by S. L. Dunn
He collided with it like a missile.
Vengelis’s head and shoulders penetrated straight through the steel of the plane’s nose and tore through the entire length of the fuselage. There was a momentary sound of shrieking and sundering steel, and then his body shot out of the tail. As he tunneled through the length of the jet, his body tore the fuel cells open. They ignited at the same moment he pulled out, and the entire jet burst into an incendiary fireball in his immediate wake.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Vengelis flew straight from the exploding jetliner toward Darien and Hoff. They were both wide-eyed, their faces frozen in a mingling of awe and apprehension.
“That was . . . unbelievable!” Hoff shouted. He brought his hands together and began clapping.
Vengelis closed in on the Lord General and cracked him in the face with a ruthless backhand. Hoff launched backward into open air. Vengelis then turned and charged Darien, directing a brutal knee straight into his gut. Hoff clutched his nose as it started dripping a snotty blood, and Darien lurched over in woozy agony. They both floated unsteadily in the air.
“Do you have no sense of the gravity of our situation? You just gave those pilots all the time in the world to get a transmission off. What do you think was the content of their transmission? They were shouting back to their base about people flying outside their windows and tearing the plane apart with bare hands! What part did you not understand when I said I wanted our presence to go unnoticed?”
“I’m sorry,” Hoff’s voice was nasally, his hand held over his dripping nose.
Darien simply shook his head, doubled over in pain.
Vengelis looked past his feet and watched as the distant fiery wreckage fell through the open sky far below. A vision of Eve and his mother’s Royal Transport, smoldering and bursting in half against the backdrop of a burning Sejeroreich, flashed through his mind. He shook the image from his head and cursed before turning his attention to the two soldiers.
“It’s time we go our separate ways.” Vengelis reached into his armor and took out his remote control to the Harbinger I. All three of them had each taken one of the remotes before they left the ship concealed on the side of the mountain to the north. Each remote functioned as everything from a long-distance radio transmitter to a direct controller of the Harbinger I. “You two will wait until my command to make our presence known. My guess is they will panic and order the larger populations to evacuate their cities once they find out about our presence. Before that happens I want to have the scientists gathered.” Vengelis looked to the south. “I am going to head to the city to meet these scientists. While I’m doing that, find another city worthy of our spectacle. I will use your assault as leverage against their resistance to my demands.”
“Which way should we go?” Darien asked, turning around and looking from horizon to horizon uncertainly.
“I don’t care where you go, just seek out the most condensed population you can find. Let me know when you find such a place. And be ready to display our power. But before that, you do nothing—nothing—without my order.”
“Very well. We’ll go that way,” Hoff said, looking up from his own Harbinger I remote and pointing across the lands to the west.
“Keep your heads on your shoulders,” Vengelis said. With a last look downward at the diminishing fireball and growing tower of black smoke far below their feet, Vengelis accelerated southward and away from his two subordinates without another word.
Chapter Seventeen
Kristen
The side of her face resting against a bunched up pillow, Kristen watched the bedside clock approach eight o’clock. She reached out and turned off the alarm just before the apartment filled with its noise. Kristen rolled onto her back and stared quietly at the ceiling. Ryan was snoring faintly beside her, and cool morning light peered through the window. Whether it had been trepidation about what lay ahead for her that day or the sharing of her bed with another, Kristen had tossed and turned all night.
Yet it was amid the throes of her restlessness that she came to her decision, and now in the pale light of morning she was all the more certain of her choice. The Vatruvian mice could not be kept a secret among a few people. She would tell the convention of the breakthrough, and willfully accept the fallout of her treason.
For a few minutes Kristen lay quietly and listened to Ryan’s rhythmic breath. She decided to let him sleep. With a protracted sigh she rolled out of bed and walked over to the window, the old hardwood floor cold underfoot. She placed her palm against the chilly window, and the glass around her fingers fogged from the touch. The street below was busy with people scrambling to the nearby subway station. Something about the morning rush comforted her as she watched. She walked to the bathroom and twisted the knob to the shower. The reflection that looked back at her was tired and overworked, her hair disheveled. It was not the face of someone prepared to present a lecture to a crowded convention. She allowed herself an extra long and relaxing shower, took her time running a brush through her hair, and pulled on some clothes from her dresser.
Hair still damp, Kristen sat down next to Ryan on the bed and placed a hand lightly on his chest. He placidly stirred awake. “Hey.” His voice was raspy with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Early. Before nine.” Kristen smiled down at him.
“Oh.” Ryan groggily rose to his elbows, the sheet pulling across his chest. “I guess I should probably get going.”
“No rush. I don’t have to be in Midtown for a couple hours. I was thinking about getting some breakfast if you wanted to join me.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. Kristen held his gaze for a time, and he inclined his head. “What is it?”
“I decided that I’m going to breach the nondisclosure contract,” Kristen said with a composed defiance. “I don’t want to be an accomplice to something I don’t agree with.”
“Good. I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Mice.”
Ryan sat up and stared at her in bewilderment. “What?”
Kristen nodded grimly.
“I don’t understand, what does that mean?”
