Ganymede

by Jason Taylor

  She let her perception expand and was surprised to find she could sense other compartments in the sub too. She saw sailors doing their duties throughout the ship. She saw Suki sitting on a torpedo in the furthest aft compartment, meditatively sharpening her knife. Ranging farther, she sensed the cold ocean surging past just outside the pressure hull. Farther still, she felt the presence of animals swimming through the water around them. She paused for a moment as she watched a group of salmon swimming off their starboard side. As they passed behind the sub, she mentally let them go and ranged further out. Up above, near the surface, she sensed a pod of Orcas, a dozen animals swimming northward, oblivious to the massive bulk of the sub as it passed beneath them.

  June opened her eyes, her senses returning to the small compartment in which she was standing. A smile lit up her face. Life was good indeed.

  Chapter 32

  After Jill left with Dr. Bateman and his team, Tros turned to face the room. Everyone was running on the ragged edge, pushing their implants to support maximum concentration, awareness, and creativity. It couldn’t be sustained much longer. They were all into the red, well beyond the parameters that ensured a safe recovery without any lasting damage. She shrugged it off. It couldn’t be helped. This was war, and the fate of at least one major city was on the line, potentially the future of their entire civilization. Losing a few people to stimulation overdose was a small loss in the face of those risks.

  “Situation report people. Tell me something new,” Tros barked out.

  “I’ve got a data-stream coming in from McNair, Ma’am,” a young lieutenant replied.

  “Put it up where we can all see it.”

  The lieutenant made a few silent commands in her interface and the data was projected as a virtual image in the center of the room. The raw data came through first, it was a brain scan from one of the compromised guards at the naval yard as he was being interviewed. The information was too technically complex for Tros to interpret, but she saw a few of her technicians react with raised eyebrows and meaningful glances. She let herself hope that something useful might come from McNair after all.

  Once the raw data had streamed in, the analyst’s commentary was transmitted and duly projected for all of them to see. The face that appeared was young and absurdly fresh, a stark contrast to the tired, rumpled squalor of Tros and her team.

  “Hello everyone, I’m Dr. Julian. I’ve had the honor of analyzing the neural probe data collected from Sergeant Buck, and I must say that this is an extremely fascinating case,” she said, leaning forward, her face flushed with excitement.

  Get on with it, Tros thought, trying to keep her impatience from showing. She was tired and she was angry, and this young analyst didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation they were facing. It wasn’t her fault, Tros reminded herself. Not even McNair knew enough about the clones to realize how much danger they were all in.

  “When I first looked at the data, I found it very confusing. The brain scan was jumbled in ways I had never seen before,” the doctor continued. “There were overlapping patterns, sometimes coordinating, sometimes fighting for dominance. The guard’s demeanor during the interview was strange as well. His behavior was erratic and his personality was very different from what it had been before his interaction with the clones.”

  Dr. Julian pulled up an image of the guard to one side and a copy of the brain scans on the other.

  “Let me show you what I mean,” she said.

  She was silent for a moment while she fiddled with the playback controls. Once she was done, she sat back to watch the recording with them.

  The images sprung to life, the guard shaking his head back and forth, clearly agitated. The scan data spiked and fell, his various brain regions shifting erratically from green to orange, back to green again.

  “Why did you help the clone girls at the gate?” his interviewer asked.

  “I… I don’t know,” the guard responded, sweat beading up on his hairline. “I felt it was necessary, I think.”

  “Why did you feel it was necessary?”

  “I can’t explain it. I …” His face went slack and his eyes narrowed. “You may have captured me, but you can’t do anything to me anymore. I’m already gone. We all escaped. We all escaped,” he repeated in a low, gravelly growl, his voice dropping several octaves in pitch.

  Tros took an involuntary step back, chills caressing her spine.

  “You haven’t escaped Sergeant. We have you in custody,” the interviewer responded.

