by John Bolin
Peter’s mind raced back to the conversation with Alex at the Quechua camp and the way Tima’s blood had seemed to be pulsing with some foreign matter. Could she have had an “aqueous swarm” inside her?
“What did you say about nanotechnology yesterday?” Gator asked.
“That scientists are trying to use it to cure disease, to extend human life.”
“You said that microsized particles—”
“Nanobots,” Peter said. “Or nanites.”
“Okay, nanites could be injected into the human bloodstream and assigned specific tasks . . . like curing cancer,” Gator said, looking again at the sign on the cylinder.
Peter pointed at the vertical coffins on the center platform. “Those pod things. They’re roughly human-sized, right? Like this one here. A person could fit inside it. So if they’ve figured out how to use nanotechnology to cure cancer, maybe they don’t inject it through a tube. Maybe they stick you in one of these and hit the ON switch.”
Gator eased himself into the cylinder beside them. He backed up against the rear of it and found where his arms should rest. “Scary.”
“So,” Peter said, “if they’ve somehow managed to cure cancer with these things, the technology would be worth billions. I think I’d guard that with tanks and guns, too.”
Gator extricated himself from the pod and stepped onto the beach. “You think they put Tima in one of these?”
Peter shrugged. “It would explain a lot.”
“What’s up with the octopus deal? What did you call it—an assembler?” Gator said, looking into the lagoon. “Some sort of nanite mother ship?”
“Well, nanites are little mechanical entities, right? They’d have to come from somewhere. That must be the assembler that we heard the divers talking about. I think the octopus is actually the assembler, somehow creating and replicating them through its tentacles.”
Peter and Gator moved along the beach to examine the signs on the other canisters.
FULL GENETIC FIX: AQUEOUS SWARM
LOW-LINE INHIBITOR: AQUEOUS SWARM
HGH: AQUEOUS SWARM
Each canister had the same keypad with the flashing red padlock.
Gator looked at Peter, eyebrows furrowed. “Human growth hormone.”
Peter shrugged.
A beeping sound drew Peter’s eyes back to the final canister on the beach. The panel was no longer blinking red. It was green, and the little padlock symbol was opened. The beeping sounds were followed by a hissing noise, like someone opening a valve on an oxygen tank. Peter and Gator moved away as a small puff of fog began seeping from the canister. Still, Peter could clearly read the plaque.
BIO HAZARD: AIRBORNE SWARM
* * *
The cold metal arms pressed hard against Tima’s skin, holding her back. She banged her head against the hard bed, but it didn’t help.
She was lying down, but couldn’t see anything. Her eyes were either blinded or covered. She could smell the room, like cleaning soap. Voices echoed in the distance, human voices, but she couldn’t make out whose they were. She could feel the sheets on her back and arms.
The strength in her arms and legs was building again, like a volcano of power that she could not control. The stretching muscles and snapping bones weren’t the problem. She didn’t mind her body being invaded, but she wanted to keep her mind. However, she could feel her mind leaving her . . . again.
This time she fought. She didn’t want to hear the voices. The faces frightened her. She struggled to hold on, fighting hard against her own body. The others had been right.
The vines were trying to suck her mind away, like the ancient ayahuasca vine. Except these didn’t come from the Amazon. These sucking vines came from the White Shaman and his water creature. When it came, it was like her mind wasn’t really hers.
The pain seared her. She was sweating and kicking and knocking her head. She had to hold on. She could feel the spirits, hear their voices. No, she would resist. She remembered the word Gator had used when she’d been out of control that last time. She managed only to think of it. She could not say it.
Je-sus.
Something changed. The instant the word formed in her mind, she felt a shift in the struggle. It was as if someone had stepped into the room with her. She stretched out her arms, reaching, hoping. She touched someone and held on. It was as if holding on kept the demons away. She gripped tightly, like her life depended on it.
“Tima! It’s me.”
She knew that voice. A man’s voice. Her breath eased slightly and she lolled her head to the side, toward the voice. She willed her thick eyelids open.
Slowly, the room became clear again. She could see the white walls and the metal door. She looked to her side, and she could see the machines and the vines connected to her arms.
She was dripping in sweat and still shaking uncontrollably, but she had won. This time, anyway. The blurry shapes became clear. A face.
“Tima,” the voice said, “hand.”
Tima squeezed the hand that held hers. “Hand.”
It was Linc.
“Linc, I scared.”
“Don’t worry,” Linc said, “I’m going to get you out of here.”
