by Sam Fisher
'Well, that's a relief!' Maiko laughed, and walked over to Stephanie, Pete, Josh and Mark.
'How're you feeling?' Mark asked.
'Great,' she replied instinctively. She rubbed her neck. The day before, she had volunteered to be the first of the group to undergo three hours of surgery to implant a set of devices into her body. This was her first time up and about.
She was equipped with three enhancements. The first was a nano-processor planted just behind each eye, expanding her visual range dramatically. At the same time, it gave her far better vision in low light. The processor was so small that a million of them could fit onto a pin head, but it had the computing power of a conventional desktop. The second implant was a cochlear chip to enhance her hearing. Lastly, Maiko was implanted with a nano-processor in her brain stem. When needed, this controlled the release of a range of biochemicals that performed a variety of functions – pain relief, hunger relief, anti-motion-sickness, energy-boosting; even, in the direst of circumstances, voluntary euthanasia. They were triggered by the main computer centre at Base One but required a coded numeric sequence from the team member in the field.
'It's a weird sensation,' Maiko said, 'but the doc assures me it's just a matter of getting used to the stuff. And if I don't take to the implants they can be atomised remotely. It's pretty cool. I feel like the six-million-dollar woman!'
'Costs a bit more than that these days,' Mark retorted. 'And I believe you're next, Pete,' he added, glancing his way.
'I'm late already,' Pete said, jumping up rather enthusiastically. 'I'll see you in a couple of days.'
'Yeah, in all the colours of the rainbow simultaneously,' Tom sniggered.
'Don't worry, computer boy,' Pete shot back. 'I'll ask the doc to rig up a cyber interface so you can get nice and cuddly with the mainframe. With an I/O port right here, lad.' And he pointed to the middle of his forehead.
'Bring it on, dude! Bring. It. On.'
'Right,' Mark said as the door closed behind Pete. 'Mai, are you up to a flight simulation today?'
'I guess. It should be a doddle with these nanobots in my cranium.'
13
Base One, Tintara
E-Force training, week six
The four field members of E-Force were kitted out in their operational bodysuits. These were made from a 'smart' fabric, a blend of manmade fibres including latex and a polymer produced from ultra-fine strands of carbon called carbothreads. But the suits were much more than a clever fabric. Referred to as 'cybersuits', they were part-garment, part-machine, so light and thin the wearer was hardly aware of them. Across the chest was written E-FORCE, and under this the name of the team member.
Woven into the fabric were millions of nano devices and sensors that automatically adjusted the flow of liquids through microscopic tubes interwoven with the threads of the fabric. These cooled or warmed the wearer as necessary. The suit could also supply nutrients, blood and other bodily fluids through an almost invisible catheter. As well as this, nanobots in the suit communicated directly with the enhancements implanted into each of the field members of E-Force. Combined, these allowed the wearer to survive for weeks in even the most extreme environments. It also meant the team had no need for heavy equipment such as phones, laptops or sensor devices. Via the cybersuit, they were fully connected – wired to the internet with a connection speed of ten gigabits per second, thousands of times faster than the latest conventional connections.
The team was standing in Hangar C, the smallest of three at Base One. It was a vast empty space, except for a row of glass pods standing in a line stretching from one end of the 300-foot-long building to the other. The pods were cylinders fifteen feet in diameter and twelve high. They were each placed about five yards apart.
At one end of the hangar stood a control room raised about 25 feet above the ground on steel supports. It was accessed by a steel stair. The control room was very narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass each other, but it was packed with high-tech equipment. A holographic view screen stood at one end, and there was a row of computer stations with their 3D displays projected in the air above virtual keyboards. The holographic image at the end of the room and the computer holoscreens showed the same thing – the four pods in the hangar.
