“The third possibility is that the Specials have learned to manipulate the containment field and somehow managed to pull the Nimitz into Pot of Gold,” Woolman continued, finishing with a finger drum roll and a nod to Dr. Lee.
“Beginning about two years ago, we began to notice changes in the shape of Pot of Gold’s field. Asymmetrical bulges appeared which we had difficulty containing. Our field loses integrity without symmetry. The asymmetry also increased field porosity, leading to the increase in the number of escapes. That’s why you have been so busy,” Dr. Lee said, finishing with another nervous smile.
“Until the Nimitz disappeared, all indications were that the Specials were probing the containment field, preparing for a mass escape,” Woolman said.
“How many Specials?” Jett asked, feeling the beginning of the slightest adrenaline rush.
“An army of them,” Woolman said. “Based on interviews with survivors there could be as many as three hundred.”
Jett’s heart stepped up its rhythm at the thought of facing three hundred Specials with psi abilities.
“Dealing with that many would be a challenge,” he said.
“Yes,” Woolman agreed, “not to mention keeping it quiet. There’s another problem,” he added, deferring to Dr. Lee.
“We’ve done some work with Specials that were picked up,” Dr. Lee said, again ending with a smile.
Jett knew that very few Specials were captured alive, and most of those were female.
“It seems that once their psi abilities are activated, that trait can be passed on to their offspring.”
He smiled broadly this time, revealing how nervous he was. Jett understood his discomfort; Dr. Lee had just hinted that he and Woolman had been involved in human breeding experiments where it was unlikely that any of the “offspring” were allowed to live past the testing period.
“We’ve been unable to isolate the gene responsible for their psi abilities and cannot suppress either their power or their ability to pass that trait on—short of sterilization,” Dr. Lee said with another nervous smile.
Jett knew the CIA and military had long been interested in psi powers, but only as a weapon they could control. Neither the CIA nor the military would tolerate psi powers spreading uncontrolled through the population, and in truth Jett didn’t relish the idea either. No one without psi abilities would enjoy discovering that there were people one rung above them on the evolutionary ladder.
“We were preparing to handle the threat of a mass escape, but the Nimitz incident makes that problematic,” Woolman said.
“Because of the nuclear weapons,” Jett said.
“Yes, those and more. If the Specials have control of the Nimitz, and ride her back to the world, they will have an arsenal greater than the arsenals of most nations of the world. If the nuclear safeties have been compromised, then we would be dealing with a nuclear power.”
“They could force a stalemate,” Jett said.
“There won’t be a stalemate,” Woolman answered. “We can’t have them getting into the general population.”
“The loss of the Nimitz has been contained for now by keeping its battle group at sea and blacking out most communications, but we can’t keep this secret much longer,” Woolman said.
Jett guessed that there would be five or six thousand crew on the Nimitz, and a couple thousand more in its carrier battle group that knew of the disappearance. They would all have family and friends who they wrote to and called regularly, and it wouldn’t be long before those family members began to worry about their loved ones. He estimated that they might keep the loss of the Nimitz secret for two or three weeks before the communications dam broke; leaks would begin immediately.
“It has been decided that the first course of action is to determine if the Nimitz is in Pot of Gold.”
Jett felt his heart speed up slightly, the tiny adrenaline rush building, and he relished the feeling. Whoever was sent into Pot of Gold would be facing Specials on their own turf.
“Dr. Lee believes he can successfully insert a team into Pot of Gold and retrieve the team members,” Woolman said.
Jett knew there had been attempts to enter Pot of Gold before, with disastrous results. The only survivor had suffered third degree burns over much of his body and lived just long enough to tell of the horrors that had befallen the rest of his team.
“I believe that’s been tried,” Jett said.
Woolman frowned at the breach of security, but was hardly surprised. The agents were a breed apart, and loyal to each other. That loyalty was a prerequisite for survival. Deception was the norm in their work, but they kept few secrets from each other. What one agent knew, others would know.
