by Cara Bristol
The disc may have been intercepted by someone. Programming could have piggybacked onto the holo message, Carter said.
Like a Trojan horse, Brock said. Primitive.
But, in this case, effective.
In the infancy of the computer age, hackers emailed malware disguised as legitimate software. When the program was opened, the hacker gained remote access to the user’s computer. If Beth had opened an infected message, which had sent a signal… Examine both holosticks again, Carter instructed.
Will do, Brock said.
“Here goes,” Illumina said. “I’m deleting the code now.”
New sequences of ones and zeroes flowed across the monitor 001 001 110 011 001 111 001…Then, like the numbers were gobbled up, they began to disappear until every last digit vanished, leaving a blank blue screen.
“Done,” Illumina said.
Carter exhaled his relief.
Swain spoke aloud, “I should have the nanophage completed—”
Beth let out a gasp, a harsh wheezing sound.
“Oh shit!” Swain swore.
“What’s going on—” Carter demanded. “What is that?”
Numbers flashed across the screen in an angry march.
“It’s the destruct sequence. It’s been activated!” Swain said. Beth’s mouth gaped trying to suck air as her body thrashed on the bed. “She can’t breathe. The programming is preventing oxygen from getting to her blood. The destruct code is suffocating her…”
Illumina’s eyes flew open. The Faria began to gasp.
“Do something!” Carter shouted. Beth’s face was turning blue, and Illumina had grayed.
“I am,” Swain said. A robotic arm sprang out of the wall and delivered an injection into Beth’s neck. “Oxygen replacement. Direct to the bloodstream.”
“Illumina, get out,” Carter ordered, his heart shattering. He was losing Beth, but he couldn’t let the Faria die with her.
“No,” the Faria gasped. She’d lost luminosity, her skin and hair dulling from silver to ash. “I…will…finish.”
“Get out. That’s an order!”
Another robotic arm emerged, and, this time, injected Illumina.
A zero flipped to a one. Then another reversal. A one to a zero. The string of numbers altered a digit at a time, as if Illumina had to change each one individually.
Too slow! It’s too damn slow. Beth, and Illumina herself, could die before the Faria finished. Hurry! Hurry!
Blue tinged Beth’s contorted face. Still under sedation, she was oblivious to the life-and-death struggle. Her body thrashed. Harsh, wheezing, pain-filled gasps emerged from her throat. The medibot shifted between the two women, continuing to pump with them with oxygen.
More numbers flipped, faster now. Beth’s labored respiration calmed, becoming more productive, allowing her to draw air into her starved lungs. The blueness receded to a healthier tone.
Illumina’s glow began to return. Grayness silvered again, and her gasps gentled into steady breaths. “I think…I think… I’ve got it.”
The last of the numbers switched over then the entire sequence flashed and blanked out.
Beth released a shuddering sigh, and her chest expanded and released. Her face relaxed into the serene countenance of sleep.
Carter held his breath. His heart pounded.
Illumina opened her eyes. “It’s done. A redundancy was built in. A backup destruct sequence activated when the coding was deleted, but the chip is harmless now.”
“Good work,” Carter said. “Thank you.” She’d disobeyed a direct order, but how could he take her to task for saving Beth’s life? Especially when any of his cyborgs would have done the same. When he would have. He would have died before giving up. “Thank you.”
“Let’s not take any chances,” Swain said. “I’m giving Beth the nanophage serum now.” The robotic arm delivered two injections.
Swain called up the screen with the image of the now-inert chip and zoomed out to show the brain tissue around it. In seconds, nanophages converged on the spot. They looked like vibrating grains of sand as they surrounded the target. Attacked by the nanophages, the chip continued to shrink until it disappeared altogether. The microbots dispersed.
“What will happen to them?” Carter asked.
“They’ll become inert in a day or two, filter through the kidneys, and her body will eliminate them.” Swain retracted the pod’s transparent cover.
