7G

by Debbie Kump

Ellen would be pissed if he ditched her for dinner. Even more so if she found him here at Alyssa’s house. But that concern rapidly lost importance. Unable to rise to his feet, he tumbled forward onto his belly, collapsing in a prone position against the driveway.

  For a split moment, he looked up from his spot, noticing Tucker’s body had grown quiet. Linda lay still beside him, her arm draped over his motionless form.

  They’re dead? he wondered, his heart gripped in fear. Impossible–they were fine just a minute ago!

  But regardless of what caused their demise, Steve knew Alyssa would never forgive him for this. Not in a million years.

  If he even saw her again.

  Steve felt his willpower to endure this kind of agony quickly slip through his grasp. He struggled against the pain, wondering what he ever did to deserve this type of torture.

  Before he could speculate an answer, something in his brain felt like it exploded. His consciousness faded into oblivion as blood pooled around Steve’s face and ears, staining the weathered driveway in a deep red patch.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Coombs Science Center, Southern Florida State University

  The trip to the Bahamas was disastrous. Even under 24-hour care and monitoring, the infant beaked whale in captivity at the Atlantis Hotel faded rapidly. Roy Jackson had pressed Simon to stay longer. But for what? To sit around and watch another helpless victim die?

  On the plane ride home, Simon Greene had begun filing a suit against the United States Navy for presumable damages incurred from an active sonar test of a submarine purported to be in the vicinity before the strandings. But the suit would have to be put on hold temporarily.

  Tonight was his night. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Kristen Weber poked her head in the office door, asking, “You sure you don’t need any help this evening?” Her pale face suggested otherwise; she merely asked as a formality.

  Besides, Simon had been looking forward to this moment since his first whale watching trip that summer in the Gulf of Maine when the mother humpback stared directly at him, her eyes filled with intelligence and understanding. He expected tonight–tapping into the eyesight and hearing of his prized bottlenose dolphin, Allie–to rival that experience in a way none other had done so far. It promised to be far too personal to share with anyone, even his graduate student. There would be ample time for his research team to analyze the results later as they spent the next few months pouring over the data.

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” Simon reassured her. “I’ll see you in the morning so we can discuss the video footage and audio feed, then run it through the new program.”

  A wave of relief passed over Kristen’s face as she closed the door behind her. Poor girl, Simon thought, stroking his salt-and-pepper goatee, perhaps I’ve been working her too hard lately. Simon never intended his penchant for perfection in research to negatively impact his grad students. He’d seen all too many burnouts pass through other departments, spending long hours every weekend for their workaholic mentors. Had he unwittingly become a slave driver as well? So obsessed with the upgrade to 7G that he hadn’t thought about the needs of his own research assistants?

  Well, there’d be plenty of time to change that in the future, Simon decided as he made his final preparations. Only a few minutes remained before the National Conversion. He could analyze his conscience at a later date and make amends where necessary. Perhaps after his research paper was published in the elite Science Journal for his revolutionary breakthroughs in interspecies communication between humans and dolphins.

  As Simon glanced up at the video footage of Allie streaming in across the large television monitor centered in his office, a smug smile flickered across his lips. Although he’d minimized the same video in the upper left corner of his eye DOTS, he wanted to display her image on the large screen as well, just in case he lost video feed in the middle of the Conversion due to some unexpected programming glitch.

  Allie’s undulating body movement appeared normal, even with her modified ear and eye DOTS securely in place. Powered by her muscular caudal peduncle, her tail flukes thrust up and down through the water column. She dove downward, trailing a stream of bubbles in her wake as she sought a dive ring from one of the many toys Simon had scattered in her tank earlier that afternoon. With her mouth turned up in a bottlenose’s characteristic grin, she scooped up a canary yellow ring with her rostrum then casually drifted to the surface, a loud exhalation escaping her blowhole. She playfully tossed the ring ahead of her before chasing after it once more.

