I’m finally back in Dad’s and my room at the Combat Force base outside New York City. I’m exhausted, yet somehow I can’t sleep. Questions and answers keep running through my mind and mixing with each other.
As soon as Ingrid’s live interview flashed across the world, Ms. Borris was released by the high-ranking military people. The barrage of information released to the world had uncloaked so much that they didn’t dare press charges against her for breaking national security laws. She met Nate and me as soon as we stepped off our flight to New York… .
I was interrupted by a knock on the door. Dad had left a half hour ago to talk with Ms. Borris and the general. “Come on in.” I had nothing to be afraid of now. Like there was any reason to lock your door at a military base anyway.
Ashley stepped in and quietly closed the door. She slumped into the chair next to me and kicked off her shoes. “Wow, am I tired.”
That was the understatement of the world. “Yeah, me too.”
“You know,” she said softly, “it was nice—for at least a few hours—to be part of a real family … even if it seemed like it was difficult to fit in with those two who claimed to be my parents.”
I nodded. It had taken a long time for me to feel like I knew my dad and that he was part of our family. Especially since over the years he had spent so much time away from us as a space pilot and …
My head still spun over Ms. Borris’s words—that Dad was actually an agent for the U.S. military, fighting against the Terratakers. Boy, did we have a lot to talk about when he got back to the room. Some of the little things that had happened since we landed on Earth were now starting to make sense. It had all been a setup to protect Dad from being revealed as an agent within the U.S. division of the Combat Force.
I had so many questions. I yawned. If I could stay awake until he got back to the room that is …
“Tyce,” Ashley jumped in, “are you really going to do it? think about having the operation where you could walk again?”
I was quiet for a couple of minutes. Finally I said the only thing I could. “I don’t know. If it means I might lose the ability to control robots …”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it now,” Ashley said quickly, with her eyes on the floor. “But I just wanted you to know that whatever you decide is okay with me.”
With those few words she got up, picked up her shoes, and dangled them in her hands as she walked toward the door. “And, Tyce?” she said just before she stepped into the hallway. “You’re the closest person to family I’ll ever have.”
Then, with the glitter of a tear in her eye and a flash of her silver cross earring, Ashley was gone.
I sat motionless, thinking and fingering the other silver cross she’d given me as a gift a long time ago, when she thought we might have to say good-bye for a long time. Then, slowly, my hands moved back to the keyboard.
Sometimes life just seems so unfair. Like how people can abuse kids by sticking them in jelly tubes and making them control robots without having a life. But even with things like that happening in the world, I’ve come to believe that God is still in control. People can use things for evil, but as Mom says, “God always intends things for good.”
And she’s right. There is no doubt now that the kids on the space station orbiting the Moon are going to be released. With all the public, worldwide pressure, the Manchurians have already released a press statement that the children will be let go as soon as transportation will allow it. Further, they claim to be horrified that one of their space stations was being used for such a purpose as child slavery. That is their claim. But one by one, other countries that once backed the Manchurians have begun to distance themselves from them.
In an effort to sway public opinion, the Manchurians have promised to launch a search via the children’s DNA and all known hospital DNA records. They’re also asking parents of missing children to supply blood samples for DNA testing, all in an effort to find the children’s parents, matching the search that the Americans are doing for the kids in Arizona. The Manchurian promises might not be enough. On Earth, at least, the Manchurians look like they are on a downward slide.
As for linking the children with their parents, it will take a while. I’m just glad it worked out in Arizona as planned. But I would like to know why the general and the helicopter pilot …
I stopped keyboarding and let other questions flood into my mind… . What about Dr. Jordan and Luke Daab? They hadn’t yet been located. Had they given up fighting for the Terratakers?
And the question that meant the most for the Earth’s future: Would the theory of the carbon-dioxide generators speed along an atmosphere for Mars? Could it become inhabitable for humans outside the dome?
I sighed. All of these questions certainly weren’t helping me to fall asleep.
Just then the door opened again. It was Dad, looking exhausted but happy. His tie hung crookedly against his shirt, which was open at the neck. I’d long ago shed my ethics committee attire for a comfortable Combat Force jumpsuit I’d found in the closet of our room.
“Information on the Moon pod was just released to the public,” Dad said. “And Chad, the general’s son, is supposedly among the kids who will soon be shuttled to Earth. We’re still waiting to see if the supreme governor’s grandson comes up on the list too. He was kidnapped about the same time as Chad.”
“Did you have a chance to ask Cannon about the helicopter pilot?”
Dad nodded. “We can talk more about that later. But remember the kind of pressure that was being put on Cannon. His own son was a hostage in the pod.”
“Big pressure,” I agreed.
“And remember that all of this has hinged on world public opinion. Cannon knew if the media finally exposed all of this, his son would be safe. But Cannon couldn’t betray the military faction that wanted everything kept secret.”
“With you so far. But that doesn’t explain the helicopter pilot who tried to kill us, then shows up later in his office.”
