed and she offered the faintest of nods.

  "Very well," she said.

  Chapter 9

  JAMIE OBSERVED THE IMPLANTS' removal firsthand, decked out in a surgical gown and mask, standing beside Kylee first, followed by Dennis, her dad, and Zachary – all except Zach flown into Denver to have the surgery performed in the prestigious University of Colorado Hospital.

  Jamie watched the camera screen over the doctor's shoulder as well as the snake-like laparoscopic device entering their abdomens – averting her eyes as necessary from the sight of blood – and it all looked copacetic as far as she could tell. The bloody metallic objects they removed appeared legitimate.

  She breathed out great sighs of relief when her daughter and everyone else was resting comfortably in the recovery room set aside for them personally. One massive weight was gone from her shoulders. Now all that remained was the minor issue of saving the rest of humanity.

  Jamie spent the weekend at Dennis and Kylee's, in a kind of summit meeting – a "coalition of the semi-willing," as her dad had put it – featuring everyone in the know, which he'd taken to calling the "Grand Forks Gang." Jamie had reluctantly included Tildie – at first, thinking to keep her out of the government's eye – but the drones circling her home like fixed-wing vultures, the constant clicking on her cell, and the mysterious chattering of her computer when she knew she'd turned it off, all clued her in that the government knew about and was keeping a watchful eye on her. They both assumed the NSA had traced her call to Cal from Tildie's house, and it was all pro forma from there.

  They had a pair of massive barbecues – one at their place and one at Terry, Thomas, and Grandma Mayes'. Tildie bunked with Jamie in Jamie's old room, while Zach stayed with his dad in Grand Forks. Zach had attempted to fill his father in, but the president of North Dakota University would not take him seriously until Jamie sent him and his Lincoln one thousand feet up in her airborne version of a Nantucket Sleigh Ride. Nathan Andrews was also in attendance. Jamie wondered if he'd accepted her invitation because he'd been ordered to – perhaps to spy on them and report back to President Tomlinson et al – or because he genuinely wanted to be there. She guessed both things could be true.

  One person conspicuously missing was Dennis' new love, Haley Lingstrom. Both Dennis and Kylee had been closemouthed about her, but from what Jamie could put together, Haley had grown more and more upset over both Jamie's involvement in their lives and her growing relationship with the U.S. Government. All predictable, but Jamie was surprised at how easily she had surrendered the field – or appeared to have.

  Jamie wasn't quite ready to celebrate. In fact, she wasn't sure she felt like celebrating. After four years without Dennis, a fair amount of scar tissue had built up over her love, and she'd changed in ways that added to that barrier. Her notions of returning to those bucolic days and resuming life as a simple wife and high school teacher had grown fuzzier and less compelling over time. She was a soldier now, and that seemed irrevocable. She wasn't even sure that losing her powers would change that.

  And then there was Zachary. Seeing him in the same space – the same room with Dennis and her friends – had a wrenching effect on her. Unlike the years of scar tissue surrounding her love for Dennis, her feelings were still raw when it came to Zach. And the contrast – his ready wit and humor, edginess, intellect, and haunting good-looks versus Dennis' more modest appearance and homespun charm – raised a big guilty pool of longing in her. Maybe, she thought, it was nothing more than that Zach was new and that they'd never truly had their time together. Jamie reminded herself that this wasn't her Zachary, that he had a girlfriend, but then this wasn't her Dennis, either, and he might very well still have a girlfriend/fiancé, too.

  But way too many things were unresolved – life and death things – to be worried about romance and her long-term future. Yet thoughts of the future and love still squeezed in between those about life and death. She was learning that you couldn't focus on doom and gloom twenty-four hours a day. Inevitably, the small stuff intruded, and she was mostly happy for those brief if sometimes angst-filled intrusions.

  "Looks like no one's going to be donning a super-person cape," Tildie sighed, her mournful eyes traveling over the gathering. Terry Mayes still sat slumped in his high-tech wheelchair, his big brother's words couldn't command, Kevin Clarkson remained autistic, his mother couldn't read thoughts, and her father couldn't dunk a basketball. She'd never been quite sure what Zachary's superpower had been.

