Super World

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "You're thinking this could become an arms race, Paul?" he asked.

  "I think that's a done deal, Mr. President," said the Defense Secretary. "Given this artificial 'epidemic' continues. And I believe we must assume it will. General Williams makes an astute point: other countries, particularly non-Western hegemonies such as China and Russia, will not hesitate to exploit this nanovirus. Can you imagine what a hostile country could do with someone possessing, say, the capabilities of Jamie Shepherd? She traveled into space in a matter of seconds. She might just as well have crossed the ocean and eliminated Chaoxiang Zhào and every member of the National People's Congress and the top military officials."

  President Morgan sat forward, appearing more interested than alarmed. "Do we have any clear evidence that she'd be capable of doing that?"

  "No. We don't know what she's capable of. We don't know what any of them are capable of. A critical deficit in our knowledge that needs to be addressed."

  "So far we know there is a large variety of capabilities," said Dr. Locke in response to a look from the President. "Differing not only in type but in degree. We currently know of no one who can match Jamie Shepherd in terms of pure power, but that doesn't mean others might not equal or exceed her physical power or perhaps pose greater threats in other ways."

  "I'm not sure where all this is leading," said the President. "After this meeting, I plan on ordering a halt to all inbound and outbound international flights. That much I'm settled on. But as far as controlling the expansion of this 'contagion' within our own borders, I'm not so sure. That could place us in an inferior position to countries that actually encourage and utilize that expansion. But to do nothing and let this spread seems crazy. Where will it all lead? The extinction of the human race as we know it?"

  Zach wondered if everyone else in the room was reeling inside as much as he was. From the loss of color in the faces around him, he suspected they were. Of course, this was assuming the alien nanotech "viruses" would continue to propagate through the human race. In his experience, disasters rarely if ever played out the way doomsayers predicted, whether they be an Ebola outbreak, a dangerous earthquake fault, a nuclear power plant meltdown, a nuclear exchange, or even global warming. The human race was remarkably resilient and disasters were often over-hyped.

  But this wasn't a natural disaster: this involved an alien technology. No one had yet used the "A word," but he couldn't see how anyone could doubt that now. The fact that scientists like Kelvin Hayashi, surely among the most brilliant people on the planet, were here wringing their hands over the nature of the Object ruled out earthbound technology. DARPA might be working on creating enhanced human soldiers, but this was light-years beyond that.

  "Dr. Hayashi, Dr. Locke, Anne" - President Morgan looked from the two scientists to the CDC Director – "do you see any chance that we can stop the spread of these nano-devices?"

  "I don't know, Mr. President," said the CDC head. "I know something about viruses, but this isn't a virus. One key difference is that we have neither evidence nor any reason that I can see to believe any person will be immune to its effects. Without the possibility of ever achieving natural herd immunity, it will inevitably spread through the population unless we come up with an antidote or vaccine."

  "What Dr. Holloway is saying," Dr. Locke added, "is that absent a vaccine, if we don't eradicate or completely isolate every infected person, the infections will continue. I personally don't see any way we could succeed at either one."

  "What are the chances we'll find an antidote or vaccine?"

  The scientists traded looks.

  "No way of knowing, Sir," said Dr. Locke. "We're working on it, but so far nothing that isn't incredibly toxic has any effect on the nanite-viruses."

  "Maybe instead of fighting the inevitable, we should attempt to harness it," said the Secretary of Defense. "Ask for the cooperation of our citizens. Ask anyone who's showing symptoms or knows of anyone affected to report to FEMA or CDC outreach groups. We could register the infected people and establish a data bank of names."

  "Cross-reference names with observed powers," said the DHS Secretary, rubbing her chin and nodding. "Catalog the powers. That should be doable."

  "You think people would voluntarily report themselves?" President Morgan cocked a skeptical eyebrow.

