by Kevin Tinto
“No need,” he said, pulling her in tight.
Chapter 5
Marko Kinney was by nature a night owl. His last real job had been working as a night stocking clerk for one of the two Whole Foods Markets in Albuquerque. He spent his daylight hours rock-climbing, sleeping, and eating. Sometimes in that order, sometimes not. On the whole, he wasn’t impressed with watches, clocks, or schedules. To avoid being late for work, he’d parked his beat-to-crap Toyota Four-Runner in the Whole Foods Parking lot around 8 p.m. He’d slide into the back of his climbing-gear-stuffed truck, close the door on the camper top, and sleep until his shift supervisor banged on the side of the truck twenty minutes before he was scheduled to clock in at midnight. Marko wasn’t the only time-impaired employee working the graveyard stock shift; there were always two or three additional beater trucks parked out back. The supervisor used the same alarm system with them all, the only way to ensure that his graveyard crew came to work on time.
How times had changed. Now, instead of stressing over his midnight shift at a grocery store, Marko was babysitting an exotic nuclear warhead that could vaporize him and a good portion of the desert in an instant. Or, best case, make him a target for a lucky soldier with a high-powered rifle.
F*** Me….
His current location was unknown to all but a handful of people, including Jack Hobson, Jack’s billionaire mountain-climbing client and friend Al Paulson, and the crazy-ass old pilot Luke Derringer.
Getting here had been as scary as anything Marko had experienced in his daredevil life. Old Luke Derringer had done everything but kill them flying a hot-rodded, single-engine Cessna between a series of cliffs and down onto a smooth, sandstone wash in the narrow canyon in southwestern New Mexico. Despite having been in dangerous situations before, Marko experienced a new level of ‘pucker’ with Derringer almost flying them into one rock wall after another.
Finally, on solid ground, they’d hustled the Hafnium bomb off the aircraft as old Luke pointed out, with trembling hand, a series of sandstone caverns carved into a nearby cliff face. They’d stashed the Hafnium warhead deep within one of the water-carved caverns, which had become Marko’s new home.
The warhead, which Marko had christened ‘Freddy Krueger,’ slept soundly in the cavern, mere feet from Marko’s own bed. His job was to live with the warhead twenty-four hours per day, with strict instructions to stay concealed; permission to leave only in case of dire emergency. Jack had defined dire emergency as either heart failure or heart failure combined with a paralyzing stroke.
Jack had acquired several cases of MREs—Meals Ready to Eat, the modern military version of K-Rations. In addition to the MREs, Jack had left him an inflatable mattress, a couple of expedition-quality, goose-down sleeping bags, and a Marmot Midgard mountaineering tent colored in an eye-pleasing fusion of terracotta and pale pumpkin. Designed for two with a floor dimension of 93” x 56”, it had become Marko’s home within a home for the foreseeable future.
Marko had said he’d do it—joking only, of course—if he could take a PlayStation along with him.
“No problem,” Jack had replied, nonplussed. “We’ll set up a lithium battery power station, operating through an inverter. Think of it as a small version of a Tesla power system. You won’t be able to play online with the rest of your geek buddies, so let me know what games you can play solo. But don’t plan on gaming day and night if you want to stay warm. We’re rigging portable ceramic tent heaters to operate off the same system. It should provide a week’s worth of power if you’re using common sense and conservation.”
Naturally, Jack had thought of everything.
“In addition,” Jack had explained, “we’re including a small wind generator and solar panel recharger. You cannot set this gear up outside the cavern. The entrance to the cavern is facing southeast. The sun should provide you six hours a day of solar recharge by hitting the panel inside the cavern. The wind generator can generate power any time the winds are blowing out of the south. When storms are inbound, and the winds shift south, it will generate power. You can position the generator at the mouth of the cavern at night, but you’ve got to remember to get it out of sight before sunrise. The wind generator also makes noise, so use common sense.”
“Yeah,” Marko had said sullenly. “That all sounds, you know, workable, except for one thing.”
