AMPED w-2

by Douglas E. Richards

  These nanites were being discovered in locations around the world. And they were being fruitful and multiplying. In only a few days they would be so plentiful as to be observed, not just by biologists with powerful microscopes wondering what had contaminated their cell cultures, but by any kid with a twenty dollar microscope and a sample of air, or water, or dirt.

  Nanotechnology had been all the rage now for decades. Scientists had long known of the possibilities, and potential, of manipulating matter on an atomic scale, and nanotechnology departments had become a mainstay of universities around the globe. And while considerable progress had been made, the alien nanites were far more advanced than anything humanity was capable of, although they appeared deceptively simple in construction.

  As early as 1959, Richard Feynman had asked the question, what if items could be manufactured—assembled—from the bottom up, using atoms for building blocks? And in 1986, Eric Drexler had built on this to ask, what if an assembler could be designed at the nanoscale level that could not only assemble any blueprint given to it, but that could even make copies of itself? These were breathtaking visions.

  And there was proof that this could be done. Endless proof. In an eagle, or an armadillo, or an oak tree, or a single blade of grass. All multicellular life on earth had been assembled in precisely this manner.

  The complex entity called a human was composed of trillions of cells, and each of these trillions of cells had arisen from a single fertilized egg. This single fertilized cell, drawing half of its genes from a male donor and half from a female, was the ultimate nanite, converting bits of raw material taken in (food) into copies of itself, and doing so exponentially. And exponential growth was truly awesome in its capacity. A single cell became two, and two became four, and four became eight, and so on. But while this growth didn’t look like much in the first ten or fifteen doublings, if left unchecked, in only forty doublings this single cell would become over a trillion cells. From one to a trillion in only forty doublings.

  But as impressive as this rate of growth was, a trillion identical cells would be useless; a pile of protoplasm that couldn’t walk, or watch a sunset, or write a sonnet. What was truly awe-inspiring was that a single progenitor cell had the programming necessary to make an entire human. At some point early in the process, using methods that science still didn’t fully understand, the cells would begin to differentiate—to specialize. Some in the early ball of identical cells, following a complex program in their DNA, knew to become heart cells. And some eye cells. And some brain cells. And so on. And each group of cells knew where to position themselves, and how to properly integrate themselves into the whole. All the instructions, the entire blueprint, was there in that first microscopic, fertilized cell.

  An absolute miracle of nanite construction, each and every time it occurred.

  And if organic material, made up of lipids and protein and DNA, could pull off a miracle, why couldn’t a manmade assembler do the same? Not for constructs as complex as a human, or even an ant, but at least for relatively uncomplicated construction; for far less demanding tasks.

  This was the vision, and scientists had pursued it ever since. As early as 1989, a physicist managed to move individual atoms for the first time, and in less than two months was able to arrange thirty-five xenon atoms to spell out the letters IBM. Scientists had gone on to construct motors the size of a single molecule and found clever ways for their tiny machines to self-assemble.

  The alien nanites were built precisely along the lines human scientists had long envisioned, just thirty to a hundred years more advanced than was currently possible. They were simple, which made them versatile, able to convert minute quantities of raw material into more of themselves.

  Bacteria had long proven the effectiveness of simplicity of design combined with an unequaled ability to reproduce and spread. The human body harbored ten times more bacteria than it had cells of its own. In fact, more than thirty times as many bacteria could be found in an ounce of fecal matter than there were humans in the world. Bacteria inhabited almost every square inch of ground on the planet, and could be found forty miles above the surface and twenty miles below. They existed in frigid arctic climates and in boiling hot springs. On the surface of oceans and below the waves. They could thrive in oil, pesticides, and toxic waste. Bacteria teamed throughout the globe in incomprehensible numbers, and there was nowhere they couldn’t penetrate.

