by John Bolin
Peter looked over at Gator and whispered, “Could you fly that thing?”
“Well, no,” Gator said. “But he could.”
Linc’s eyes got wide. “What?”
“You said you flew a chopper for two years.”
“Yeah, well, that was for tourists.”
“Just think of them as tourists.”
Linc looked like he might be sick. “Oh, man.”
“Okay,” Peter said, “I need you to stow away. Get as close as you can and find out whatever you can. Go now!”
“What? Where are you going?” Linc said.
“We’re going to wait here and see what we’re dealing with. Maybe we’ll end up down taking a look under the water,” he said, slapping Gator on the back. He looked back at Linc. “If you don’t see us within a few hours, fly that thing out of here and find help.”
“You want me to hide in the helicopter?” Linc said. His eyes were already glazed over in apprehension.
“Or you can wait here for us to get into another gunfight.”
“That’s all you needed to say,” Linc said.
They watched as he disappeared down the hill and into the cabin of the helicopter.
Four figures emerged from the shed, two of them carrying futuristic-looking scuba gear. The divers were standing on the beach, double-checking their gear. There were three men and a woman.
“The water’s colder today,” a bald-headed man said, splashing water from the pool onto his face. He had dark skin and muscular features.
“I still don’t understand why we’re the ones doing this,” the other diver said. He was tall and skinny, and his accent was from the eastern United States, maybe Boston. “I don’t care what you say—that machine is still unstable. If Michael expects this to work at all, he’s got to let us dial it in. Or we’re going to have another one of those ‘accidents.’”
The other man on the bank was burly and wore a thick beard. He scowled at the skinny guy. “Maybe you’d like it back in Los Alamos. What were you: toilet cleaner?”
“I’m just saying we can’t afford another problem,” the skinny guy said.
“Shut up!” the bald guy said.
“It’s all right,” the woman said, hefting scuba gear to the skinny guy’s shoulder.
She was slender, with sleek black hair cut short. She looked Asian, but her skin was lighter even than a Caucasian’s. Peter spotted the same telltale tattoo between the woman’s shoulder blades. And at the base of her skull, a disc the size of a silver dollar glistened in the sun.
The woman turned to the men. “All right, you’d better get going. We don’t have much time. I’m going to take the chopper, and I’ll be back in an hour.”
The two men dipped into the pool and disappeared.
A few moments later, Peter heard a loud whine, like the sound of an approaching tornado, as the helicopter warmed up. The woman and the bearded man boarded the chopper without any indication that they’d seen Linc and lifted into the air.
Peter and Gator skidded down the hillside, toward the shed. As he did, Peter watched as the tiny bubbles floating to the surface of the pool faded and then disappeared altogether.
What was down there?
* * *
Raul stepped out of the elevator and marched toward the lagoon, pulling the Indian girl behind him. He spotted Michael and the American woman sitting together, but they were in deep conversation and didn’t notice. The girl tried to call out, but Raul gagged her mouth.
He stepped out of view for a moment and held the radio to his cheek.
“Should I bring the girl to you now?”
* * *
Alex was on her second cup of coffee. Except for the two spotted jaguar that were now lying only a dozen yards away from her, she was feeling much better.
Khang had a small radio to his ear. “Not yet, Raul. I’ll call when I’m ready.” Khang set down the radio and took another drink from his cup. He placed his cup on the saucer with a porcelain rattle. He turned his wrist over to reveal the tattoo. “Do you know what this means?”
“Transhumanism,” Alex replied. “I’ve seen the same symbol on all the others here. You’re trying to morph science and technology, right?”
Khang smiled. “Imagine a world free from disease.” The mouse scurried up his collar, around the back of his neck. A moment later it reappeared on his opposite shoulder. “Alex, the men and women you see here are some of the brightest in the world. They, like myself, realize that the world is leaning dangerously back toward the Dark Ages. Disease is rampant around the globe. New viruses emerge every day.”
“Like the one Tima has?” Alex asked.
Khang paused and nodded. “The human DNA is growing weaker and more susceptible with every passing generation. I’m afraid if we don’t do something dramatic, we will eventually witness the extinction of the human race. Did you know that the technology already exists to eradicate cancer, stop the spread of HIV, and prolong human life by a hundred years?”
Alex felt her eyes widening.
“It’s true,” Khang said, looking delighted. He reached over his shoulder and rested his hand near the white mouse. The mouse crawled out onto his hand and then sat up, its tiny fingers and nose twitching. “This is Methuselah. She is exactly eight years, four months, and twenty-seven days old.” He stroked the mouse with his index finger. “Do you know what that means?”
Alex shook her head.
“It means that Methuselah is the oldest mouse in the world.” He toyed with the creature. “She is the biological equivalent of a two-hundred-year-old human.”