Carter brushed Beth’s damp hair away from her face and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “It’s all over. You’ll never have to worry again.” He lifted his head and met Swain’s gaze. “How long before she comes out of sedation?”
“About an hour.”
“I need to leave.” He hated to go, but the safety of the galaxy demanded it. Others, just like Beth, were in danger. “Tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Of course,” Swain replied. “I’ll get to work on a serum to eradicate the chips in one step. How many vials will we need?”
“Three hundred fifty,” Carter said. That’s how many sleeper clones were on the list.
“More,” Illumina disagreed. “Two hundred-plus more. Besides the sleepers we know about, another 226 clones are gestating at Clo-Ventures. We have to assume some of them—maybe all of them—have been implanted.”
“There’s your number—576,” Carter said.
He pressed one last kiss to Beth’s cheek. “Bye, honey. I love you. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Someone was humming. The song had no words that she knew of, but the deep, masculine voice was pleasant and familiar, although she couldn’t place it. The soothing tone, and the warmth and comfort suffusing her tempted her to sleep again.
“Do you have to sing?” complained a rougher voice she recognized immediately. Beth lurched to full awareness. Her eyes flew open to see Brock and Dr. Swain. No Carter.
The doctor stopped humming. “Sleeping beauty awakes!” he boomed.
“Did it work? Is the chip gone?” She sat up. Where was Carter? Her heart contracted with a sharp pang of hurt. She had ruined what they had. It hadn’t been her fault, but she couldn’t blame him. How would she expect him to react when she’d tried to kill him? Still, he’d said he would stay. He might not love her anymore, but he stood by his promises.
“It’s gone.” Swain smiled, and Brock did, too.
“So, I’m going to be okay?”
“Better than okay. Great,” the doctor answered.
She touched her head. “I don’t feel any different.”
“You won’t—only you won’t be acting against your will anymore, and you’ll find that your headaches are gone for good. You were getting neural flashes when the chip’s coding was updated or activated.”
She felt almost giddy with relief, but she had to warn them. “Where’s Carter? He promised he’d be here.”
“He stayed through the entire procedure, but urgent business called him away,” Brock said. “He’ll be back after meeting with Vincere.”
“Benson?” Beth flew off the bed. “No. No. Benson is Lamani!” Oh stars, she’d said it. She could say the name. “Lamani. Benson is Lamani!”
Disbelief scribbled on their faces, Brock and Swain glanced at each other then back at her. “What makes you say that?” Brock said.
“He told me! On his ship!” She brushed a frantic hand over her forehead. “Surgery made him look Terran so he could become secretary general of the AOP and give Lamis-Odg everything they want. He plans to lead the negotiations—with himself.”
“Those are serious allegations,” Brock said. “Lamani is the worst terrorist to arise in a millennium. Compared to him, Hitler, ISIS, and the Taliban look like humanitarians. It’s no secret Carter opposes Vincere leading the AOP, but the secretary general is one of the most respected, powerful men in the galaxy,
and he has an exemplary reputation for fairmindedness and compassion.”
“Don’t you see? It’s part of his plot!”
“Vincere is Terran,” Swain said. “Lamani is Odgidian. They’re instantly recognizable by the thick ridges around their foreheads and temples.”
“He underwent reconstructive surgery,” she repeated. Why wouldn’t they believe her? As cyborgs, they of all people should understand.
Brock folded his arms. “Other than what Vincere supposedly told you, do you have any evidence?”
“Why isn’t what he told me evidence?” She waved in agitation. “Please, tell Carter…”
“I’m not doubting you, but—”
“You are doubting me! If you believed me, you’d contact him right now.”
“We can’t accuse an innocent, well-respected man of galactic repute of being the worst terrorist who ever lived.”
“But you can endanger Carter’s life? He’s there alone meeting with Benson, isn’t he?”
“He’s a cyborg.”