'Okay. This is the set-up,' Mark said. 'Each pod is a mock-up of a fission reactor core, modelled on the reactor at Philli C on the Eastern Seaboard. It has an inner skin, a smaller cylinder, floor to ceiling. In our scenario, the core has gone critical. You have to go into the chamber between the inner and the outer cylinders and secure the three stabiliser devices there – A, B and C. These will control the core breach. An extra problem comes from the reactor's defence system, which will detect any alien presence. After 45 seconds it releases a toxic gas into the chamber. When this reaches a concentration of 0.400 parts per million, it's deadly. Once the third device is in place, the system will shut down and the defence matrix be neutralised. Have you got that?'
Pete, Josh, Maiko and Stephanie nodded in unison.
'Now, just to make it a little more interesting. One of the pods is real.'
'What?' Josh asked.
'Okay, not real real, but active. That is, the gas is real. Real deadly.' Mark stared at the four. 'Right. We're all cool with that?'
They said nothing.
'I'll take that as a yes.'
'One question.'
Mark looked at Maiko.
'Where will you be?'
'Tucked up nice and warm in the control room,' Mark replied, flicking a glance at the box on stilts at the far end. 'The code for the locks is 4321. On my mark . . . Go!'
Each of the four dashed to a pod, punched in the code and dived in. The doors swished closed, sealing them inside.
It was a tight squeeze between the inner and outer skins. Through the glass they could just see Mark striding towards the control room. The inner chamber was semi-opaque, changing colour constantly. Each of them set to work immediately. The alarm system would be kicking in in little more than 30 seconds.
Pete was the first to find the stabiliser marked Device A. He sized it up and found a catch on the side. It snapped open. Four small holes appeared and metal feet sprung out. Each was attached to a sucker pad. There was just enough space to twist the contraption round. He was about to fit it to the glass cylinder when, right on cue, the alarm went off.
The screeching sound reverberated around the hangar, but it was loudest inside the pods. Each member of the team had the sound instantly filtered automatically by the nano-processors in their cochlear implants.
The clock was now ticking.
Within ten seconds, all four team members had their first device locked into place. Mai was the first to the second device. She crouched down to pick it up. A computerised voice inside her right ear told her that the toxicity level in the chamber had now reached 0.100 parts per million. Still well within safe limits.
Twenty seconds later, Pete was screwing in the final sucker on Device B as Josh, Mai and Stephanie each dashed towards Device C.
'Toxicity level 0.250 parts per million,' the computer voice announced.
As Stephanie pulled one of the feet from the slot at the base of Device C, she began to feel queasy.
'Toxicity level 0.325 parts per million.'
Her fingers opened the catch and she depressed the release button for the four suckers. 'Damn!' she said aloud. 'What's happening? Is this a simulation or for real?'
Her words came through loud in the speaker in the control room.
'I've got the live one, haven't I?' she said without missing a beat, as she tugged again at the last foot to be released on Device C – it was stuck fast.
'Steph!' Mark's voice reached her ear. 'You've got the active chamber. Get your mask on!'
'Mask? What mask?'
'The mask – oh, for God's sake!' Mark turned to the operatives at the console beside him. 'She doesn't have her helmet. Unlock that door – now!'
The man nea
rest him stabbed at the virtual keyboard. Nothing happened. He hit the same sequence again. Nothing.
'What's happening?' Stephanie called through the communicator.
'We're opening up the pod, Steph. Don't worry.'
'It won't open,' the operative said.
'What?' Mark's mind was racing.
'Steph,' he said, making a supreme effort to keep his voice calm. 'We're having a problem opening the door automatically. I'm coming down to use the manual override. Can you get the third device up?'
'I'm trying . . .'
'Toxicity level 0.385 parts per million.'
At that moment, Pete Sherringham burst out of his pod, followed a moment later by Mai, then Josh. They looked pleased with themselves before noticing the fourth pod. A second later, they saw Mark running down the metal stairs. He was yelling to them.
Realisation hit them and they dashed to the door of Stephanie's pod.
Inside, Stephanie was choking, her eyes streaming, but her only hope lay in prising the fourth sucker pad out of its housing. She punched at the button repeatedly but it simply would not shift. Trying to suppress her panic, she looked around the narrow curving corridor searching for something to dislodge the foot of the device, but there was nothing.