“Impossible,” Alex said.
“Oh, it’s quite possible.” Khang had become animated, leaning forward and gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “You see, we’ve created technology that allowed us to recreate a detailed genetic map of Methuselah. We used that map to determine exactly what changes we needed to make to her genetic structure, essentially what parts to erase and what new parts to write, like a book. That map, along with a few synthetic enhancements, have given Methuselah a very, very long life.”
The little mouse sat on its haunches, its nose twitching.
“Erase?” Alex asked.
“Oh, yes! Did you know there are actually genes that trigger old age? Why not get rid of those? And the genes that cause some cancers and the ones that cause diabetes and heart disease—who needs them?”
Alex frowned. “Maybe. And you said you would write new information into the mouse’s DNA. What kind of information are you ‘adding’?”
“We made her faster, smarter, and healthier.”
Khang lowered the mouse to the ground. As he did, the little mouse skittered across the path toward the two giant cats lounging on the grass. Alex watched the mouse scamper up the tail of one of the cats and sit on its haunches on the jaguar’s back.
Alex shook her head, smiling from ear to ear. “No way!”
Khang beamed. “To be true, this in an old trick. In 2007 Japanese scientists were able to essentially switch off the fear gene in mice. They accomplished it by genetically engineering the mouse before it was born. I was able to accomplish this after Methuselah turned two.”
“How?”
“It’s called nanotechnology, Dr. Forsythe. We used microscopic organisms to literally reconstruct her DNA while she slept. She went to bed one night afraid of cats and woke up the next morning not afraid of anything.”
Alex was still stunned.
“Now imagine, Alex, what the world would be like if we could stop the worst causes of aging. What if we could eliminate disease, cellular degeneration, and even death? And then what if we could add the features we desire, like speed, agility, or genius-level intelligence. And, of course, extreme long life.”
Alex sat back in the chair. “It would change the future of the human race. But I don’t understand. If you have this technology ready to go, why not take it to the world?”
Khang laughed in short, staccato breaths. “Un
fortunately, conservative ideology in the United States and elsewhere has strangled the scientific community—to the point that few true champions are left standing. Anti-progress paranoids and religious fanatics have obliterated potential advances in stem cell research, genetic engineering, and nanotechnology. Ah, but here,” he said, waving a hand toward the window, “anything is possible.”
“Well,” Alex said, looking into the distance, “I know what you’re saying about the crippling view of conservatives. And I’m all for achieving our next evolutionary advance. But I guess some people would say you’re trying to play God.”
“No, Dr. Forsythe. There is no god. There is only us. And it is high time we began creating life as if we were gods. After all,” Khang said, standing up, “this is the Garden of Eden.”
* * *
“Let’s go!” Peter said, listening as the sound of the helicopter faded.
Peter and Gator approached the storage shed. Peter worked the door until it came open and stepped inside. It was stifling inside the metal building, and he instantly began to sweat. It was mid-afternoon, and the humidity had already soaked their shirts to their bodies.
The shed was about the size of a one-car garage. It was full but neatly organized. Wet suits hung from pegs along one wall. A shelf was stacked with radios and other gear. In one corner of the shed there was a large tank labeled OXYGEN. Light came in from clear panels on the roof of the building. The place smelled of old sweat and vinyl. For some reason the smell reminded Peter of his grandfather’s 1977 Caprice Classic.
“I’m suggesting we go down there and see what’s so important,” Peter said. “I want to know why these guys are carrying guns and flying around in helicopters.” He rummaged through the diving gear. “We’re going to slip on their wet suits and see what they’re doing down there.”
“Well, that’s just dandy,” Gator said. “First, I’m tossed around in rapids like a rag doll, then I’m lowered into a sinkhole with a school of flesh-eating fish, and now I’m going to go for a swim in a underwater cave looking for who knows what.”
“Hey, that’s the life in spec-ops, baby. You knew that when you signed on.”
Gator folded his arms. “News flash, boss. We ain’t in the Army no more.”
Peter shrugged. “You can stay on the beach and wait for our friends to come back if you want.” Peter tossed him a diving mask. “Anyway, you’re the scuba pro. Should be cake for you.”
Gator picked up a wet suit. “Let’s just hope they’re not waiting for us.”
* * *
Alex followed Khang and two guards across the aviary and into the elevator hidden in the base of the massive strangler fig. The tree was at least twenty feet wide with crisscrossing vines and branches. Sun shone through the gigantic trunk, reminding Alex of a huge latticework tube. Khang stepped into the elevator and pushed a button labeled LL4. The elevator jittered and moaned as it began to descend into what Alex guessed was the basement of the building.
“I think you’ll appreciate this, Dr. Forsythe,” Khang said.