  Simon’s eyes flickered to the lime green clock in the upper right corner of his peripheral vision, anxiously watching the seconds tick away. Ten. Nine. Eight. Beads of sweat broke across Simon’s brow, despite the lingering chill of his air-conditioned office. Seven. Six. Five. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with anticipation. Four. Three. Two. Simon closed his eyes. Waiting.

  One.

  Instantly, Simon heard a train of high-frequency clicks directed at a basketball bobbing on the wavy surface of the tank. Without visual confirmation of the object, he sensed it was spherical in shape by the scattering of sound waves off its rounded surface. The reflected sound waves returned, transmitted through Allie’s lower jaw to her inner ear. Much like a hammerhead shark’s unusually shaped head, the asymmetrical arrangement of her teeth provided insight to the precise location of the desired object. The high-pitched sounds returned at shorter intervals as she neared the ball, until halting altogether when contact was made. Opening his eyes in awe, Simon now clearly saw the basketball balanced neatly on the tip of Allie’s rostrum, but from her perspective. Chirps of glee resonated through his ear DOTS as she expressed her enthusiasm for her new toy, now grasped firmly between her conical teeth. Simply amazing, Simon beamed as he watched the orange globe sink, then rise, sink, and rise again as Allie performed her own behavior of dribbling the ball around the perimeter of the tank.

  The research implications for his new software were remarkable. Now scientists all over the world would have the opportunity to study whales and dolphins in their own watery realm firsthand. The unsolved mysteries of the deep diving sperm whales or migrating humpback populations could be easily revealed with this revolutionary application. The International Whaling Commission could use the evidence to finally create a lasting moratorium on commercial whaling. Why, even tourism could prosper–allowing visitors to experience whale watches and aquariums in a whole new interactive aspect. Not only would this bring Simon fame, he imagined, but great wealth. He settled back into his seat, reveling in the sensation of swimming as if he himself had transformed into this phenomenal streamlined creature.

  A sudden loud noise drove Simon straight up in his chair. He clamped his hands over his ears, failing to muffle the excruciating pain within his eardrums. Could this be the echolocation pulse some dolphins used to stun prey? Had he forgotten to account for automatically dampening the wave amplitudes in the event of sudden volume fluctuations? Simon’s head reeled and his ears rang, throbbing uncontrollably. Detecting a slow trickle of moistness seeping from his ears, Simon pulled his hands away, gasping in horror.

  His palms were covered in blood.

  Hearing loss, no doubt, Simon feared. How could he have been so careless? He yanked off the ear DOTS, but it was too late. The sounds from the television monitor had already deadened. Permanently, perhaps.

  But before he could curse his own folly, his eyes begin to twinge, shooting daggers of pain into each cornea. No, he thought, this isn’t due to echolocation. It was something else.

  Simon’s eyes began to twitch at a frenzied pace. He’d seen the eye shakes in some of his students before: compulsive gamers whose eyes darted rapidly as they zoomed from one control to another on their optical keyboards. Was this what it felt like?

  The pain drove deep into his skull. No…it couldn’t be. This was far worse.

  Then it hit him. 7G: The new upgrade.

  Had the pr
ogrammers suddenly boosted 7G’s frequency to compensate for the global community tapping into our telecommunications technology? Had they the foresight to test this increased power on human subjects before releasing it tonight?

  Simon guessed that was a ‘no.’ And now he would suffer from permanent damage as a result of their imprudence.

  Only the pain began to escalate. This isn’t the shakes at all, Simon decided as the pressure inside his skull mounted. More like cerebral hemorrhaging. His thoughts immediately flickered back to the stranded pilot and beaked whales, bleeding from their ears and melons. Then to Allie.

  He looked up at the computer feed. She had stopped swimming.

  Allie.

  If he could get his eye DOTS out in time, there was a chance he could still save her. Desperate, Simon pulled back his eyelids, but the spasms prevented him from gripping the DOTS. Drops of blood splattered onto his desk. “Oh, God,” Simon moaned. He stared at his fingertips…soaked in his own blood.