While she wasted time arguing, Carter could be dying. Well, if nobody would help him, she would! She charged for the exit.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Brock grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“Let me go!” She tried to wrench from his grasp, but he was too strong. She aimed a punch to get him to release her, but he dodged the blow.
“Stop it! You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Carter is with Lamani. He’ll be killed. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because it’s ridiculous!” Brock retorted.
She’d screwed up. She should have acted compliant and calm, found a PerComm, and messaged him herself. The chance had been lost. Brock released her wrists but planted himself between her and the exit and glared at Swain in such a way that she realized they were exchanging messages.
“If you two can communicate mentally, then you can contact Carter.” She looked at Swain. Could he be an ally? Maybe he would send a message.
“Give us something,” Brock said. “Some kind of proof. Any kind at all. A message…inside information only Lamani would know—”
“Oh, well, how about DNA?” she flung out sarcastically.
“You have that?” Swain asked.
“Of course, I don—” She froze, remembering Lamani taunting her on the ship. Maybe… “Do you still have the clothes I was wearing when you found me on Lamani’s shuttle? He spit on me when he was talking to me. You can analyze saliva, right? You can compare Benson’s DNA to Lamani’s.
Brock sighed. “Vincere’s genetic signature was entered in the database when he assumed the position of secretary general. And, we do have Lamani’s DNA. Cy-Ops extrapolated it from samples we took from the two adult sons we captured—sons, I might add, who are Vincere’s age. He couldn’t possibly be their father.”
“He had surgery! If they can make him look human, they can make him look twenty years younger.”
“I know for a fact Vincere is not Lamani. The DNA samples on record aren’t even close.”
“How do you know? You never compared them!”
“I’m looking at them now.” Brock tapped his temple. “I pulled them up from the database. I’m sorry. You were under the influence of the coding when you were on Vincere’s ship. You must have misunderstood what he said.” If he said it at all. She read the doubt in his expression.
“Contact Carter, please. You don’t have to believe me to tell him what I said!”
“Carter has a lot to handle right now. I’m not going to interrupt him with this.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Thank the stars! You’re not dead!” Vincere clasped Carter’s shoulder and pumped his hand warmly. “I couldn’t believe it when my aide said you were waiting to see me.”
Carter twisted his mouth wryly. “The report of my death was an exaggeration.”
Vincere shook his head. “It’s such a relief to see you alive and well, but how is that possible? Beth’s blaster had been set to full power.”
“Blaster malfunction,” he lied. He intended to brief the secretary general about Cy-Ops, inasmuch as the situation required, but a need-to-know prevailed. Cy-Ops had, and always would have, secrets.
“How is she?” Vincere inquired with a concerned expression and tone.
“Better, much better.” He wished he was still sitting by her side. He’d promised to be there.
“Wonderful news. Has she become more lucid then? She seemed like such a competent young woman. It’s such a shame to see her mind snap.”
“She didn’t snap. She was always lucid.” Guilt sharpened his tone. He’d thought the worst of her until the truth was proven to him.
“You’re right, of course. I guess it’s Terran nature to default to insanity in an attempt to explain cold-blooded attempted murder. All of us are quite shaken by what happened at the Summit. We’ve increased security at the AOP.”
“I noticed.” Instead of smiling friendly greeters, armed guards with lethal expressions patrolled the lobby of the AOP Towers and its vertical transporters. Several more protected access points to the secretary general’s floor. He’d bet the assistant who’d informed Vincere of his visit, and who now stood at attention with a second aide, were bodyguards. The men looked enough alike to be brothers with similar broad foreheads, deep-set eyes, and matching stony expressions. The PerComms they gripped probably weren’t communication devices, either.
“Your security team confiscated my blaster,” Carter said. Weapons had always been banned at the AOP, but, until now, exceptions had been allowed for military personnel, policing authorities, and Aym-Sec.
“A necessary precaution. Your weapon will be returned when you leave. I hope you understand,” Vincere said.