When the elevator doors opened, Alex was underwater.
At least, it looked and felt that way. Apparently, the aviary where they’d had coffee sat atop a giant aquarium. Alex stepped out of the elevator and into a subterranean chamber. One wall of the chamber was made entirely of glass. Light filtered in from above. Classical music echoed, and Alex could hear the low hum of machinery.
Thick acrylic walls revealed an expansive underwater environment. A huge tank, bigger even than anything at DisneyWorld. Alex couldn’t see the other end of it. It had to hold hundreds of thousands of gallons of ghostly blue-green water. Underwater passageways and corridors, many of them sealed by Plexiglas doors, snaked off from the main environment. Air bubbles escaped from several vents on the floor of the chamber. Alex noticed a higher concentration of life around the vents: seaweed, coral, and fish.
“Thermal vents,” she said.
“Yes,” Khang replied. “The ground under Eden is honeycombed with tunnels and shafts, many of them thick with gas and mineral deposits. The thermal energy these tunnels emit heats the water and produces enough energy to power everything you see. Our environmental footprint, you see, is extremely small, and all our energy is sustainable and 100 percent recycled.”
“No kidding?” she said. Renewable energy and an earth-friendly environment? She had more in common with this guy than she’d thought.
Khang nodded.
She grinned. “Can’t complain about that.”
There was no telling how complex the underwater system was. Sand covered the bottom of the tank, and rock and coral jutted up everywhere, forming tunnels and caves and jagged reefs. It was full of bright pink and white coral and other sea life. A school of flame-colored fish dashed past Alex’s face. Other creatures filled the tank: angelfish, electric eels, and pink dolphins.
“Wait a minute,” Alex said. “You’ve got saltwater and freshwater fish in the same tank?”
“Yes,” Khang said. “It’s a saline environment, specially designed to sustain both biological systems. It’s the only way the world will continue to evolve, Alex: adaptation. The ones that learn to adapt to the realities of the new world will live. The ones that insist on archaic ways—be it old biology or old ideologies—will not. Only the smart survive.” He moved to the wall and punched a series of numbers into a keypad.
The lights dimmed and the music stopped. A series of lights pulsed from inside the tank, followed by a low rumble.
The fish in the tank zipped away to hiding places Alex couldn’t see. Then she realized why. Two big bull sharks emerged from the deep and glided past the glass wall as if asserting their dominance, not only over the fish but over the people on the other side of the Plexiglas.
“What’s happening?” Alex asked.
Khang held his hand up, as if tell Alex to wait and watch. He worked the keypad again and stepped back. The music popped back on.
Alex noticed that the water in the tank seemed to get murky, as if filled with silt. Right in front of Alex’s eyes, a tiny school of fish appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The fish were miniscule, almost imperceptible. Alex leaned in to the glass. As she watched, the fish seemed to multiply and grow. They were the size of small minnows, just a few centimeters each. Each one looked more like a tadpole than a fish, with a bulbous head, big, circular eyes, and a long, segmented tail. A school of the tiny fish scintillated in the light.
Again the fish seemed to reproduce. No, Alex realized, they weren’t multiplying: they were morphing . . . assembling. Alex watched as thousands of the fish formed tiny silver balls and then somehow connected together to form larger creatures. Until there were eight identical football-sized fish. Upon closer inspection, they looked not quite organic.
Alex tried to keep the astonishment out of her voice. “You’ve created some sort of synthetic organism.”
Khang leaned his shoulder against the Plexiglas. “I call them the Peng.”
“The mythical Chinese creature,” Alex responded, still staring at the fish.
“In reality, it is the miracle of nanotechnology,” Khang said. “And we can insert the Peng into any body of water in the world and control them from right here.”
Alex was staring, awestruck, unbelieving. Nanotechnology. She remembered the word from the discussion around the fire at the Quechua village. She glanced at Khang’s wrist and saw the >H tattoo. He had done it, crossed the barrier between machine and living organism. And if he could do it with animals . . .
The fish swam together, near the coral. Alex watched the fish change from silvery gray to a greenish color, then to red. For a moment, the fish flickered colors like a light at a rock concert. Then they disappeared altogether.
At first Alex thought they’d changed colors again, like a chameleon, to blend in to the color of the coral. But then she realized she could see the coral behind where the fish had been. Had they disassembled—disappeared—right in front of her eyes?
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“Ah,” Khang said, seeming to relish Alex’s awe, “the Peng’s little trick. They have the ability to bend light around themselves.”
She looked back into the tank. “So they’re still right there in front of me—I just can’t see them?”
“Precisely. The light is bent so you see the object behind them.”
Alex watched the bull sharks circling warily around where the Peng had been. Could they still see the Peng from their angle? “How are they programmed and powered?”