  The alien nanites appeared to be just as unstoppable. They could chew through plastic and steel, one molecule at a time, so no barrier stopped them for long. Scientists isolated them and put them in environments containing various raw materials. At the average rate of duplication, and given the power of exponential growth, the weight of the nanites would exceed the weight of the Earth in less than two weeks.

  But of course this wouldn’t happen. The nanites couldn’t grow unrestrained forever. They would run out of raw material. And they must have a purpose.

  But what?

  Huge numbers of them were injected into experimental animals with no effect. They were found on human skin and in human feces, also with no discernable effect. They appeared to be as harmless to terrestrial biology as the trillions of bacteria that called the human gut their home.

  All of Copernicus was briefed on these emerging findings at the same time, in dozens of languages on thousands of monitors.

  The race to understand the end game of the alien nanites was on. The news couldn’t be contained for much longer. The Copernicus needed to get ahead of this story, needed to find a way to fend off the panic that would inevitably come. For the alien ship hadn’t just travelled uncountable trillions of miles to assume a dead orbit and become nothing more than a fancy decoration. It had somehow disgorged a plague upon the world. The nanites could well be for the good—perhaps eventually serving as tiny MDs, entering human bloodstreams and patrolling to destroy cancer and other maladies and repair damage—but their presence, and their reproductive abilities, were terrifying.

  Their purpose could also be malicious, a conclusion that the majority of the world’s population would jump to immediately. And the nanites would soon reach a point at which they were so plentiful, even if they continued to be harmless, panic would reach critical mass.

  So hasty plans were made to rush nanotechnologists, roboticists, computer scientists, and software engineers to the Copernicus, and nonessential personnel were identified who would be sent home to make room. But given the ubiquity of the nanites, this time the Copernicus was not the only game in town. Each government mounted its own homegrown effort as an adjunct to the collaborative effort that would be undertaken at sea.

  Within days the nanites would be so easy to find, grade schoolers would be part of the effort to unlock their mysteries.

  46

  Eric Frey, also known as Adam Archibald, removed a gellcap from a steel container and brought it close to the camera so Desh could get a clear view. “Time to begin part two of this interrogation,” he said with a smug look on his face. He popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed. “For this part, I need to know with absolute certainty if you’re telling me the truth or not.”

  Frey waited calmly for the effect to hit. Four minutes later it did. Desh could tell immediately from the haughty expression on Frey’s face and the gleam in his eyes. Desh knew Frey would have to create an avatar, a tiny portion of his mental capabilities set aside to emulate a normal, or else communication would be impossible, since Frey was now operating on a level Desh couldn’t begin to understand or keep up with.

  Desh fought to maintain a poker face, but was cursing inside. Shit. Frey had gotten lucky. He had chosen the exact right time to enhance himself. He glanced over at a clock by the bedside for just an instant, without realizing it, but this was enough.

  “You’re expecting company,” said Frey. It wasn’t a question. “You’re pissed that I took a gellcap just minutes before they’re due to arrive. You still think you’ve got the upper hand, but y
ou’re worried the pill might give me too much of a chance.” He shot Desh a withering stare. “You’re right to be worried.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Desh, unable to help himself from lying, even knowing that attempts at deception would be useless.

  Frey disappeared from view and returned thirty seconds later with a pair of binoculars. He took over from the autopilot and the yacht made a wide arc that ended with it pointing back toward the San Diego shoreline, much too far away to be visible. He opened the throttle all the way and the craft sliced through the waves at its full speed of almost forty-five miles per hour. Then Frey re-engaged the autopilot.

  Finally, he returned his attention to his prisoner. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “What happened to David Desh, Lone Ranger? You actually did something unexpected; something not retarded. Incredible. So you can teach an old Desh new tricks.” He leaned forward intently and his eyes bored into Desh’s with the full intensity of his expanded intellect, which was intimidating on a primal level. “From the air or sea?” snapped Frey.

  Desh sat perfectly still and said nothing.

  “I see. Air only. Mercs?”