“Of course.” It was high time the AOP got serious about security. He flexed his wrist. He didn’t often wear a wrist comm, and it felt heavy and awkward.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Vincere asked. “Do you have a specific agenda you wish to discuss or…”
“I do.” He glanced at the two aides. “If we may speak privately…”
Vincere gave an abrupt nod to the aides and motioned for Carter to enter his office. “After you.”
A conference table for twenty people dominated the large chamber, but Carter’s attention riveted on the art. A collage of images from dozens of planets covered one wall: Terra’s towering Galactic Trade Center; the pink fields and lavender sky of Xenia; multi-eyed trees from Arcania; a pool of goo on Limus, the home world of the slime crawler race. Odd and beautiful, striking and surreal, the images captured the galaxy’s rich diversity. While his human mind appreciated the breathtaking still vids, his cyborg brain analyzed the composition, size, and placement of the images.
“I wish I had the space to include every planet in the galaxy. Each one has something to recommend it,” Vincere commented. “I personally chose each image.”
He’d guessed. The display had Vincere written all over it, reflecting his egalitarian live-and-let-live philosophy by the inclusion of nonAOP member images like the forest and acid pools of DeltaNu 9084, the dense jungle of Katnia, the blue mountains of Malodonia, and the undulating sand dunes of Lamis-Odg. His microprocessor parsed and catalogued data, while he worked out how best to present his information and request assistance.
“Shall we sit?” Vincere gestured to the conference table, and they took seats across from each other. “I feel so bad about Beth. Will the authorities allow me to visit her?”
“You can see her anytime,” he said. “She’s no longer in custody. She was exonerated.”
“Exonerated? Wouldn’t she still be charged for attempted murder?”
“She had no intent to commit murder. Her actions were coerced.” His gaze flicked to the mural, his cyborg brain finding symmetry and pattern among artful chaos, before shifting his attention back to the secretary general to see him curl his lip and deliv
er three staccato taps to his wrist comm.
“Business intrudes. My apologies for my rudeness,” Vincere said with a sheepish expression. “You wanted to speak to me. Please proceed.” He laced his fingers, drawing Carter’s attention to his smooth, unblemished hands, the fingernails as manicured and polished as his manner.
Cyber Operations required as much intelligence as muscle power, but it still was a very physical job, and the backs and palms of Carter’s hands bore the scars and roughness of his missions. Nanos couldn’t keep up with the repair. Beth’s hands were soft, delicate, her fingers long and slender. He recalled her agitation, the way she scribbled and scrubbed on the table during the interrogation.
He raised his gaze to Vincere’s face. “Were you aware Cornelius was a clone?”
His eyebrows arched. “Why, no, I wasn’t, but why would that matter?”
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t violate an individual’s privacy, but exigent circumstances require some information sharing. Beth is also a clone. She and Cornelius were birthed at the same cloning company, Clo-Ventures.”
“Go on.” Vincere motioned and refolded his perfect hands.
Carter’s microprocessor replayed the visual of Beth’s interrogation and searched for a pattern in the chaos. “Benson is…Benson…is…” Wrists bound, she scribbled frantically on the desk. He zoomed in for a close-up of her fingers. Within his mind’s eye, the kaleidoscope stopped shifting to reveal a sharp clear picture.
Mother.
Fucker.
Every naïve, stupid, moronic AOP policy and decision suddenly made perfect, ingenious, brilliant, strategic sense.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. A message from Brock marked PriCom-1, the highest alert, streamed into his head.
Vincere is Lamani, Brock said.
I know. Carter shot back.
L-A-M-A-N-I, Beth had written on the table, frantically trying to warn him.
He glanced at the still vid display. Within the collage, Lamis-Odg had been placed dead center around which the imperceptibly smaller images spiraled like planets in orbit around a star. With boldness and arrogance, Vincere’s identity and intention were written on his wall: Lamis-Odg would rule over the other planets.