Tima smiled, but she knew that he could not help her now. He was attached to the same kind of table she was. The metal bands on his chest and legs held him tight, but he was able to move his arms, holding her hand. Tima could see that Linc was bleeding a little where they had put the vines into him, and he was wet from his own sweat. His body was already alive with the demons, but his face was still kind.
“Don’t worry, Tima. My friends will come for us. We’re going to be just fine.”
Tima shut her eyes and tried to believe him.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” a new voice said.
Tima turned her head. A man stood at the door, dressed in white. She knew it was one of them. She knew what he was here to do. Her breath caught in her throat. The man began to walk toward her.
“What do you want with us?” Linc asked.
“I don’t want anything with you at all,” the man said. He moved to the shining boxes, making clicking sounds on them. “I’m just waiting.”
“What are you waiting for?” Linc said.
“I’m waiting for you to die.”
* * *
The cloud from the canister floated toward them. It was thick, almost opaque, and it didn’t appear to be dissipating with the shifting winds in the cave. Peter and Gator moved toward the two metal doors. The cloud was slowly following them, still twenty feet away.
“Boss,” Gator said, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Only if you’re thinking that cloud knows we’re here.”
“Something like that.”
Peter pulled at the metal door and was surprised to find that it unlocked. He was sure there’d be guards on the other side, so he eased it open just enough to see through.
A passage led away from the door. The hallway was made of rock but had a tile floor. In the dim fluorescent lighting he could see that it split off in two directions about twenty yards up. Two guards stood at the end of the hallway, one on each side of the tunnel.
“It’s getting closer,” Gator said.
Peter turned. The cloud was moving, slowly zigzagging its way across the cave, toward them. It didn’t look like a cloud of fog anymore. It was denser, more organic—more alive. It almost looked as though it was searching for something.
Suddenly it paused and twisted toward them.
Peter screamed, his voice echoing down the stone hallway.
* * *
Guntor heard the voice and drew his pistol. It was coming from the control room.
No one goes in. Those were his orders.
“Come, Victor!” he said, brandishing his gun. He ran down the hallway toward the closed doors, the other guard right behind him.
Another scream echoed from inside the chamber. Guntor knew that all the scientists had been o
rdered to the boardroom. So whoever was here was an intruder. And what would happen next would be their own fault. Guntor lowered his shoulder and slammed through the door, Victor right behind him.
“Vas?” He burst through and onto the sand, where he immediately found himself surrounded by smoke. “Fire!”
He was deep into the smoke, but he couldn’t smell it. He swatted at the air, trying to dissipate the cloud. It was everywhere. In his mouth and ears and eyes. It was thicker than smoke or fog and felt like a thousand pinpricks in his throat. He turned and tried to focus on Victor, but the room was spinning.
He was sure he saw a face, kneeling by the open door. Then, he felt his legs drop out from under him. A foot kicked his hand, knocking his gun free. He tried to punch at the face, but his muscles wouldn’t let him.
Before he could do anything else, a black cloud covered his face.
* * *
Peter disarmed the big guy, careful to stay under the cloud. Gator did the same with the other guard. The two of them slid back under the fog and into the hallway. Peter turned to close the door.
He saw both guards lying on the floor, covered by the strange cloud. Their skin looked black and alive. One clawed at his face, drawing blood. The other arched his back and drummed his feet on the ground as if he were being electrocuted.
Peter shut the door. A sucking sound indicated that whatever was in there was sealed in now.
At least he hoped so.
“You okay?” Peter asked.
“I’m fine,” Gator said, double-checking the locks behind them. “But we’ve got to get out of here, Pete. For all we know, the guards set off an alarm. Bad guys could be on to us in no time.”
Something banged on the door to the chamber. Peter shuddered. What was happening out there?
“Let’s go.”
The hallway was cool and musky. Peter could still smell a slight chlorine odor from the lagoon. They came to the place where the passage split in half. The one to the left was lit. The one to the right was dark.
“Well?” Peter said.
“Go into the light, boss,” Gator said.
They turned and walked, careful to stay out of the view of possible cameras.
“Was that cloud . . . ?” Gator said.
“Alive? I don’t know if it was alive, but it definitely knew to target us somehow.”
“Like the fish?”
“Yeah,” Peter said. “But those fish were not organic. No blood, no flesh. I finally ended up electrocuting one of them. It died like a toaster would if you threw it into a pool—a short circuit. I think all these things here are machines. Complicated nanite robotics. For once I do wish my dad were here. He’d probably know what it all is.”
After fifty yards the passage they had chosen ended at a set of stairs going up. Peter and Gator took them, trying to keep their voices low and their footsteps from echoing. After three stories the stairs opened to another brightly lit hallway.