“The pilot didn’t try to kill you. At Cannon’s instructions, he made it look that way. Cannon was ready to take over the controls.”
I didn’t get it. “Cannon wanted it that way?”
“Remember the bomb in your wheelchair and that last-minute rescue? Ever wonder how they knew about the bomb? Cannon put it there. He set the whole thing up. He had to.”
“Because … ?”
“It began to shift public opinion. He knew the hidden Terratakers in the Combat Force would have no choice but to do everything possible to protect you. In short, he disarmed them, knowing they would have liked you out of the way.”
I let out a deep breath. “But he couldn’t ever tell me in case the listening devices were nearby.”
“Exactly.” Dad walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Tyce, I’m really proud of you. For going ahead with the mission to help the kids, even without me. For everything you’re doing with the robots. For appearing before the ethics committee …”
He tousled my hair. Less than a year ago, when I didn’t like him very much, I would have hated that. Now I didn’t mind.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. Then I grinned. “Don’t you think it’s about time to do what I told the robots in the tantalum mine? ‘Time to go home’?”
“You bet,” he said enthusiastically.
It was time. Time for us to go back to our real home. A place with a butterscotch sky and blue sun.
Mars.
And I couldn’t wait… .
CHAPTER 1
Tidal wave!
Not water. But blood. Whooshing down a narrow pipeline.
I knew the rush of blood was out there only because I could hear it surge ahead with each heartbeat—a sound like a distant drum. But I couldn’t see anything because I was inside a shiny steel transporter pod, half the size of a pea, carried along by the powerful flow of blood.
Well, actually, it wasn’t me inside the pod but the miniature robot I
controlled through virtual reality. But it felt like I was inside the pod. Since my brain waves were connected to the robot, I saw and heard what the robot saw and heard. In turn, the robot responded to my brain waves and moved the way my own body would move.
The robot itself was an incredible piece of machinery. It was a second-generation ant-bot, about one-tenth the size of the original mini-robots. And those first ones were smaller than an ant!
Yet even being that tiny, there wasn’t much room for the robot’s arms and legs to move in the absolute darkness of the pod. There certainly was nothing to see inside. All I could do was wait and listen to the blood outside as the transporter pod moved through the major arteries of the president of the United States of America.
Inside the operating room, the president sat calmly in a chair, hooked to heartbeat monitors, waiting for the transporter pod to reach the pacemaker in her heart. Something had caused it to slow down, and the doctors didn’t know what. Checking it by robot was much easier on her than having a major operation that would open her chest cavity and keep her in the hospital for weeks.
Just a few minutes earlier, a doctor had injected the tiny pod into an artery in her hip. A beeping locator signal let the doctor know of its progress. As my robot waited, the doctor guided the pod through the president’s arteries with a powerful magnet. The inside of the pod was lined with a thin rubber coating so the electrical forces generated by the magnet wouldn’t disturb the intricate wiring of the robot. But the X-ray signals could still get through the rubber, and that allowed me to stay in contact with the doctor.
“Tyce,” the doctor said, “you’re moving toward the lungs now. I’m sorry it’s taking so long, but I made a wrong turn at the kidneys. After all, this is the first time something like this has ever been tried.”
Although I couldn’t see anything, I imagined the walls of the arteries stretching and throbbing with each beat of the heart. I imagined glowing red saucer-shaped platelets swarming just outside my pod.
“Tyce,” the doctor continued, “are you ready? I mean, really ready? We’re talking about a human life at stake. And this human happens to be the president of the most powerful country in the world. If she dies, a lot of other people will suffer.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m ready.”
The doctor had explained it to me earlier. When the pod reached the right place near the president’s heart, he would trigger the pod to release some tiny spikes that would secure it to the blood vessel. Then the pod would open, and my robot would seek its target—the president’s pacemaker.
I’d spent hours going over the model of a pacemaker, studying computer-generated images to give me an understanding of how it would appear to my little robot.
“I’m ready,” I confirmed. “As soon as the pod opens.”
It took the doctor another 30 seconds. “Get ready,” he warned.
“Ready,” I repeated.
And blood rushed in as the pod cracked open.
Immediately my robot began to sway with the movement of the blood. The president’s heartbeat had fallen to 30 beats per minute. One every two seconds. A hard tidal wave rushed over me; then it became relatively calm and I floated in an ebb of blood.
A beat every two seconds. Slower than if she’d been asleep. Her heart wasn’t pumping enough blood, and her body desperately needed oxygen. Already some of her major organs had begun to shut down.
My robot was tethered to the inside of the transporter pod by a microscopic strand of titanium. The next heartbeat would pump blood that would shoot me forward until I reached the end of it, like a dog running to the end of its leash.
A light attached to the robot’s right arm showed a red glow of blood around it. But if the doctor had placed the pod correctly, the next heartbeat would take me right into the pacemaker and …
The robot shot forward as blood gushed again through the artery. Then it stopped hard. I’d hit the pacemaker!
