Tanner swallowed. “Excellent. You understand the tragedy then.”
“I understand the Goliaths, Mr. Tanner. You see, they act as a hive. Each one continually pinging the other. Data is transferred and accessed across all memory registries. The only way to really know what happened at the island is to access the memory of a Goliath who was there on site. But as you know, all three of them were destroyed.”
“Unfortunately, you are correct,” said Tanner. His heart rate began to increase, as did the flow of perspiration on his brow.
“Yes,” Jimmy said hesitantly, his finger again to his cheek. “Surprisingly, it would seem that one of them was repairable.”
Tanner’s demeanor became anxious. “I . . .” he stumbled. “Really? Lucky break.”
“Yes. Lucky break. You and your Colonel Briggs really need to communicate more professionally. Because I gambled that one of the three Goliaths assigned to the island would be repaired and back in service. And you know? I was right. In fact,” Reitman pointed down to something near Tanner, “that one positioned behind you and to your left, with the dented torso and scape down the front . . .”
Tanner turned and eyed the clicking sentinel. Sure enough. There was damage to the frame. Briggs had had this Goliath repaired quickly. And Tanner bet—with sickening awareness—that his puppet Colonel had not wiped the Goliath’s memory.
“Oh it’s been reprogrammed, obviously,” Jimmy spoke in a caustic tone, “but I’ve just accessed and downloaded all previous instructions. It would seem, Mr. Tanner, that the Goliaths are not to blame for the island ‘mishap’ after all. It is you! Yours were the instructions downloaded on their memory! Orders to kill everyone at the condo, including my men, and my mother!”
Silence followed. But only for the tick of a second.
Tanner drew his sidearm and fired a shot. The bullet just grazed Jimmy’s ear. He threw himself behind a column. “Attack them!” he shouted.
“Open fire! Tanner ordered.
The once peaceful solarium exploded in a battleground. Goliath now fell upon Goliath in a terrible, monolithic exchange. Nothing living would survive the onslaught. The majestic structure was doomed to utter destruction. There would not be a piece larger than a human hand of it left when the battle was finished.
Tanner suddenly leaped with unnatural speed. He darted in and out of flying debris and traversed the distance to the top level in seconds. From the bottom platform, the lieutenant caught sight of the man’s movements, and he shuttered in unbelieving apprehension. How could any human move like this? As he turned toward two of his men, a burst of energy caught them, and they disintegrated before his eyes. He was knocked backward in shock, as blood trickled down his head. “Withdraw!” he shouted. “Withdraw!” His men obeyed and they scattered like mice under the fall of a falcon. This was not cowardice. To stay would be utter suicide. A battle between monsters could not be swayed by mere men.
As Tanner reached the patio, an enemy Goliath turned on him, but he shot around it so quickly that the thing didn’t have time to target him. And as it moved to reacquire, it was hit by one of Tanner’s sentinels, and blew into pieces. Ahead, Tanner finally spied Jimmy. The man was dodging debris crashing down all around him. Objects were disintegrating at nearly every view. Yet, Jimmy had managed to call up some kind of elevator which now lifted from the broken floor. “Reitman!” Tanner shouted.
Jimmy turned a shocked glance at him, then flew inside the transport.
Tanner leaped in a fast line directly toward him, his movements much too quick for a normal man his age. Something was different in Tanner. Something Jimmy was just now seeing—an unnatural, genetically altered trait.
As the elevator doors closed, Jimmy comprehended. And in that moment of time, he knew. He knew that the original Five had not been the only ones to have been touched by history’s dark stain—the GGRC had other surviving patrons. The awakening shock was still on Reitman’s face when Tanner suddenly landed right at the elevator entrance. In that fleeting space between closing doors—no more than an inch—Tanner raised his Beretta M9 pistol and fired a single shot. The elevator sealed and dropped. “No!” he shouted. But before he could think further, a burst of plasma disintegrated part of a large table next to him. The impact threw him to the ground. He looked up to see an enemy Goliath coming right at him. Tanner had seconds to move or be killed. He leaped up and bolted toward a smoldering hole in a wall. He had to get out! But as he ran, the shattered ceiling overhead suddenly gave way, collapsing upon him, pulling down thousands of tons of glass and metal.
From outside, the soldiers who had escaped the burning inferno watched, unbelieving, as the structure tumbled into a smoldering heap of fire, smoke and melted debris. A monstrous burp of fireball rose like a nuclear mushroom cloud. It sucked in air and fed on the updraft. Now, all that was left was a mountain of burning wreckage. The magnificent solarium, and all her secrets, were forever gone.
--
Gracie worked feverishly in the small room. All around her were controls and equipment. She had forgotten, years and years ago, how to operate from the cramped, backup control center—she was never to have used it. But here she was, feeling afraid and lonely. So very lonely. She now wished that she had kept at least one android to keep her company. But she felt that every one of them would be needed, if her Four were to be rescued from that terrible Mole Hole Base.