  Zach sneezed – suddenly and with gale-wind force. Everyone in the room froze. The only motion for several seconds was blinking eyes and twitching facial muscles.

  "I'm hoping that was merely allergies," said President Morgan.

  "Mr. Walters' blood was screened at the local CDC headquarters two hours ago," said CDC Director Anne Holloway. "He's clean."

  But as Zach smiled sheepishly and the tension in the room gradually relaxed, a note of doubt crept in. Yes, his blood tests hadn't detected the presence of the nanites, but then maybe the tests weren't one hundred percent accurate?

  "I agree with the honorable Secretary of Defense and General Williams analyses - as far as it goes," said a bespectacled man with short-cropped grey hair and beard who looked like a university professor, but a roguish glint in his eyes and the ropy muscles and veins in his forearms suggested a man of fortune. "But I wonder if we aren't taking it far enough. Let's assume this artificial virus is unstoppable. Then it becomes a race to the top. The first country that successfully integrates augmented people into the fabric of society wins."

  While the people at the table regarded the man warily, Zach tried to place him. Then he recalled an article in the New York Times about the head of one of the nation's most prestigious think tanks, Ultimate Solutions, a man with mysterious past ties to various intelligence agencies and military operations who had been helping the last three presidents "behind the scenes." The article concluded with the speculation that this man – Zach remembered his name as Zane something or other – might be directly responsible for authoring key policy shifts in the Morgan Administration regarding the Middle East and relations with Putin's Russia.

  "But why not take it further, to the logical conclusion of such a strategy?" the man continued. "Why not simply bite the bullet and accept the gift of augmented powers? It's not as if any evidence that I'm aware of suggests it's anything but benign. What are the possible downsides of such a policy?"

  "Chaos?" the President grumbled. "Anarchy? Each 'augmented person' deciding to do what's best for him or herself."

  "Perhaps." The man beamed at President Morgan as if he were a prize pupil. "That could be one possible consequence. But it seems to me that would follow from a battle to suppress it. If we embrace the changes, on the other hand, then what would prevent us from continuing as a well-ordered, prosperous society with a few added rules and regulations designed to accommodate our new powers?"

  "What do you have in mind, specifically, Zane?"

  "I have few specifics in mind at this point, Mr. President, except perhaps a task force for studying the phenomenon with the possible purpose of creating rules and organizations for dealing with it. If the problem persists, we might consider a government agency dedicated to it."

  "The Augmented People Protection Agency," President Morgan said with a short laugh.

  "Good one, Mr. President."

  President Morgan smiled without amusement.

  "If I may, Mr. President," said DHS Secretary Allen, "I would recommend that we declare a federal emergency in North Dakota. Seal its borders and begin mandatory testing of all residents. FEMA could quarantine those who test positive."

  "Our current testing procedure involves expensive equipment in short supply," said the CDC Director. "We aren't in a position to perform mass field testing."

  Jill Allen appeared unimpressed. "Then lock down the borders and detain anyone exhibiting symptoms. We can't afford to stand by and do nothing."

  "Martial law?" President Morgan said it without inflection.

  "Yes, Sir. I believe the situation fully warrants that." As the President regarded her with a neutral gaze, she added, "We
could say it's in response to a terrible new virus related to outbreaks of violence such as the prison escape."

  "Do we tell the American people what's really going on - about the presumably alien device?" President Morgan asked the room at large.

  "What would it gain us to tell them?" the NSA Director, John Bridges, asked. "Saying we have an alien virus circulating among us could breed mass panic."

  "Can we keep a lid on this?" President Morgan parted his hands in question to the gathering. "Should we make that a priority?"

  "At this point only a handful of civilians know about the Object," the NSA Director stated. "If rumors do begin to spread, it's just another far-fetched conspiracy theory. We could easily supplant it with our own narrative as we've done so many times before."

  The President was nodding, but his expression struck Zach as skeptical. "How do you think the Chinese or Russia would respond to an outbreak, George?"