“Lemme guess…. Bathroom facilities.”
“If I can’t leave the cavern, it’s gonna get kind of nasty in here quick.”
“What? You can’t hold it for ten weeks?”
“I might if you forced me….”
“I’m leaving it to you to get creative, Marko.”
Creative. That was one word for it.
Chapter 6
Leah sat in the portable conference room inside a secure aircraft hangar at Holloman Air Force Base, a steaming-hot cup of coffee and a pack of genuine Hostess chocolate Cupcakes served on a plate supplied by Dr. J. Alan Gordon.
Her visceral sense of failure had only been magnified by her ever-so-brief return to civilization. Her hair was still wet from the ten-minute steaming shower she’d requested upon landing at Holloman, but she’d elected to leave it stringy, dingy, and dirty—it seemed bad form to return to the Settlement with her hair shampooed, conditioned, and scented lilac.
Gordon walked into the conference room unannounced, clutching a stack of folders to his chest. He dropped the mass on the table and slumped into a chair. He’d lost considerable mass around the waist since she’d seen him a week ago. He would never win any fitness awards, but now he appeared frail and unhealthy, blue veins working up his wrists in ornate patterns, skin even paler than normal.
Pressure and stress, she thought. A stone-cold killer.
Gordon was a research geneticist and graduate of Armed Forces Medical School, but you wouldn’t have known it by looking at him. His blow-dried comb-over and mustache gave him a strange resemblance to BTK serial killer Dennis Rader.
She skipped the pleasantries and nodded at the pile of paper. “Handouts?”
Gordon looked up at her, confused for a moment. “Handouts? No. Just ongoing research…never stops, you know.”
“Excellent”, she said, surprised Gordo hadn’t mentioned the Ancients. “No handouts,” she said. “Well, I’m guessing you didn’t invite me up here for Netflix, coffee, and cupcakes.”
Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose. “Where’s Jack?”
“Jack took the flight suit I’d worn seven days in a row and tossed it in a Dumpster. Leah waved it off. “Long story. Anyway, he should be—”
Jack pushed open the door and stepped up into the room. “Sorry if I’m late.” He plopped into a chair next to Leah, snatched her coffee cup, took a sip, and grimaced. “This is awful.”
Leah snatched the cup back, then took a quick, protective bite of her cupcake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs, one hand trying to cover it up. “It’s divine.”
“If you say so,” Jack said, eyeing her.
“Remember,” she said through another bite, “I’ve been drinking stream water and eating pine nuts and squirrel intestine for what feels like eons.”
Gordon failed to acknowledge the humor. “Am I to gather that the Genesis Settlement is not meeting your expectations thus far?”
Leah washed down the pastry with the last of her coffee. “If you’re asking whether it’s FUBAR, my military-scientist friend, you’re right on target.” Leah proffered the empty coffee cup. “Got any more of this sludge? I need a refill before delving into the details.”
“Sorry about the coffee.” Gordon paused. “Could I offer you real food…?”
Leah swallowed a sharp retort, unable to resist the thought of an actual, modern meal. “That’d be great. Just what I need to push me over the edge. One good meal and I’ll be out of here so fast it’l
l make your head spin.” She gave the doctor a wave of the hand to get him moving and waited until the door clicked shut behind him. A few minutes later, Gordon kicked the door open and carried in a fresh carafe of steaming coffee and a tray of Hostess pastries.
Jack raised his eyebrows at the “real food.”
Leah rubbed her hands together. “Now we’re talking.” She poured a cup of coffee, grabbed two more cakes, and slid two more over to Jack. “We’re guessing you didn’t call me here to say we’re being shut down.”
Gordon blinked. “No. If I heard anything of the sort, I’d have flown out to the Settlement immediately.”
“Excellent response, Gordo. You do know that was a test. Here’s an FYI that’s gonna blow your skirt up.” She leaned toward the doctor to making her point more dramatic. “The President and his cronies, including Fischer, are still in power—and going nowhere.”