“There were two incursions, actually,” Dr. Lee said. “Three agents went in the first time and we never heard from them again. The second attempt was seven years ago. One man made it back but was severely burned. He is the only eyewitness to the conditions inside Pot of Gold. He confirmed that Pot of Gold is full of Specials and they’re insane.”
“You haven’t had any success in either shutting down Pot of Gold or getting agents back,” Jett said. “What makes you think you can do it now?”
“We created an aperture to let the teams inside,” Dr. Lee said, “and then opened an exit at the same spot at a predetermined time. Except for the burned agent, no one else made it to the exit point at the predetermined time. This time we have portable hip units that will allow you to pass safely through the field at any time and point you choose. Once you’ve accomplished your mission you can exit Pot of Gold immediately and not have to fight your way back to the exit point.”
The hip units were a significant advantage that the earlier teams didn’t have. Still, there were other concerns.
“Once inside, you’re dealing with Specials on their own turf,” Jett said. “The advantage is all theirs—they know the terrain, they have the built-in weapons.”
Now Dr. Lee flashed a nervous smile and waited for Woolman to explain the rest of the plan.
“We sent our own Special in on the last attempt,” Woolman said.
This was new, and Jett’s heart picked up its pace ever so slightly.
“As we expected, his abilities were magnified inside Pot of Gold, but there were too many Specials for him to deal with. They pounded him senseless and then turned him into a human candle and threw him out when we opened a door.”
“The one who made it out was your Special?” Jett said.
“He’s not dead,” Woolman said. “They burned him as a warning to us.”
Jett’s heart thumped a little faster—he was beginning to feel the way he did when he faced a Special.
“He’s willing to go back,” Woolman said.
“After what they did to him?”
“He’s insane, of course,” Woolman said.
In Jett’s line of work, insanity didn’t necessarily disqualify you.
“If he couldn’t handle them before, what will be different this time?” Jett asked.
“Two things,” Woolman said. “Dr. Lee, tell him about the weapons.”
Dr. Lee took off his glasses and cleaned them with a tissue while he spoke, still smiling. “We learned from the agent who survived that the team’s weapons didn’t work inside Pot of Gold. We know that time is slowed inside and we now believe that certain chemical reactions are impossible. Specifically, rapid reactions.”
“Like the explosive kind necessary for a gun to fire,” Jett said.
“Exactly,” Dr. Lee said. “For a bomb, too. That’s why we have to send a team in. Don’t worry, we have a solution.”
Jett never worried, but he was wondering.
“We’ve developed a weapon powered by compressed gas.”
“Pellet guns?” Jett asked skeptically.
“Not a toy, Mr. Jett.” Dr. Lee said.
He finished with his glasses and put them back on.
“The gas charge doesn’t have the power of gun powder, but we’ve compensate
d by using prefragmented Teflon-coated bullets. The reduction in propellant power is compensated for by improved penetration. You don’t have quite the range and power of a nine millimeter, but in the confined spaces of Pot of Gold the weapons should be sufficient.”
“You said there were two things different about this insertion into Pot of Gold.”
“We have a contact in the Kellum Foundation,” Dr. Lee said, “which specializes in funding nontraditional research—research the National Science Foundation wouldn’t touch. Some of the research has dealt with the paranormal. They recently funded a project that turned up the most powerful Special we’ve ever run across this side of Pot of Gold. He killed several people—psychokinetic, unheard of ability, at least the equal of those in Pot of Gold. Unfortunately, he was killed.”
Dr. Lee’s smile broadened, and Woolman’s fingers began drumming again, telling Jett that the important part of the story was still to come.
“There are several peculiarities surrounding that incident,” Dr. Lee said. “For one, there was a report of a man who was immune to the abilities of the Special. We have eyewitnesses who claim that while others were bowled over like tenpins from the Special’s psychokinetic powers, this man walked right up to the Special and was able to hold him.”
“Immunity to psi forces?” Jett asked.