  The CIA Director, George Rivers, appeared to awaken from a pensive reverie. "Well, sir, they wouldn't tell their citizens the truth, I believe we can be certain about that. They might claim it was engineered by us or that it was an unforeseen mutation of a known virus. I agree absolutely with Paul and Jill that other governments – particularly Russia and China – will exploit any 'augmented people' to the hilt."

  "I think that goes without saying." The President leaned back in his chair, his Mount Rushmore features set in dark reflection. "Dr. Hayashi, let me ask you this. What's first on your wish list of things you believe would advance your research?"

  "My first wish," the physicist replied with a dry smile, "would be to study a willing subject manifesting extreme abilities."

  "And your wish list, Paul?"

  The Defense Secretary responded after a few thoughtful moments: "I would like to recruit the most powerful and potentially dangerous of the infected. People who want to do the right thing but are perhaps confused and troubled by their changes."

  "Someone like Jamie Shepherd?"

  "I would think she'd be an ideal beginning, Sir."

  "It seems she'd be on both your wish lists, then."

  The gazes of most of the room gravitated to Zach. One person – the mysterious "Zane" – was smiling openly. At long last, the pieces started to fall into place about why he was here. He was the only person who'd had friendly contact with Jamie. It seemed a stretch, but he couldn't think of any better reason.

  "Is that why I'm here?" Zach broke the conspiratorial silence. "To be a liaison between you and Jamie Shepherd?"

  A few traded glances and significant ear-tuggings followed before President Morgan cleared his throat.

  "You managed to convince Ms. Shepherd to let you see the device without guns or threats," he said. "The thought was that you might be successful convincing her to cooperate again."

  "She made it clear she wasn't going to be locked up and poked and prodded."

  "Understandable. But I'm sure we can work out something to her satisfaction."

  "She's just one person who's been infected, Mr. President."

  President Morgan's thin smile suggested strained patience. "We have to start somewhere, Mr. Walters."

  Chapter 10

  CAL BELIEVED HE WAS witnessing not only his demise as a starting Timberwolves guard but more importantly the death of professional basketball. Maybe professional sports of all kinds. He'd first glimpsed the end in a running leap from far beyond the free throw lane by the Timberwolves' six-two Larone Gilliam, who had been at best an average leaper by NBA standards. Now his team, many of which had come down with the flu and colds since Cal's arrival, abounded with leapers and sprinters who dive-bombed the basket as if it were eight feet tall and raced the court like rabid rabbit-chasing greyhounds.

  The Minnesota Timberwolves were now a team that could blast through the season with little danger of defeat – at least the first part of the season before the other teams caught what they had – and would destroy the current champions if they played now. Destroy any champion from any era.

  But any doubts Cal had about foreseeing the end of his beloved sport were dashed when in the third and final game three members of the Chinese team started exhibiting abnormal hops and reflexes. First center Xian Lee leaped up so high to block a shot that his head reached the top of the backboard – the ball hitting him squarely in the chest. Then Li Wei, a six-seven forward, hovered in the air for far too long, waiting until his defenders dropped back to the floor before tomahawking the ball through the hoop.

  From that point it was "deuces wild," "helter skelter," "anything goes" - Cal was as much at a loss to describe the give and take of superhuman athletes as the referees scrambled to officiate them. They made it to the half before Chinese soldiers entered their locker rooms and informed them there would be no more play. Shortly after that more soldiers showed up and escorted them out of the arena to a holding cell in downtown Peking.

  Locked together in a squalid jail cell under the scrutiny of stone-faced guards that looked to Cal like the bad guys in a Bruce Lee movie, Coach Herbert Milner turned his jowly countenance and dark-circled eyes – now resembling deep pools of stagnant water – to Cal Winters.

  "In the famous words that Desi Arnaz never actually said," he growled, "Calvin, I believe you have some esplainin to do."