Gordon’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t comment.
Jack spoke instead. “There are matters I can’t talk about—speaking of national security. None of it impacts the Genesis Settlement.” Despite his reaction earlier, he polished off a pastry in two bites, then wiped flakes of frosting off the table. “I already told Leah most of this, but I’ll repeat it so you have an update and can brief your people here.”
Gordon nodded. “As we don’t get any classified briefings here, it’s much appreciated.”
“Yeah. I figured. Okay, well…the Southern Ocean resembles the DC Beltway during rush hour. Ships, submarines, aircraft, and aircraft carriers increase in number daily. The Russian Fleet is schooled up off the Antarctic coast, using South Africa for resupply. After the planted nuclear detonation blew up the alien facility, there was an intense sea battle, resulting in the only sea-ready Kirov-class Russian guided missile cruiser, the Pyotr Velikiy, being sunk with its two escorts. It engaged Navy surveillance aircraft with missiles, shooting down at least one. Two more disappeared and it’s thought they also were shot down as well. So the Pyotr Velikiy had it coming, for what it’s worth. The loss of life is estimated at more than a thousand Russian crew.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Leah said quietly.
Jack nodded. “And I’m not done yet. We’ve lost an unconfirmed number of Navy strike aircraft, and two aircraft-carrier battle group escorts were sunk by Russian aircraft operating out of South Africa with air-to-air refueling. Some of the Russian air-to-air tankers have been shot down or disabled. One Los Angeles-class attack submarine is missing, and intelligence suspects one or more Russian submarines were also sunk by carrier-borne anti-submarine aircraft using a classified, super-smart torpedo.”
Jack stopped to catch his breath.
“The slightly good news is that neither the United States or the Russians have gone nuclear, beyond the original nuke Wheeler detonated to destroy the alien facility. After that first bloody battle, both sides decided to back off and take a breath. With three carrier battle groups in the Southern Ocean, the US has air superiority, forcing the Russians away from the continent. But it’s a sure bet that subs and bombers with nuclear payloads are on station. For now, the restraint both sides have shown—at least regarding nuclear weapons—is why we’re able to have this conversation today. But the bottom line is, it’s all balancing on the edge of a razor.”
Leah was still trying absorb what she’d just learned when Gordo spoke. “How much do the Russians know…about the non-terrestrial technology?”
“Good question,” Jack said. “Clearly enough to send a plane-load of airborne commandos shooting first, asking questions later.”
“Well,” Leah said, “as far as I’m concerned, we should make all the information public.”
Gordon gave her a stern but slightly confused look.
“Seriously,” she said. “You want to take the violence out of drug-dealing? You make drugs legal. Same principle here. Hoarding information only increases the tension and the chance of a radical miscalculation.”
Jack said, “If we’re spreading the goods around, does everyone get a piece of the action? North Korea included? Where do we draw the line?”
“Quite a chess match,” Gordon said, “with a frightening endgame.”
“Exactly.”
“Speaking of which,” said Gordon, “how long do you think you can hold our government hostage with your weapon?”
“Hey,” Leah said. “You know better than anyone that we’re dealing with a corrupt executive branch that’ll commit mass murder at the drop of a hat. Yeah, it’s messed up, but ‘Freddy Krueger’ is the only thing standing between us and a bullet in the back of the head.” She aimed her finger and pulled an imaginary trigger. “And by ‘us,’ I mean you, too.”
Gordon shut his eyes for a second, then nodded in agreement.
“Sorry if I sound harsh, Gordo. You know this whole situation is a disaster.” She watched the doctor closely, wondering whether he too had observed the Ancients’ physiological anomalies. “You’re up. If you have bad news, spit it out.”
Gordon removed and cleaned his glasses, a familiar nervous tic.
Leah and Jack waited for him to speak.
“We’ve done some additional analysis on blood samples taken from the Ancients. The results are confusing, startling, and perhaps even ominous.” He glanced over at Leah. “Have you witnessed anything you’d classify as odd in behavior, or, have they suffered seizures, bleeding, anything that might could be mistaken for a stroke?”