“The Special’s psychokinetic powers worked on everyone but this one man. Think of it as another kind of talent,” Dr. Lee said.
“He could be useful,” Jett said. “Does he have the necessary skills? Weapons training? Hand-to-hand combat?”
Dr. Lee kept his smile, but looked uncomfortable and deferred to Woolman.
“He has no training,” Woolman said, fingers drumming.
“That’s a limitation,” Jett said.
“It’s worse than that,” Woolman said. “He’s retarded.”
ANITA
Anita was seven and Pollyanaish. Polite, outgoing, cheerful, she was a child even Wes was comfortable with. She wore her brown hair in pigtails and was missing two front teeth, giving her the classic seven-year-old smile. Still, her eyes were dark hollows, telling of her severe sleep disturbance. She sat on the edge of her sofa wearing shorts and a pink tee-shirt with two white rabbits on the front, hands in her lap. Her mother, Shirley Andrews, sat next to Anita. She was a larger version of the daughter, sharing her clear skin, fine facial features, and long, thin arms and legs. Anita’s mother watched Wes, feeling that his coming represented new hope. He felt as if he was raising her hopes under false pretenses.
“Do you like rabbits?” Elizabeth asked.
Nodding her head yes, Anita said, “Bunnies are the softest animal in the whole world and when I get better I’m gonna get one.” Then the little girl looked to her mother, who confirmed the promised rabbit with a nod. “I’ve got bunny hair things, too,” she said, turning her head so they could see her pigtails held with bands that wrapped around pink bunnies. “I’ve got bunny earrings, too, but I can’t get my ears pierced until I’m twelve.”
“Very sensible,” Elizabeth said.
“I can only get one hole in each ear, too,” Anita said.
“I see,” Elizabeth said.
“My friend Keri has her ears pierced.”
“Does she have bunny earrings?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. Just little gold balls.”
“I’m wearing hoops,” Elizabeth said, leaning forward and showing Anita her earrings.
“I think I’m wearing roses,” Monica said. “I can’t remember, though. What are they?” she asked, leaning forward so Anita could see.
“Ooh, little flowers. I like those,” Anita said, “but I like bunnies better.”
Wes sat quietly through the small talk, waiting for Elizabeth and Monica to establish a relationship with the little girl. He knew it was the right approach, but disliked the inefficiency. If he had come alone he would have asked about the dream immediately, and probably frightened the little girl into silence. He had always been all business—efficient and machinelike, generating publications and pulling in grants, always on the cutting edge of neuroscience. Totally left brain, logic and rationality, his interpersonal skills were woefully undeveloped; that made him and Elizabeth an odd couple. The feelings of others were of utmost importance to her, and if a person was comforted or a friend made, it didn’t matter to her if a technical problem went unsolved. In this case, however, helping Anita meant solving a technical problem, and Wes and Elizabeth needed each other. Finally Wes heard them bringing the earring conversation to a close.
“Tell us about the dream,” Monica said.
“I’m on a boat and I can’t get off. I just walk up and down, down and up, up and down. Then I wake up.”
“When you’re on the deck of the ship—you know, outside—what do you see when you look up?” Monica asked.
“Great big cannons,” Anita said.
“Above those, way up in the sky?” Monica said.
Anita turned her head up and closed her eyes.
“Nothing. I don’t see nothing.”
“What do you see when you look over the side of the ship?” Monica asked.
“Nothing,” Anita said. “Just sand.”
“Is there anyone else on the ship?” Monica asked.
“No. Just me.”
“Are there airplanes on this ship?” Elizabeth asked, glancing at Wes.
“Yes, two of them. It’s the kind that has two wings. I forget the name.”
“Biplanes?” Elizabeth suggested, flashing Wes a triumphant smile.
The fact that Anita had seen the airplanes solidified Monica and Elizabeth’s claim that Margi, Wanda, and Anita were dreaming the same dream; but the peculiarity of finding airplanes on a battleship was yet to be explained, and the fact that they were biplanes was yet another oddity.