All along both walls were metallic doors with lighted electronic locks. It looked like a high-tech hotel hallway. Peter and Gator strode down the tile hallway, reading the acetate placards on the closed doors as they passed. Cryonics. Quantum Engineering. EM Particle Assembly. DNA Sequencing. Viral Clean Room.
Too late, Peter spotted a security camera at the far end of the passageway. A siren howled, and emergency lights flashed through the tunnel. They ran to where the corridor dead ended and split off in two directions. It was only a matter of time before the hallway would be crawling with guards.
“We need to split up and try to find Alex and Linc,” Peter said. “Stay on the radio frequency and call me if anything develops.” Peter grabbed Gator’s arm. “I want Khang. We’re not leaving ’til he’d dead.”
“Got it,” Gator said, extending his fist toward Peter. “Let’s find ’em and get out of here.”
Gator went down one hallway and Peter turned up the other.
This one had evenly spaced doors in both walls. He pulled at the first one. Locked. He moved up the hallway, trying each one, the guard’s pistol at the ready. The sound of footsteps and shouting came from somewhere nearby. No way to know where it was coming from or how close they were.
He pulled at another door and it opened. Peter glanced at the placard as he ducked into the room. PROGRAMMING. Inside, the lights were off, but a bank of computer monitors lit up the room like Christmas. He eased the door shut.
Peter pressed his ear to the door. He could hear steps and shouts in the hallway he’d just left. He could make out only an occasional word. He heard one of the men say something about the American.
It was either Gator or Linc or himself.
Or Alex.
He needed to know more. He turned, scanning the room. Maybe he could use the computer to find a schematic of the building.
Peter moved to the first monitor and rummaged ’til he found a mouse. He wiggled it on the desktop until the screen saver turned off and the screen came to life. He scanned through the files, looking for anything he could use.
He knew it was only a matter of time until they sent someone to check the sinkhole. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it before there was a full-on search. Nothing interesting came up on the hard drive.
He moved to the second monitor and leaned in to scan the computer screen. A tree of files labeled BASELINE caught his attention. He opened a file called BASELINE GENETIC DEFECTS. It was a database of an extensive list of diseases. Peter recognized a few of them.
DOWN SYNDROME
AIDS/HIV
LEUKEMIA
DIABETES, TYPE I
It read like a list of the world’s worst diseases.
He stood up and moved to the next monitor. The screen saver popped off to reveal an open document. He read the words TARGETS and then stopped. It was another list. Not of diseases. This one was a list of places.
HUDSON BAY
PORT OF CHARLESTON
SAN FRANCISCO BAY
LONDON HARBOR
AUCKLAND HARBOR
Next to each name on the list were numbers, GPH[TS4] coordinates. Coordinates for what? Below the list of cities was one line of instruction.
Program PENG to eliminate all genetic material with DNA below the baseline in these waterways.
Peter stared at the screen for a moment and then stood up. One question was running through his head.
How much time do I have?
Chapter 20
Alex knew something wasn’t right. The guards had led her from the aquarium and back into the elevator. Ever since Khang had gotten that phone call, his mood had been different, darker, and he’d had no more time for her. Now she was in the care of two piggish-looking guards who were supposedly escorting her back to her room.
Except this wasn’t the way they had come.
Instead of leading her on a path near the jungle, they had taken her up in the trees and were moving her between buildings. They hurried her across an aluminum grate catwalk that connected two trees. She’d planned on trying to ditch the guards, but being on the catwalk was going to make that almost impossible. Unless she jumped.
She eyed the trees on either side of the catwalk. The branches hung five to ten feet away from the edge of the bridge, maybe close enough to grab. She glanced down between her feet and thought again. It was at least forty feet to the bottom.
Another guard approached them, coming the other way on the long catwalk. A black man, not of the usual Aryan stock so many of the other guards had been culled from. There was only enough room for one person to walk on the bridge, so Alex stopped and stood flatly against the side of the catwalk to let the guard pass. The men beside her grunted but did the same. One of them said something in German to the approaching guard.
No answer.
Something about this new guard tickled Alex’s mind. She looked at him again.
It was Gator.
Before Alex could react, a silver blade flashed, and Gator stabbed one of the guards in the neck.
The guard grunted and fell to his knees, blood spurting out.
The second guard had time to realize what was going on. He reached for his pistol, but Gator was on him. Alex could see that Gator had a gun at his side but clearly had chosen not to use it. Maybe he thought it would alert others. Alex held onto the railing and tried not to freak out.