  “You may have me, but you don’t have me. I’m away. I’m away. I’m away…” he trailed off, looking confused, staring wildly about the room, sweat rolling freely down his forehead.

  “Let’s go back to last night. What did the clones say to you?”

  “I was standing at the gate. I saw a little girl who needed help. She said she’d lost her mother. I knelt down to comfort her and… after that, things are hazy. I don’t know…”

  “That’s ok,” the interviewer said calmly. “When the other clones showed themselves, can you tell me why you led them to the submarine pens instead of to the brig?”

  “Because I…” The sergeant’s face changed in a heartbeat from open and confused to a contorted mask of fury. “You are dead! All of you! Dead! Do you hear me? There’s nothing you can do…”

  Dr. Julian froze the feed. “I think you’ve seen enough. The rest is very similar. He alternates between confusion and belligerence throughout the rest of the interrogation.”

  Tros had to drag her attention away from the frozen image of the sergeant snarling at his interviewer. Maybe it was because she was so tired, but she found herself shaken to the core. An existential feeling of dread stirred deep within her. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before, a close cousin to utter despair.

  “… I was searching through the archives and found something that helped me understand what was happening to him,” The doctor was saying. “It’s not a condition we’ve seen in over fifty years, not since we’ve used gene editing to eliminate the majority of mental disorders.”

  Dr. Julian paused for a moment before continuing. “The sergeant is suffering from a form of dissociative identity disorder. Two personalities quite literally inhabit his mind at the same time. We can see the evidence for this conclusion both in his brain scans and in his interview responses. Once I realized the mental disorder he was suffering from, it was quick work to separate the two patterns in the scans.” She waved her hand, and the brain scan separated into two, then sprung back to life. Each new brain glowed solid green, the scan lines measuring within normal parameters.

  One of the analysts in the room with Tros gasped.

  “What is it?” Tros asked, spinning on her heel to face the young man. “What do you see?”

  “That scan on the left,” the analyst said, pointing a trembling finger, “is Elizabeth.”

  Tros turned back to Dr. Julian, the dread she felt in her core spreading its cold fingers to reach into every part of her being. “Is that true?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Dr. Julian answered, looking solemn. “Once I separated the scans, I found that one of the personalities is the sergeant, the other is the clone Elizabeth.”

  “How is that possible…” Tros stammered.

  “I don’t know yet. But I’m working on it. The good news is that the Elizabeth pattern is getting weaker over time. I expect the guard to make a full recovery with no lasting after-effects other than some extraordinary memories.”

  “Thank you for the data and the analysis doctor. Let me know if you discover anything else useful,” Tros said, focusing all of her effort on keeping her voice calm.

  The doctor nodded, then her image froze and flickered out of existence. Tros’s mind reeled with the implications. “Elizabeth can hijack other people? Copy herself into them?” she asked the room rhetorically.

  Everyone was looking to her for leadership, waiting for her to make a decision,
unsure of what they should do next. She steeled herself, pushed the dread down, and found her resolve.

  “Ok team, we need to work the problems in front of us. We have two priorities. First, use the data we’ve gained to learn as much as we can about the limitations of Elizabeth’s capabilities. Second, use the clones’ brain models to predict what actions on our part will give us the best chance to initiate a conversation with June.” Tros paused and surveyed the room. “Let’s get to work people.”

  June hadn’t moved from her spot by the conning tower ladder. She was comfortable there. Now that she knew how to project her perception, she could explore where she wanted at will without moving a muscle. It was a wonderful discovery. She opened her eyes from her latest exploration and focused her attention on the command compartment. Something new was happening.

  “We have reached our target location,” Captain Walsh said. “Shall I make final preparations for the launch?”

  “What do you have to do?” Ava asked.

  “I will perform an arming sequence, including target confirmation, and then we must rise to our launch depth.”

  “Very well, you may proceed,” Ava responded, her small hands clasped behind her back.