She hit it again. Nothing. She could hardly see the button now, her eyes were filled with water. The nanobots in her suit were working overtime pumping her with stimulants to help her fight the effects of the gas, but there was only so much they could do.
'Toxicity level 0.390 parts per million.'
Josh was running towards a control panel set into the wall at the far end of the hangar. Pete found a wrench and raced over to the door of Stephanie's's pod, where Mai was vainly attempting to force it open with her bare hands. He reached the pod and started to smash away at the keypad to the side of the portal.
Mark reached the control panel at almost the same moment as Josh. 'Stand back,' he called. 'I know the sequence.' He began depressing keys on the numeric pad.
Stephanie was on the verge of passing out when the foot of the device suddenly sprung out. Shocked, she almost dropped it. It slipped to the floor. Steadying herself against the outer wall of the chamber, she pushed herself forward and held out the stabiliser, feet extended, ready to fix it into place.
'Toxicity level 0.395 parts per million.'
She could hear someone bashing at the door, muffled voices. The light in the chamber seemed to fade, then brighten. She began to lose focus and could not help her head falling forward. She caught herself.
'Toxicity level 0.399 parts per million.'
Her legs buckled and she fell back against the outer wall, the stabiliser tumbling onto her chest. She gasped and everything faded to a bleached and formless white.
14
83 miles south-east of Havre, Montana
Pestilence ran his hand along the withers of his favourite mare, Hermione, and whispered quietly in her ear. He and a stableboy had been up all night with the horse, helping her deliver a very large foal just before dawn. The spindly brown thing that had emerged from Hermione was already standing, albeit wobbly. She looked like a perfect clone of her mother.
Pestilence walked out into the orange glow of sunrise as morning broke over 100,000 acres of green. Screwing up his eyes and raising a hand to his brow, he could just see, coming in from the south, the black shape of a chopper. It began to slow, lowering towards the helipad 50 yards from the ranch. Pestilence could see two figures in the cockpit. Turning, he walked away towards the house to wash away the stench of the stable.
Twenty minutes later, Pestilence had changed into an immaculate pair of Levis, soft leather boots and a checked shirt. Striding into his library, he saw the Dragon sitting in an armchair close to the roaring fire. Without a word, Pestilence settled into the chair opposite and gazed at the fire. The two men were silent for at least 30 seconds.
'We congratulate you on the Hollywood Hills assignment,' Pestilence said eventually, without looking round.
The Dragon said nothing, staring into the flames.
Pestilence stood and took two steps towards a painting of a black stallion to the right of the fireplace. He touched the corner of the ornate gold frame and the picture lifted. Inside was a metal panel with a line of three lights beside it. He placed his palm on the plate, tapped a keypad, and the panel slid to one side. Pestilence put his hand into the cavity and withdrew a cardboard folder. He closed the panel and lowered the picture, then returned to his armchair. Once seated, he handed the folder to the Dragon and looked into his face. 'Read,' he said.
The Dragon studied the contents of the folder carefully and Pestilence began to talk. 'Kyle Foreman,' he said. 'US senator, 43 at his last birthday. High-flier, very, very bright, and very, very determined. Tipped to become the 45th president. Extremely popular in the Senate, and with the public.'
'I've heard of him,' the Dragon said slowly, his faint accent just detectable.
'He's big on the environment. Formed OneEarth two years ago. It's become the fastest growing cross-party movement in history. As I said, he's popular . . . but not with us.' And Pestilence produced a cynical smile.
'What do you have in mind?'
Pestilence was staring at the flames again. 'How many men and women have you killed for us?' he asked, his eyes fixed on the ever-changing patterns of yellow and orange.
'Twenty-four.'
'Eliminating the good senator will be messy. He is very well protected, but we've given a great deal of thought to the matter, my . . . colleagues and I. Serious collateral damage will be unavoidable. How do you feel about serious collateral damage, my friend?'