  He glanced back at the video feed streaming uninterrupted through the monitor. Squinting through the agony he endured, Simon glimpsed Allie’s inert body slowly sink toward the bottom of the tank, dorsal fin first. Her abandoned basketball automatically rose to the surface, bobbing in her wake. It was too late for her. A fleeting thought passed through his mind: a hope that some type of afterlife existed for his aquatic friend and research subject.

  Then Simon slumped forward onto his office desk. Streams of crimson blood oozed from his eyes and ears, seeping between the cracks of his outdated desktop keyboard.

  Chapter Twenty

  Southern Florida State University off-campus housing

  Kristen sulked on the couch, alone. It wasn’t like she didn’t have anywhere to go, she just preferred solitude at the moment. She’d turned down her roommates’ offer to go barhopping that evening. No need to arouse their suspicions by refusing drinks at each stop. And thankfully, Simon Greene gave here the night off. But sitting here, mulling over past decisions wasn’t exactly helping her situation.

  She’d made a huge mistake telling Dane. All this time she thought picking up where they’d left off would rekindle their relationship. Not destroy it altogether.

  The narcissistic, egomaniacal coward, she thought with disgust. He’d spent that entire weekend talking about himself. Never asked a single question about her research, had he? He had no intention of settling down and starting a family–not when he was too wrapped up in his own power trip to think of anyone but himself. Get real, Dane–it’s just an internship for God’s sake.

  Then, after she’d told him, he had the audacity to reply with the accusation, “Are you sure it’s mine?” And that was the last she’d heard from him.

  How cruel and insensitive could you be? Well, better she find that out now than after a trip down the aisle. Besides, she wasn’t due until spring. She could finish out the semester, then take some time off. Get a second job to pay for day care if she must. Somehow, she’d find a way to make it work. After all, she wasn’t the first woman in history to struggle as a single mom.

  Besides, she knew she could count on Erik for support. Once she got around to telling him, that is. But not yet. Not until she started to show. That would give her some time to make a plan.

  Speaking of which, why wasn’t Erik replying to any of her texts, either? What was it with her and guys?

  Sick of pathetically waiting for someone to send her an optical message, she turned on the old plasma T.V. She couldn’t bear to stream a video on her eye DOTS and not receive any messages from Dane. Sure, he’d be busy tonight with the online debut of Dreamscape, but something inside her sensed she would’ve received the same response, regardless of when she announced the news. What a weak, spineless excuse for a boyfriend. So they were completely over now. She’d have to do this on her own.

  “What’s your MUDE?” the television piped to a hip-hop tune, advertising bling mobile uplinks. This certainly wasn’t helping her forget Dane.

  Kristen snatched the remote off the coffee table and began flipping through the channels, eventually settling on a movie station that offered no commercial interruptions. Still, it did little to distract her. She struggled to follow the plot, but it was no use. Her thoughts kept returning to her uncertain future and the disappointing revelation of Dane’s true self.

  Soon her ears started ringing and her head began to spin. This stress couldn’t be good for the pregnancy. Especially when she was too upset to eat dinner tonight.

  Kristen pulled her tired body off the couch and rose to her feet. Only the headache instantly worsened. Her eyes began to pulsate, like an irrepressible nervous twitch times ten. She bent over, steadying herself on the arm of the couch and placing her free hand against her pounding temple. Rich, red drops splattered the surface of the coffee table. Kristen stared at them incomprehensibly; unable to register they belonged to her.

  The world grew red as it spun madly; the room seemed to revolve upside down. Blinded, Kristen fell to the floor, whacking her head against the corner of the coffee table. She strained to reach the wound, wet and sticky to the touch. When she pulled her fingers away, Kristen realized why.

  Her hand was soaked with blood.

  Not only had her headache intensified to unimaginable proportions, but the mounting pressure inside her eyes and ears made her skull feel like it was about to explode. A powerful urge to protect her unborn fetus suddenly overcame Kristen. As her body entered a wave of uncontrolled spasms, she expended her remaining energy toward touching her abdomen, cradling the unborn child she’d never have the opportunity to call her own.