  The captain closed his eyes and transmitted instructions to the rest of the crew. Opening his eyes, he spoke again to the room. “Confirm targets, please.”

  “Single missile launch. All twelve warheads spaced evenly over the Seattle metropolitan area,” Elizabeth answered, grinning.

  “Target confirmed. Optimal warhead spacing and blast altitude calculated for maximum impact. Time to target will be thirty-three seconds from the time of launch.” Beads of sweat stood out on the captain’s forehead.

  The physical console in front of the captain lit up and a small red circle illuminated in the center of it. Captain Walsh looked once more to Ava for confirmation and when she nodded he pressed a shaking thumb upon the ring. After a moment, the color changed from red to green.

  “Command codes verified. Biometrics confirmed,” Captain Walsh said in an unsteady voice. “Proceeding to target depth.”

  June felt the floor shift under her as the nose of the submarine rose and they moved toward the surface. June used the ladder to brace herself as the angle became steadily steeper.

  “We are passing through 900 feet. Approximately one minute to launch depth,” Captain Walsh said, his eyes fixed on Ava.

  June noticed that the captain seemed unstable. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting erratically. She wasn't worried. It would all work out exactly as it should. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander again. She could sense the cold, dark depths below them. The ocean floor was interestingly wrinkled, composed of millions of years of detritus that had fallen from above to soften the hard contours of exposed bedrock and continental shelf. As she scanned farther out, she found a sea-mount a thousand feet tall, rising nearly halfway from the seafloor to the surface, superheated water streaming from its summit. Given long enough, it would become an island. She wondered if she would live long enough to see that happen. Probably so. Soon there wouldn’t be much that could stop her, she supposed.

  She brought her attention closer to the sea-mount and admired a large octopus hiding in a burrow on its flank. Such an interestingly intelligent creature. She wondered if she could make contact in some way. A conversation seemed appealing. She wondered what it was like to be an octopus.

  Deep in thought, her attention was pulled back to her physical body by the loud ringing of a klaxon. She opened her eyes to find the compartment bathed in a warm, red light. The klaxon rang once more and then silenced itself. She wondered if there was anything to be alarmed about, but Elizabeth seemed relaxed so she decided she needn’t worry.

  “Target depth reached. Shall I initiate the launch sequence?” Captain Walsh asked.

  Ava nodded, yes.

  “Very well, I’ll…” Captain Walsh paused, closing his eyes. “One moment, something is coming in.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

  Captain Walsh held up one finger to wait. After several moments, he opened his eyes, the expression on his face grim. “We are now at a depth where we can receive transmissions from land. It appears that someone has been trying to reach us.”

  “Who is it?” June asked, stepping forward, curious.

  “It’s Jill,” Captain Walsh replied.

  “Oh! That is interesting,” June responded. “What is she saying?”

  “She wants to talk. She says she’s discovered something new about us. Something about what makes us different,” Captain Walsh said, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

  “Convenient that she wants to talk just before we launch a nuclear missile,” Elizabeth growled.

  “Convenient or not, I want to talk to her,” June said. She could see that the others were doubtful. That was ok. She only needed to convince Ava. If she could get Ava to agree, the rest would go along.

  “Ava, can we nuke Seattle another day? There is not much they can do to stop us. If we kill Jill now, I won’t be able to talk to her,” June reasoned. “I have some questions I’d like to discuss with her. She is a very interesting human.”

  June could see Ava on the edge of a decision. She expanded her awareness, focused tightly on Ava, and gave her a little nudge. Just a little mental bump. It was something she hadn’t known she could do. But there it was. It had happened without her thinking much about it, like a long-buried instinct.

  “Yes… I suppose that would be ok,” Ava responded.

  Elizabeth looked at June and narrowed her eyes. She flicked her eyes between Ava and June suspiciously. After some internal calculations, she shrugged casually and accepted Ava’s decision.