  “The best,” replied Desh, knowing his silence wouldn’t keep the information from Frey and hoping to shake his confidence.

  Frey just laughed and began scanning the skies with the binoculars.

  The ex-USAMRIID scientist had been right about him, Desh knew. He was predictable, and he had been stupid for a long time. As soon as Jake had appeared on the radar he should have begun to beef up his forces. With the loss of Connelly, and given everything else that had rained down on their heads, an army of one wasn’t about to cut it. And Desh knew when going after someone who was ruthless, slippery, and capable of being enhanced, the tables could be turned in a hurry. So he had organized a team of mercs while in San Diego. And they were as good as it got. Having access to unlimited funds made recruitment easy. Pay three or four times the going rate and things happened quickly. He had instructed them to come after him forty-five minutes after the Codon had left the dock, if they hadn’t heard from him by then.

  “How many, and what are their orders?”

  “Six,” replied Desh with as much bravado as he could manage. “In two large civilian helos. And they have explosives and firepower enough to destroy you and this craft, regardless of how smart you are now.”

  While Desh was speaking, Frey spotted the helos far off in the distance, too far away for the blades to be heard over the sound of the open ocean. The sky was a pure crystal blue and visibility was as good as it could be, not a rare occurrence for San Diego.

  Frey rushed below deck and threw open the door to the guest room, not even bothering to point a weapon in Desh’s direction. Ordinarily, even with a weapon trained on him by someone like Frey, Desh would have had the upper hand, but he knew that attacking Frey in his enhanced state was useless.

  “Here are your choices,” said Desh, forcing himself to stay calm, which was nearly impossible. Facing Frey while he was enhanced was like facing an oncoming hurricane, a force of nature that possessed a power so ferocious it could not be overcome. “You can let me go and surrender. In which case my men will let you live to fight another day. You’ll be captured, but you’ll be unharmed.”

  “Or I can kill you,” said Frey impatiently, “and try to fight or escape.”

  “You can, but if I’m dead my men have orders to destroy this yacht and kill you from as far away as possible.”

  “And if I don’t surrender, even if you are still alive, they have orders to do the same,” said Frey, reading Desh’s next sentence as surely as if it had been spoken. “You told them you were expendable.” Frey titled his head and studied Desh. “I see. But they get a massive bonus if you live through this. Smart. You didn’t want them to get itchy trigger fingers. If they got the same money whether you died or not, they’d just blow us up and be done with it.”

  “I’m prepared to die,” growled Desh firmly. “Are you?”

  Frey laughed. “I’m prepared to die,” he mocked in an exaggerated, cartoon voice. “I’m prepared to die. Are you fucking kidding me? Where does the world grow people like you?” he barked in contempt. “Thank God misplaced nobility and monumental stupidity isn’t contagious.”

  Desh ignored the insult. He had heard worse from his closest colleagues while they were under the influence of one of Kira’s gellcaps. “My team has arrived,” he told Frey. “You have two minutes to make a decision. If you haven’t released me and surrendered by then, we’re both dead.”

  Frey returned Desh’s phone to him. “Call them,” he said calmly. “Tell them to hold their fire. I’m surrendering.” He shrugged. “As you guessed when planning this, I’m not prepared to die. And while I calculate I’d be able to kill you and your scary mercs four out of five times, I’m not willing to take a chance.”

  Desh touched the screen and the phone dialed. “When we get on deck,” he said, “you’ll have to return my stun gun and let me use it on you. Then I’ll immobilize you and wait until you return to normal before we proceed.”

  Frey nodded.

  “Hold your fire,” barked Desh into the phone. “We’re coming out. I repeat, hold your fire.”

  “Roger that,” came the response, loudly enough to be heard by both men.

  The two men emerged on deck. The helos kept a respectful distance, following Desh’s instructions. Desh had insisted that if he needed their intervention, regardless of how frail and harmless Frey might appear, to consider him to be the most formidable opponent they had ever faced.