Leah calmly tore open another cupcake wrapper and stuffed half the pastry into her mouth before offering Jack the other half. “Nothing of that nature, no. Now, if you’d asked whether they could cut the world record in the hundred-meter dash in half—barefoot over rugged ground—or sit nude in twenty-degree weather like they just climbed out of a hot tub in Telluride…. Or if you asked about their hearing, which is at least ten times as sensitive as ours…. Yeah. You’d have me there.”
Chapter 7
Gordon remained speechless for a moment. “You’ve noticed…abnormalities? You know as well as anyone that there’s a plausible risk of catastrophic consequences if the Ancients—”
“Don’t get your shorts in a twist,” Leah said. “Your own tests already showed them to be free of contaminants, parasites, and infectious diseases.”
Gordon took a deep breath. “Dr. Andrews, I understand and support your desire to prevent these peoples from suffering unnecessarily. However, if you are witnessing anomalies, you are required to report them. At once.”
“Well, your call to arms was well-timed. If Jack hadn’t flown a Crash Hawk at tree-top level into the supply LZ, I was planning to contact you via satellite phone today.”
Gordon seemed placated, curiosity quickly overtaking his irritation. “Can you describe what you’ve observed?”
“Yesterday, I watched Appanoose and four of his warriors close on three deer, from a distance of at least a hundred meters, in less than five seconds.
“That’s impossible—for humans,” Gordon said.
“Funny you say that, Gordo. That’s exactly what I told Garrett. Let me run down the list: They’re all pretty much impervious to cold. They hear inbound Black Hawks from miles out, minutes before Garrett or I hear the faintest sound. And they have little or no need for sleep. I’m almost a hundred percent sure they weren’t exhibiting these characteristics when we first took them to the Settlement. Oh, yeah. One more thing. They’re eating us out of house and home at an incredible rate. They must be slamming fifteen-thousand calories a day, and that’s not easy to do on beans and corn. The cooking fires never stop.”
Gordon had been making notes while Leah described her observations. Now he drew a deep breath and dropped the pen on his yellow pad. “That could be consistent to what we’ve seen within the blood samples over the past forty-eight hours. As you know, the initial physical examinations were ‘abnormally normal’ for people from
their historic time period. In other words, their health was perfect, across the board, on every test. Naturally, we theorized that the stasis units also served to heal past injuries, maybe even repair organs, remove parasites, supercharge the immune system.” Gordon’s eyes sought Leah’s. “The fact that you’re beginning to see these…modifications fits our analysis.”
He took three sheets of paper out of the top folder and passed two along to Jack and Leah. The pages were filled with columns of numbers, similar to what Leah saw when given her annual physical. A long list of blood tests. In this case, one list had a date of about fourteen days ago, another long list featured numbers and notations, dated yesterday.
“These are blood tests conducted upon arrival, and additional testing using blood from the same numerical samples. Red blood cells degrade progressively during refrigerated storage. Typically, we don’t see real degradation in cells for weeks….”
“Are their red blood cells degrading abnormally fast?”
“No,” Gordon said. “The opposite. The red blood cells in the samples have increased in both count and size of cell—increased significantly—over the past two weeks.”
“That sounds like cancer,” Leah said. “If it’s even possible in a test tube.”
“Cancer, I could explain. And frankly I’d be more comfortable if that’s what the Ancients were presenting. But these cells are mutating and the counts are growing at an alarming rate. An impossible rate.”
Jack said, “I could use some of that blood enhancement. Can you imagine the increase in body oxygenation at altitude? I could jog to the top of Everest and do it in a swimsuit I’d be so flush with O2.”
“If you didn’t die of a stroke before you reached the summit,” Gordon said. “That’s why I asked if Leah had witnessed anything that could match stroke symptoms.”
Leah felt her anxiety growing. “Gordo—are you saying they could be suffering from polycythemia?”