  "No," said Jamie. "Doesn't look that way."

  "Then saving the world is all going to come down to you."

  "Me and a few government friends."

  "Some friends. I wonder how friendly they'll be after the alien menace is over."

  "I like your optimism, Tildie." Jamie smiled at her. "I'll gladly deal with them if we accomplish that."

  "Speaking of friends..." She inclined her head to a speck the size of a flea hanging high in the blue sky to the west. "Isn't that an Osprey drone? One missile and it could get us all in one tidy mushroom explosion."

  "That missile wouldn't make it very far."

  Jamie zoomed in on the speck – it was indeed an Osprey drone – and willed it into orbit. A creative variation, she thought, of the many she'd simply vaporized since leaving the meeting at Dugway Proving Ground. A purely symbolic gesture since they probably had a dozen other ways including satellites to keep tabs on her, but it still felt good.

  Cal was getting drubbed on the basketball court by Zachary while Kylee cheered for her grandfather and Dennis looked on with an uncomfortable frown. Cal dribbled in and tried a hook shot. Rejected. He gathered up the ball and drove toward the basket – Zach hanging back a half-step, timing the jump that would surely end in an another blocked shot. Jamie smiled. Maybe not this time. Her father jumped off one foot and Zach rose with him, but instead of rising his usual few inches Cal seemed to find a Julius Erving jet stream and sailed upward and upward while Zach dropped back on the court. Cal managed to contain his amazement well enough to jam the ball through the hoop. Jamie lowered him gently back to earth.

  "Nice assist!" Cal cried, jabbing a finger at her while Zach nodded and smiled with grudging amusement.

  "Sheeit," said Thomas, snatching up the ball. "I can do that without bullshit telekinetics."

  He took a few running steps and uncoiled his muscular body in an explosive leap. The moment he left the ground, Jamie gently stalled his rise, the basketball in his outstretched hand falling a foot short of the rim.

  "It's okay," said Cal. "You came this close, man." He held his hands a few feet apart. />
  Thomas glowered at Jamie. "That's right. Hold the black man down."

  The others laughed – some a bit uncertainly, since Thomas wasn't shy voicing his white exploitation rhetoric – but then a small smile broke through the tall Afro-American's scowl.

  "Thomas!" Granny Mayes called. "Quit showin' off and come help with the barbecue!"

  Terry rolled over in his wheelchair, Kevin Clarkson a step behind.

  "I was really hoping, Mrs. Shepherd, that I could escape this thing," he said. "Not that I ever actually believed it would happen."

  Jamie dipped her head. It was ridiculous to feel guilt over something she had no control over, but she'd also been ridiculous in announcing to everyone that they would be infected by her nanovirus and change into super-people. Looking back, her hubris loomed large – in more ways than one. Her self-proclaimed role of being the savior of the human race was also looking a little threadbare now.

  Jamie headed inside for a cup of coffee. She found Dennis leaning on the front windowsill, watching Zachary and her father resume their game.

  "He was the one, wasn't he?"

  Jamie winced. She had decided to be less than honest about Zachary, saying only that he'd been one of her friends from her world. She'd hoped Dennis would leave it at that, but Zachary was a hard man to ignore.

  "Yes," she said, injecting as much indifference as she could in that word. But Dennis' probing eyes on her didn't waver.

  "I can see why."

  She sensed him working hard to make his own tone casual and unconcerned. Jamie imagined Zachary through his eyes: tall and bold with his ready grin and full head of dark, wavy hair, broad shoulders, narrow waist – the sort of guy you'd see on a romance novel, except Zach was wearing a shirt. But if he hadn't been, she knew, there'd be the stereotypical rock-hard six-pack on prominent display. Dennis' worst nightmare, she thought. The kind of man his former wife might've noticed and even approved of but never entertained any thought of sampling.

  But she had sampled. That had to gnaw at him. Assuming he still cared as his worried eyes implied he did.