The Dragon stared at him without expression.
'It could mean putting at least one zero on the end of your tally for us. How do you feel about that?'
The Dragon's face was an emotionless mask. 'When do I start?' he said.
15
Base One, Tintara
Stephanie's bleached and formless world began to regain colour and shape. But she couldn't regain consciousness. Instead, she was walking along Balmoral Beach on Sydney's North Shore. The sun was nothing more than a dome of pinkish red in the east, splashing dawn colours across the crisp white sand, but it was still hot. She was wearing an orange bikini and a sarong she had bought in Bali. Her long legs were deeply tanned and she had just had her blonde hair cut short.
A lock of hair fell from behind her ear and she pushed it back absent-mindedly. Someone was walking beside her. It was her husband, Ted. Her arm was linked in his. He was laughing at something she had said. At that moment, she loved Ted so much she thought she was going to burst.
In some ways, he was a typical upper-middle-class Englishman, stiff and formal, but he understood her, saw her every quality, her every fault – she worked too hard, gave him too little of her time, had no serious thoughts about ever becoming a mother. An athlete from childhood, she was obsessed with her weight, she over-exercised, and she was overcritical of him and his bad habits. She had been scarred by her impoverished childhood, her compulsive gambler of a father who had led them to ruin, debt collectors and holes in the roof. She knew Ted loved her despite those faults, her many faults . . . He had mended her, made her a better person.
Then the agony of recall flooded through Stephanie's brain. Ted was dead. Of course he was. He was very dead. His body had been smashed by a Taliban booby trap in the Barai Ghar mountains while he was fighting in the British SAS. She hadn't been allowed to see his body. It was in too many pieces, too much of it missing. But in the rain at RAF Brize Norton she had watched his flag-draped coffin as it came down the ramp of a Hercules. She had stood a hundred yards away with army dignitaries and Ted's relatives.
Stephanie opened her eyes and saw the ceiling imbued with a soft, warm light from an invisible source. The dread images faded fast. She moved her head and a pain flew across her eyes, making her gasp.
'It's alive!'
She turned towards the sound and Tom Eri
ckson's face came into focus. She tried to sit up, but it was painful.
'I wouldn't,' Tom said. 'Take it easy, Steph.'
She ignored him and winced as she pulled herself up. 'What . . .'
'What happened? You came this close to the bright white light,' Erickson said, holding up his fingers a fraction of an inch apart.
She brought a hand to her temple as another stab of pain shot across her forehead. 'Oh yeah, the pod.' She looked around the room. 'So what you doing here, Tom?'
'Why not? I have an excellent bedside manner.'
Stephanie smiled. 'Where're the others?'
'Oh, the usual – out playing at being Mattel action figures,' Tom retorted with disdain.
'How long have I been unconscious?'
'Twenty-four hours, or thereabouts.'
'What?'
'It was pretty serious, Steph. Mark managed to get the door of the pod open with . . . oooh . . . nanoseconds to spare.'
'Nanoseconds? My goodness!'
'Think yourself lucky. You've missed out on the latest trial.'
'Which is?'
'I'm not really sure, but they're in the middle of it right now – out there somewhere.' He nodded towards the window. 'Make the most of it and go back to sleep. I know I would.'
16
A mile and a half away, Pete, Josh and Maiko were feeling overwhelmed.
It had started well. Earlier that day they had gathered at Camp Alpha, a cluster of small buildings at the north-east end of Tintara. The news about Stephanie was all good. She was on the mend and would be woken from her induced coma at 14.00. Meanwhile, the three of them had a new task to complete. With the soft lapping of the waves filtering through an open window in the meeting room at Camp Alpha, Mark had explained what they had to do.
'As you know, Tintara is a very small island,' he had said. 'But most of it's jungle, and it's very easy to lose something in that jungle. In this exercise, one of the technicians will play the part of a seriously injured civilian with no idea of survival procedures and no medical knowledge. He is trapped somewhere on Tintara. You have to find him and rescue him.