Now my tiny light bounced off the shininess of the pacemaker’s plastic. It would have to be enough.
The light showed a small seam. I grabbed it and held on. I needed to be secure before the next heartbeat washed a new wave of blood over me.
The wave came. It tugged at my robot body.
I held.
I climbed farther for another second.
I held. Waited for another rush of blood. Then climbed.
Again and again. Until finally I reached a small opening that led into the pacemaker.
I waited for another heartbeat to pass before moving inside.
Once inside, I needed to find a wire that, although nearly invisible to human eyes, would look like a thick rope to a robot this size. The wire sent an electrical current to the pacemaker controls from its power source. It was insulated, so I didn’t have to worry about putting my robot in risk of shock, which could also shock my own brain. It was this wire that doctors suspected was loose or frayed, causing the slower heartbeat.
My robot hand finally found the wire. It was so big in comparison that I could barely wrap the robot fingers around it. I grabbed and held tight.
That was my mistake. I should have been holding something else.
The next wave of blood shifted my robot body.
I forgot to let go of the wire.
It held me briefly, then snapped loose as blood tugged at my robot body. For a moment my robot body swayed. Then it stopped, suspended in blood.
And I realized what had happened. I’d disconnected the wire that, until then, had just been frayed or loose. All heartbeats of the pacemaker stopped.
“Tyce!” the doctor shouted. “What’s going on in there? The president is screaming with pain. She has—!” He stopped for a second, then shouted louder, “Tyce! She’s collapsed. We can’t get a heartbeat on these monitors! Tyce! Tyce Sanders! Do something in there!”
CHAPTER 2
“Can you scratch my back?” I begged Ashley. A cast covered my body from my knees all the way up to just below my armpits. The skin beneath my body cast was so itchy I wouldn’t have cared if she used a chain saw to get at it.
I’d just finished my virtual-reality simulation, and my heart was still pounding.
“You just killed the first woman president in the history of the United States, and that’s the first thing you’re going to say for history to record?” Ashley exclaimed, helping me take off my sensory-deprivation helmet.
I rubbed my face where the helmet had pressed for the last half hour. The helmet was designed to make sure no light or sound reached my own eyes or ears during robot control. Even though it was tight enough to be barely comfortable, it was an improvement on the headset and blindfold I had first used to go into robot control.
Of course, with the total backing of the World United Federation after uncovering the plot to kill the vice governors, all of our stuff had been replaced with the best and newest equipment. This included updated computer programs to simulate situations where robot control could help the rest of humankind. Things like robot submarines. Robot helicopters. Robot firefighters. And robot surgical units, like the ones used in the virtual-reality medical emergency I had just failed.
I knew a little about the history of computers and how this new ant-bot was technologically possible. The first silicon computer chips—way, way back in the late 1900s—were wafers hardly bigger than a pinkie fingernail. Now those wafers looked like baseball stadiums compared to the modern computer chips, which were tinier than a pinhead. Information pathways were etched on these chips less than a molecule in width. My small robot needed only two chips for all its computing work, and the robot’s arms and legs were so tiny that only other miniature robots—guided by human brains—could build them.
Ashley floated beside me, holding my helmet by its strap. She had just unhooked me from my robot-control transmitter. “At least I was almost able to fix her pacemaker,” she said, rubbing in her own success. Her dark almond-shaped eyes crinkled as she grinned. “Every time you tried, the
blood knocked you out of your pod.”
Okay, so she had me there. Ashley was right. She was a good match for me in virtual-reality skills. Although I wouldn’t tell her so outright, secretly I was glad. After all, that was what had brought us together as friends when she’d arrived on the planet of Mars almost four years ago.
During the past two and a half years on Earth, as we waited for the orbit rotation of Earth and Mars to line up so that my dad could take us back to Mars, Ashley and I had become even closer. It isn’t just any friend who hangs around when you have to spend most of your time visiting doctors and having multiple tests—or when you’re up to your eyeballs in a cast. After saving the vice governors’ lives, I’d been told it was possible I would be able to walk again. But it could mean losing my ability to control robots through virtual reality.
It sounds crazy, I know, but the choice had been tough. I’d never been able to walk my whole life—but my world, and all my training since I was a kid, had been in virtual reality. It was hard to think about giving that up.
But after a lot of discussions with my dad, my mom, and Rawling, I’d decided to go for it. And Ashley had been my biggest supporter, keeping my mind busy—especially over the two months I’d spent in the body cast on Earth and now these almost six months on the spaceship back to Mars.
It was Ashley who had insisted that I try connecting with a robot soon into my recovery after surgery. I’d been too scared to try it by myself. And I’d been surprised—and greatly relieved—when my spinal plug still worked to connect my brain waves to a robot. So at least I knew that part of my life would still work.
But could I walk? Actually be able to take steps on my own, outside of virtual reality with a robot? It had been eight months since my surgery, and I still had to wait and see.
Final Battle Page 10