“Professor Vatruvia has created mice using the Vatruvian cell.” Kristen almost brought herself to laugh at the hopelessness of her circumstances. “He made artificial mammals using the technology I helped create.”
Ryan stared at her, unable to speak. Kristen ran her fingers through her hair and nodded significantly.
“Mice?”
“Yep. Little mottled mice that are currently scurrying around in cages at the labs,” Kristen said. “Each one of them one hundred percent synthetic. And if I were willing to place a bet on the idiocy of people, I would gamble that an equal percentage of the public will applaud it as amazing—as opposed to thinking it’s potentially the most dangerous thing ever created.”
Ryan reached to the floor and picked up his tee shirt. He pulled it over his head, his expression adrift. “Mice . . . how is that possible?”
“It was easy, in a way,” Kristen said regretfully. “Once the first Vatruvian cell functioned, I knew it was a possibility. Professor Vatruvia compounded the same replication techniques to a larger scale. So yes, I knew it was feasible. But I never thought anyone would do it so soon. And there’s more . . .”
“By all means,” Ryan said, beginning to look nervous himself. “I almost don’t want to believe it.”
“Believe it. But beyond the mice, one of my coworkers found a disturbing trait of Vatruvian cells. It’s a trait that I’m beginning to think Professor Vatruvia knew about since the beginning of our research. Evidently Vatruvian cells are stronger than the original cells they replicate.”
“So these mice we’re talking about,” Ryan said. “These mice are . . . stronger . . . than normal mice?”
Kristen shrugged her shoulders and lay beside him. “I don’t know. Professor Vatruvia got really guarded about the whole thing when he saw my reaction to the mice. I can’t imagine he’ll tell me anyt
hing more about them now that he’s seen my reservations. But there it is, I guess. I’ve officially broken my nondisclosure agreement, starting with you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Ryan said in disbelief. “You need to pass this on. The knowledge of something like this is way too big for one person. If I were you I’d tell every media outlet and regulatory agency that’s willing to listen. Professor Vatruvia has clearly lost touch.”
“That’s the plan. Will you come to the convention today?” Kristen asked. “I’m going to need support when this whole goddamn thing comes crashing down around me.”
“Of course,” Ryan said.
Kristen smiled with reassurance despite the weariness behind her eyes. He was the only ally she needed. “Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
A stunning fall day greeted them as they stepped out of her apartment building. The air was crisp, with a hint of breeze, and only a few wandering clouds scattered the brilliant blue sky. Deciding against one of the campus cafeterias, they walked at a gentle pace up the avenue toward a bagel shop. Her spirits lifted by the finality of her decision, Kristen told him every last detail she could recall. She described the mice and their bluish eyes. She told him of Cara Williams and her stress tests of the cells—the Vatruvian cells surviving in temperatures that killed their biological counterparts.
The morning rush appeared to have already petered out as they walked into the bagel shop. There were only a spattering of customers in the booths and a small line at the register. Kristen bought coffee and bagels, and they took a seat at an empty table in the back.
“It’s strange,” Ryan said as he sat down and stirred milk into his coffee. “I’ve never heard of a technology like this Vatruvian cell. Synthetic cells and so on.”
Kristen stared at him with a penetrating dubiousness. “No kidding, we’re just past the cusp of creating it.”
“Yeah, true. It’s scaring the hell out of me. I really think you’re doing the right thing. How do you plan on getting the word out at the convention?”
“I suppose at the end of my presentation I’ll include an announcement that we’ve surpassed single-celled organisms and launched into creating mammals in one single year of research.”
Ryan smirked. “I can’t wait to see how that goes over.”
“It won’t be pretty,” Kristen said. She was midway through a gulp of coffee when she saw one of the workers behind the register waving for her attention.
“Would you mind turning up the volume on that TV beside you?” the worker called over to them.
There was an old chunky television mounted on the wall above their booth. Looking up at the screen, she at once understood his request. Kristen stood and turned the volume all the way up. The headline on the local tri-state news broadcast read: JETLINER CRASHES IN ALBANY MINUTES AGO.
An anchorwoman in a purple blouse was talking frantically from a street corner as indistinguishable charred wreckage smoked and burned several hundred yards behind her. Emergency crews and first responders were running around by the dozens in the background.
“We are just getting word that the plane came down in three parts,” the anchorwoman said. “Three separate sections. The fuselage appears to have crashed in one piece here in this neighborhood in Albany. There are reports that the turbines landed in surrounding towns. I am being told the jetliner caught fire during its descent. A number of buildings behind me were crushed by the impact. We have yet to receive any information on whether people were inside the destroyed houses. We can only hope they were empty. An onlooker here in Albany managed to capture the crash on video.”
As she spoke, the video feed of the news broadcast cut to a low pixel recording someone captured on a camera phone. Against the clear sky, a burning mass plummeted through the open air. Three of four people in the video were screaming in dismay as they watched it unfold before their eyes. The falling jetliner in the grainy image looked more like a fuming and blazing meteor than a passenger plane. As it fell against the clear blue backdrop, it belched a trail of black smoke that billowed wide in its wake. Just before it hit the ground, the falling inferno vanished behind the shingled rooftop of a house. The camera shook as a feint boom could be heard from the plane meeting with the ground somewhere out of the recorder’s vantage point.