  "MY BROTHER has officially gone insane," said Terry Mayes.

  Kevin smiled. It was good to get away from his mom – the constant management of the space between them – but it was a case of jumping from the frying pan into the fire, because Terry's life was even more miserable than his.

  "He wants to rule the world," Terry groaned. "He really believes he can order people one person at a time until everyone – well, almost everyone – is his personal slave."

  "Seems kind of ironic considering how he was always complaining about modern-day slavery."

  "Slightly." Terry snorted. "But I don't think he gets the irony."

  They gazed down at the crinkling corn fields from the small grassy summit on the north edge of the Mayes' land. It was a place Kevin had wheeled his friend up to on more than a few occasions. Something about looking down on the world, even from such a modest height, seemed to cheer him. Kevin had liked the view as well.

  "He wants me to join him," said Terry. "He wants all the so-called 'Special People' to come together to 'fight the man.' With him as the unquestioned leader."

  "How is that working for him?"

  "He has, like, a dozen beautiful women hanging on his arms. He's like some black ghetto pimp Austin Powers."

  Kevin laughed. "I wish I could convince even one girl to go out with me."

  "Why couldn't you? You're tall and handsome and now you're even charming."

  Kevin's smile had grown sparse. "You'd think my success would be assured."

  Neither spoke for a minute or two. Below, Thomas Sr. was mowing the lawn – not on his rider mower, as was his custom, but with a push mower. He crisscrossed the lawn like a sprinter in a race.

  "He has it, too, doesn't he?" Kevin asked. "The 'super virus'?"

  Terry gave him a solemn nod. "So does my grandmother. Dad told me a few days ago that he was in the operating room and the patient's vitals were 'going south,' but then he 'saw how everything fit together,' and he brought her back."

  "With his mind?"

  "I'm not sure. He wasn't, either. It sounded something like what I did with Jamie's dad, Cal, but I couldn't see how it all fit together. It was more sensing things and moving energy signatures until they aligned."

  "What about your grandmother?"

  "She thinks she can talk to an angel." Terry rolled his eyes.

  "Ha. So what does the angel say?"

  "She – it is a she, according to my grandmother – says basically, don't believe the gospel of the Last Days movement."

  "That just sounds like common sense."

  "She also says that the object was sent to give us the power to resist the powers of Satan."

  "That sort of makes
sense. The idea of preparing us for something, I mean."

  Terry eyed his friend. "So what's your power?"

  "What makes you think I have one?"

  "I can tell you're holding out on me."

  Kevin didn't answer right away. Below, Thomas Mayes Senior was in a weed-eating frenzy along the fringes of the front yard.

  "I know this is going to sound strange, but the only thing I've noticed is that I understand why people do things. I know when they're lying or being deceptive and why they are."

  "Mind-reading like your mom?"

  Kevin shook his head. "My mom reads minds but I don't think she necessarily understands them. I feel like I can, though I can't directly read minds. Of course it could be an illusion. But it's all I've noticed that's different."

  "Interesting. If that's true, you'd know if I'm hiding something."

  "True. I even knew that you knew that I wasn't telling you something." Kevin smiled. "I just thought I'd wait for you to ask."

  "Okay. So am I hiding something?"

  "When you talked about your healing Cal, I heard that you can do more – something related but different."

  "Yeah. Good one. It's machines." His eyes assumed a faraway look. "I can see how they work. I can see them working in real-time – their weaknesses, problems, rightness and wrongness of them. Like this morning, the push mower wouldn't start. I saw the missing arc of energy and what was causing it."

  "Spark plug?"

  "No. Ignition coil. Not that I know the names. I just know the part and what it does."

  "It's kind of like that with me. I just get why people do what they do while they're doing it. It's not easy to put into words, though. It doesn't come with an instruction manual or dictionary of terms."

  "You and your mom could be the world's greatest therapists, dude. Your mom hears the thoughts and you say what they all mean."