  The ocean air whipped around both men, and Desh couldn’t help but feel somewhat exhilarated by the speed of the large craft as it cut through the Pacific. “Okay,” said Desh. “Give me my stun gun.”

  Frey pulled out an H&K .45 and shot Desh point blank in the torso.

  The move had been impossibly fast. Then, in another flash of movement, before Desh could even fall to the deck, Frey executed a perfect kick that sent him flying over the edge of the yacht and into the sea below.

  “Sorry, changed my mind,” said Frey calmly, rushing below deck once again as the Codon raced on.

  47

  “Hello, Kira. Thanks for taking my call,” said Colonel Morris Jacobson from inside a cramped but luxurious cabin on board the Copernicus. He had contacted her hours earlier to schedule the call, using the IP address he had used to contact her previously. Kira had left this IP address open, but had made sure it was untraceable by linking it to thousands of other IP locations that constantly shifted like the inside of a kaleidoscope, all but one a dummy.

  Kira was seated in front of a large monitor which displayed the colonel’s face, with Matt Griffin beside her, intending to be a silent observer.

  “I know what you look like now,” continued Jake. “So any reason not to put yourself on screen this time?”

  “Yeah,” spat Kira bitterly. “My reason is that you want me to.”

  It was true the colonel had been given false information, but he was also responsible for Jim Connelly’s death, something for which she could never forgive him. And the bullet Connelly had taken was meant for her. “You ordered your men in the Rockeys to shoot to kill, you bastard!”

  “How can you act surprised?” said Jake calmly. “You know I see you as enemy number one. When I bombed what I thought was your headquarters, I was shooting to kill. So this is hardly a new strategy. The one time you had me promise to take you prisoner and not try to kill you, you, yourself, taught me this was a mistake. That you’re too competent and dangerous to capture.”

  “You killed a great man,” she said, her voice a feral growl.

  “I really am sorry about that. The evidence I have suggests you’re the one plotting power-grabs and massacres on a global scale, and that your followers are just innocent people sucked in by your lies and charisma. Adoring followers willing to drink poisoned Kool-Aid at your command.”

  “What do you want?” snapped Kir
a.

  “I’m calling to ask for your help.”

  Kira glanced up at the bearded mountain standing next to her in disbelief. “Of course you are,” she spat. “How can I help?” she added sarcastically. “Wait a minute. Let me guess. You want me to blow my brains out. Or shove a bomb up my own ass maybe.”

  Jake made a visible effort to remain calm. “Look, in my office, you suggested we were on the same side, and offered your help if I ever needed it. So you’re admitting that was just bullshit?”

  “No. That was a real offer. But that was before you killed my friend.”

  “Again, I bombed your headquarters to slag, intending to kill you and several others. My intentions were never a mystery. You knew that when you offered to help me.”

  “What happened with van Hutten?” asked Kira, changing the subject.

  “I interrogated him, of course. Like Rosenblatt before him, he believes you couldn’t be more compassionate. Although he also believes you’re dangerous and misguided. ”

  “Did he convince you the aliens would ask to see me?”

  Jake smiled. “Almost. He’s got some pretty wild ideas, but he’s nearly as persuasive as you are. But you have him fooled. He doesn’t believe for a second you’re meeting with terrorists and plotting a massive power grab. He thinks you want to turn us all into the Borg from Star Trek.”

  “I know what he thinks!” snapped Kira with a scowl. “Do you still have him in custody?”

  “No. After he torched your facility and kidnapped you, he’s not exactly an Icarus member in good standing—so he’s of no further use to me. We let him go. He’s a future Nobel Laureate, after all. We made him sign stiff confidentiality agreements preventing him from telling anyone about you or Icarus, for reasons of national security. But he’s free. We warned him you might retaliate for what he did but he didn’t seem the least bit nervous.” He leaned in closer to the camera. “Should he be?”