The newswoman continued, “We have reports that one of the turbines crashed down in the town of Latham and the other turbine landed in Menands. Both towns are north of Albany. The US Air flight eight-thirty-two had taken off without incident from Montreal. It was bound for New York City.”
“Cindy, has any information yet surfaced on what could have caused this accident?” a man with a Windsor-knotted tie asked from the studio desk.
The anchorwoman held a hand over her ear and nodded, listening to his question over the calamity around her. She vehemently shook her head. “Not currently. All we know is that the plane apparently came apart and caught fire. The airline and the FAA have yet to make any official statement, except to recognize that the plane was indeed US Air flight eight-thirty-two—”
“Sorry to interrupt you Cindy, but we have just received a statement from the Department of Homeland Security. Their press secretary has stated it is unlikely that the accident is connected to terrorism. I will repeat: at this point it is unlikely this tragedy was the result of terrorist action.”
“Mother of god.” A worker in a white apron had come over under the pretense of refilling Kristen’s coffee. He took his time to watch the report as he tilted the pot into her mug.
“Yeah.” Kristen nodded. “Awful.”
“Sounds like it got shot down if you ask me.”
Ryan looked up at him with a questioning expression. “I think it’s a little early to suggest that.”
“Think about it. A plane loses radio contact en route to New York? Do you really think they’re going to let a plane that’s gone black come anywhere near the city?”
“True,” Kristen said. “But they didn’t say the plane lost contact.”
“And why would they?” the man swilled the coffee in the pot and watched the television skeptically.
Kristen shrugged and took another bite of the bagel, though her mouth had gone dry and her appetite had vanished from the image of the plane’s fiery descent.
“What would you do if you were the government?” the worker said with a thick Long Island accent. “Even if they did shoot it down, it’s not like they would ever admit it. And if terrorists had actually done it, they probably wouldn’t admit that either. It would cause a panic, you know?”
“That’s a scary line of thought. I don’t think shooting down commercial jetliners is outlined in the homeland security handbook,” Ryan said. “Or covering up terrorist attacks.”
“Maybe.” The worker wiped his hands on his apron. “Can you imagine if it was goddamn terrorists again? I mean, Jesus Christ. I’m glad the government took action if it was. The plane was coming here. I can’t imagine another attack.” He seemed visibly shaken by the idea as the television replayed the descent of the plane again.
Kristen watched the inferno silently and pushed her bagel away. “I can’t imagine it either.” She paused for a moment, considering if the question on her mind was inappropriate. “Were you in the city on nine-eleven?”
“Yeah.” The worker’s response was cold, his tone exact and his eyes still on the broadcast. “I used to be a bike messenger downtown. I was in the crowd watching the smoke of the north tower when the second plane hit. Nightmare.”
Kristen nodded slowly. “That must have been a truly traumatic experience. I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. I’m glad I saw it firsthand. I’ll never forget the way all those innocent people died in the name of who knows goddamn what? Thousands dead because of some convoluted brainwashed bullshit. It’ll stay with me, you know? It won’t just become an old news headline—some dutiful moment of silence. I lived through it. I’ve seen the height of the world’s insanity.”
<
br /> “I think it’ll stay with everyone,” Kristen said, remembering vividly where she was on that September day so many years ago. She had been in a chemistry class with much older kids when the principal had made the first announcement of an attack on the World Trade Center. Neither she, nor any of her classmates grasped the magnitude of it at first. The teacher had wheeled in an old television on a cart, and they watched the news silently from their desks. He had told them to be quiet, because they were watching history. A soft-spoken girl in her lab group had a parent in the twin towers on business. It was a sobering moment when she was quietly ushered out of the classroom. Her expression was numb, vacant, as the principal had walked in and told her to come with him.
The day had been sunny and warm, as fair as any.
It was strange, the little details one recalls. What Kristen remembered of the darkest hours of recent humanity: blue skies and cancelled after-school sports. She was thankful she did not have to witness the carnage firsthand. “It’ll certainly stay with me,” she said quietly.
“That’s good to hear.” The worker lifted his shirtsleeve and showed them a tattoo on his forearm of an American flag set over the words: Never Forget September 11, 2001. He left the sleeve rolled up and looked at Ryan. “You want a refill?”
“I’m all set, thanks,” Ryan said.
“All right, well, take it easy you two.”
“The engines came off in the middle of the flight?” Ryan glared at the burning wreckage of the broadcast as the worker walked back to the counter. “I’ll admit he has a point. That certainly doesn’t sound right.”
Kristen shrugged. “I wish they’d stop replaying the video. Do they realize there are people out there who had family members on that plane? I wish the media would show some respect for once.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “What could cause a plane to come apart at thirty thousand feet?”
“Who knows?”
They watched the broadcast as little more information came in. It seemed as though no one could yet postulate as to what happened to the jetliner. Kristen reluctantly checked the time on her cell phone and sighed. “I should probably be on my way to Midtown.”