  Then her hand fell limp to the floor, leaving five long streaks of blood across her white shirt.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Quarantine Room, U.S.S. Siren

  “Arrghhh!” Alyssa Kensington grunted, rolling over on the mattress and stuffing the pillow over her head. “I can’t take it any more!” How many times had she relived that moment, wishing the interruption had never occurred? Otherwise, how might their evening have ended? Would she have had the willpower to stop?

  Hours later, she’d bumped into Justin Hidalgo in the hall–accompanied by three other officers. All were completely soaked, dripping water down the grated floor with each step. Alyssa barely recognized Justin at first. Wet and exhausted, his eyes lackluster, he acknowledged her with a meager, tired nod as he passed.

  Not daring to speak lest the others detect the rising blush in her cheeks, she stood at attention against the wall, secretly trying to read Justin’s expression. She didn’t dare text him to apologize for their botched evening. There could be no electronic documentation of their encounter.

  Since then, she hadn’t had the chance to see him privately. In the halls, Justin rushed past her. And in the crowded Mess Hall, he sat with the other officers from their shift. Even when she saw him at her station in the Command and Control Room, his manners were curt. Was he merely afraid to arouse suspicion? Was he intentionally avoiding her? Or did he regret his actions, wishing he could change the past?

  Plagued with indecision, Alyssa sat up and stretched. She knew she wouldn’t be able to rest again with her mind in overdrive. Besides, how long had she been stuck in quarantine already? Without the clock from her eye DOTS, she could only guess that another three hours had passed by. Probably time for more drops. Reaching over to grab the bottle of sulfacetamide from the sink, she suddenly realized something. Without a clock, how would she know her three days had elapsed? Would someone come to relieve her? Or would they expect her to return to work on her own? Alyssa chided herself for not thinking to ask Medical Officer Knolls that question beforehand.

  Lying down again, she stared at the ceiling, willing herself to think about anything but Justin. Her stiff body ached from lack of movement. Earlier, she stowed the mattress away, completing more sets of push-ups and stomach crunches on the floor than her muscles desired, but it wasn’t enough. She really needed to stand and walk around–outside of
this boring room. Unfortunately, that was impossible until her release.

  Hour after monotonous hour passed. How long had it been? One full day? Two? It was impossible to say. She tried to recall the number of times she’d slept and how many meals she’d been served–yet between breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight rations, everything blended together. The overwhelming claustrophobia of this confining metallic space had already seeped in, making her dizzy and nauseous. Repeatedly, she questioned Justin’s actions toward her. And she cursed her hormones for getting the best of her resolve.

  Alyssa realized she had to get out of Quarantine before she lost it–despite Medical Officer Knolls’ assignment here for three days. She knew she ought to obey a direct command, but at what expense?

  Twiddling her thumbs, Alyssa pondered the ramifications of breaking her confinement. The Commander and XO wouldn’t want her inept for the remainder of the tour of duty, right? Surely, she must do something to prevent herself from going mentally insane. But where could Alyssa go without exposing others to the contagious pathogen she harbored?

  There was only one place: the gym.

  Just don’t let me bump into Justin again, Alyssa fretted. Now that he knows I’ve been quarantined, how would he react? Would he have the cohones to report me to the XO?

  Hell, yes.

  Indecisive, Alyssa deliberated to the point of making herself sick. One fact was certain–she couldn’t stay here any longer. She’d have to deal with the repercussions for disobeying an order, however awful they might be. After placing the drops in her eyes once more, she stowed the bottle inside the chest pocket of her navy blue work uniform and buttoned it shut. With renewed determination, Alyssa cracked the door to check for any passersby, then slipped out. And prayed she wouldn’t run into Officers Knolls or Hidalgo.

  Keeping her head down in the tight hallways, Alyssa squished her back against the wall to let the other submariners pass. She mumbled a greeting while intentionally covering her last name with her arm. Alyssa hoped the gesture seemed inconspicuous. She hoped they didn’t notice her reddened eyes.