“I guess so,” Anita said.
“Is there a mirror on the ship?” Elizabeth asked.
Anita paused, looking at her hands in her lap. Then she reached for a pigtail and put the end in her mouth, sucking on it.
“I dunno. Maybe in the bathroom.”
Wes leaned forward. None of the others had mentioned finding a bathroom.
“There was a mirror in the bathroom?” Elizabeth asked.
“I dunno,” Anita said. “Maybe. I can’t see that high.”
“Okay, Anita. You said there was no way off the ship. Have you ever thought of jumping over the side?” Monica asked.
Anita’s mother reached over and took the pigtail out of the little girl’s mouth. Unconsciously, Anita’s right hand put her other pigtail in.
“It’s pretty far,” Anita said.
“It’s only a dream,” Monica said. “You wouldn’t get hurt.”
“If I jump will the dream go away?” Anita wanted to know.
Monica looked to Wes and Elizabeth, then said, “No, but it might help us figure out a way to stop the dream.”
Anita put her head down and said, “I’d be too scared.”
Elizabeth walked over and sat next to her on the sofa. With her arm around Anita’s shoulders, she said, “Would you be too scared if I went with you?”
Anita looked up, hopeful but confused.
“Jump off the ship with me?” Anita said. “You’ll be in my dream?”
“Yes, I’ll jump with you,” Elizabeth said, looking at Wes.
“I don’t know,” Wes started, remembering the disaster that had resulted the last time he integrated multiple minds. Then he saw Anita and her mother staring at him, the mother’s eyes pleading, the little girl’s hopeful look coming from eyes that hadn’t had a normal night’s rest in months.
“All right, we’ll try,” he said.
Elizabeth smiled triumphantly.
With her mother’s permission, Anita spent the night in the university’s sleep lab, wearing a nightgown covered with pink bunnies and one of Wes’s scalp caps while her brain waves were broadcast through fiber optic cables to the computer with the superco
oled processor. At the corner of her eyes were tiny sensors that would pick up muscle contractions indicating eye movement. Len, Wes, and Shamita were at their terminals, Monica looking over Wes’s shoulder. Elizabeth sat on the edge of her cot, scalp cap in place, waiting her turn.
It wasn’t a full mind meld since they needed only to let Anita’s brain dream for both of them, but Wes was nervous, having pushed the envelope of neuroscience before and paid the price for it.
“That’s one tired little girl,” Len said. “Her alpha waves are desynchronizing land we have six cps.”
“Cps?” Monica questioned.
“Cycles per second,” Wes explained. “Alpha waves characterize relaxation. When they slow and desynchronize, you are in light sleep. If Anita follows a normal sleep pattern her brain waves will continue to slow, and then we’ll get sleep spindles—bursts of electrical activity.”
“There we go,” Len said a few minutes later, “our first spindle—fourteen cps.”
Monica left Wes to stand behind Len, who was monitoring Anita while Shamita mapped Elizabeth’s brain.
“I knew I’d interest you eventually,” Len said to Monica.
“Your monitor interests me,” Monica said.
“Yeah. My monitor is bigger than Wes’s.”
“Quiet, you’ll wake Anita,” Shamita scolded.
“I don’t think a bomb would wake that little girl,” Len said, whispering now. “I’ve got fifty percent delta waves at two cps and it looks like she’s cycling back up to light sleep. We should get rapid eye movement any second now.” Then a minute later he said, “I’ve got REM sleep—she’s dreaming.”
Elizabeth lay down, while Wes called up her brain wave pattern, waiting while she settled into a comfortable position. In a minute Len indicated that he had clear physiological readings on both subjects. As usual Shamita took longer, processing more slowly, making fewer errors but using more time.
“Frontal, temporal, parietal, occipital, all clear and nominal,” Shamita said finally.
“Elizabeth, we’re going to put you under now,” Wes told her.
Ship of the Damned Page 8