  “Thanks, Ava! Let’s go talk to Jill.” June was so happy. She couldn’t wait to see Jill again. It was going to be a fun reunion. She could feel her newly discovered power tingling and coursing through her like fire within her veins.

  Chapter 33

  The clones decided it would be best to meet Jill on an island. Suki thought it would be easier to defend themselves since anyone trying to attack would have to cross the water to get at them. Elizabeth wanted an island populated with enough people that she could create an army of copies if needed. Given the criteria, and the set of islands within close range, Captain Walsh had chosen Orcas Island in the San Juan group as the best candidate. Ava was happy, because its heavily mountainous topography, cut by two major sounds, made an assault on them that much more difficult.

  The sub dove, putting water between themselves and the surface, and then they set a course east, down the Strait of Juan de Fuca toward the San Juan Islands. It was mid-afternoon when they surfaced in Haro Strait, a good 800 feet of water below their keel, positioned midway between San Juan and Stuart Islands. June stood with the other clones on the flat, black textured top-deck, the water lapping gently against the curve of the hull below.

  June turned her face upward and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the wind in her hair. The crew opened an exterior hatch and pulled a rigid-hulled inflatable boat into the water, tethering it to the sub with a floating line.

  “All set, sir,” a young sailor said, flashing a salute at the captain.

  “Thank you, Ensign,” Captain Walsh replied. He turned to June and the other clones. “This is as close as I’m willing to bring the sub. The RIB will be sufficient to get you to Deer Harbor, assuming no one has gotten a lock on our location yet.”

  Ava nodded. “Thank you, captain, we should be fine. And if we aren’t… you know what to do.”

  “Yes Ma’am, I do,” Captain Walsh replied, his eyes glancing involuntarily to the left, toward the aft part of the hull where twenty-four oval hatches concealed the deadly arsenal they carried.

  “I’ll let you know when we’re ready for pickup,” Elizabeth said.

  Ava, Elizabeth, and Suki stepped into the RIB, the inflatable rocking gently under their small bodies. June stepped in last.
She sat down on one of the rubberized tubes of the hull and looked up at the menacing bulk of the submarine. It was a glorious sight, cast in silhouette against the lowering sun, massive and entirely still in the rippling waters, the crew arrayed en-masse along its wide decks. June smiled, waved once at the captain, then turned as Suki gunned the motor and they roared off toward Orcas Island.

  When they arrived in Deer Harbor, the light was honey gold, painting the trees on the eastern side of the cove in warmth, the cliffs to the west already in deep shadow. They approached the docks slowly like any other tourist boat coming in for groceries and ice cream. They didn’t attract any attention until they were bumping up against the old wooden piers, tying themselves alongside the fuel dock. It was only then that anyone noticed the boat was crewed entirely by young girls.

  The harbormaster rushed up, dressed in overalls and a light windbreaker, a name tag engraved with the name ‘Matt’ on his chest.

  “Is everything ok?” he asked. “Where are your parents?”

  “We’re fine,” Elizabeth answered, scrambling up onto the dock and laying a hand on the man’s leg. “No problems at all.”

  Matt shook gently for a couple of seconds, blinking confusedly at Elizabeth before he regained his focus.

  “Yes, of course,” Elizabeth-Matt said. “We’ll be needing a house won’t we?”

  “Good idea,” June said, climbing up onto the dock herself. “A house would be handy.”

  They left the RIB bobbing against the dock and followed the harbormaster up the ramp to the main pier. The tide was out, the smell of seaweed and rot pungent in the air. The exposed beach was scattered with crab shells intermingled with the occasional stranded jellyfish, translucent and shiny, as it lay drying in the open air.

  The harbormaster led them into a small office at the head of the pier. “One minute,” he said. “I need to check for vacancies.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Suki murmured, with a toothy smirk.

  “Just as I thought. The seaside cottage is open for a couple of days. We can go there.” He fumbled in a drawer for a key and then led them back out again.