Truth was, Gracie was surprised at how well her memory served her. She had to access the step-by-step instructions for a self-destruct sequence—something she never dreamed she would actually have to do. The process was not an easy one. After all, it had been conceived by her late husband, Zen. And he had been meticulously cautious. But fortune was on her side. The necessary codes, her key, and her memory had all combined to serve her effectively. And now, all that was left of the complicated sequence was to insert her key and turn it to the lock position. After that, nothing could stop the inevitable. She had already programmed the two HOPE orbiters, as well as all EMR defense systems found within the underground complex and within Avalon, to come online. Once her key was turned and locked, destruction would follow: All EMR systems would morph to devices of suicide, and rain down destruction on all levels. The two massive orbiters would be the most effective. The entire Sandcastle facility, and everything underground—even the most distant station—would be targeted. Everything, right down to the atomic level, would be transformed to salt and sand. The very same mixture which surrounded the area naturally—that which nature had so methodically produced for thousands of years. It would be as if the facility had never been.
Gracie had heard the explosions and felt the tremors. She knew that above ground, they were trying to get to her, and with each new rumble and flicker of the lights, she feared they might. She had prayed to get through it; prayed to have the strength to finally turn the key. To obliterate all she was and had ever been, from existence.
Time ticked by. Seconds became minutes, and still she could not bring herself to turn the key. Now things had grown strangely quiet above her, which made her even more fearful. The silence often brought the unexpected.
“What are doing, mother?”
Gracie whirled and made an unnatural shriek. She glared ahead at the man standing inside the room. He looked weak, feeble . . . something was different about him. But it was unquestionably her son. “Jimmy” she heard her voice call out.
“Can I sit down?” he said in a strange voice. Then he simply leaned up against a wall and slid slowly down.
Gracie was still too stunned to rationally use her senses. She glared strangely at him for a long moment. “How did you find me?” she finally managed.
Jimmy made an effort to chuckle, but it didn’t come out that way, and he coughed instead. “You and father thought you were so sly. So covert in your deception,” he said. “I’ve known about this place since before dad died.”
“You mean before you had him killed,” Gracie brashly corrected.
> Jimmy shook his head. “No mom. Dad’s death was an accident. You have to believe me. I would never have hurt him.”
She looked away, perhaps to get the courage to look at him again. His words, coming so overdue, had long since nullified any hope of vindication. She didn’t care to hear his justification. “Why are you here, son?”
“Clearly, to stop you,” he attempted a grin. “But I’m thinking I’m too late?”
“Yes. You are too late.”
Jimmy nodded, sighed, and almost looked pleased. “That’s a relief,” he said, and coughed again.
Gracie eyed him cautiously. What was he playing at? But then she saw him wipe the blood from his lips. This was the first real sign that something was wrong.
“You are hurt!” she gasped, and engaged her chair forward.
“No mother,” he said, raising his hand. “Please don’t come any closer. I’ve been shot. And it’s not a pleasant sight.”
“Shot!” she gasped. “You need help!”
Again, he tried to laugh. Again, it was an excruciating failure. “Yes. Call an ambulance.”
“That’s not funny!” she cried, her voice desperate. “Who did this!”
Jimmy looked painfully at her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m done, mom. I suppose I got what I deserved. Isn’t that what you want to say next?”
Gracie turned away and began to cry. “No, son. No.”
He coughed again, and his arm dropped to his side. Blood oozed down it. “I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I just wanted you to love me more than HOPE. I was so jealous.”
“Jealous,” Gracie mumbled, her face contorted in anguish.
“I’m sorry. It all seems so childish now.” He looked away and made a strange gurgling noise.
“Jimmy?”
“I didn’t kill dad . . . and I knew nothing of the Goliaths which attacked you and the others. I could never hurt you. Please tell me you believe me? Please, mother?”
She looked up at him through wounded eyes; through a mother’s eyes . . . and nodded. “Of course I believe you.”
Jimmy smiled, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He exhaled a long breath and his head rolled back. He was gone.
Gracie reached out toward him, her sobs coming very hard now. “I’m right behind you, son. Right behind you.”
She moved to the panel and pulled out her key. It was an easy thing now. And she nearly looked forward to it. As she caressed the delicacy of its craftsmanship, she read the inscription on the back: HOPE’s end. And so it was. Gracie pushed the key into the panel and turned it until a red light displayed: lock sealed. A warning countdown commenced, and all screens pulsed in crimsons red.
She turned and steered her chair over to her son. She brought it to ground level and slid off the seat. There she cradled him, as she had done so many years ago . . . in love.
--
Colonel Briggs stood amid the battleground of ruin where the Four had vanished into their escape vehicle. All around him were pieces of shattered androids and pulverized Goliaths. It was a smoldering graveyard. “I want every piece gathered and taken back to Mole Hole for analyzing” he ordered.
The convoy had disassembled, and nearly twenty-five of his men were now rummaging about, gathering everything which appeared foreign upon the white sands.
“Colonel!” hollered one of the soldiers, suddenly. He was pointing out at something in the distance. “Isn’t that Sandcastle?”
Briggs looked up. “What the—!” A large plume of black smoke snaked up against the pristine blue horizon. He instantly knew two things: it was on Sandcastle property, and it was not good. He hurried to one of the large transport trucks and leaped onto the hood. He then crawled the rest of the height until he stood on top of the cab. “Throw me a pair of binos!” he shouted.
One of the soldiers tossed him a pair.
Briggs peered through the lenses. “It’s not the mansion. It’s something else . . . close though, and definitely on the grounds.”
“Sir!” shouted another of the men from inside the truck. “I’ve got Captain Karson on the radio. He needs to speak to you, stat!”
“What now,” Briggs mumbled. He slid down and reached in the cab for the radio. “Yes Captain,” he spoke into the receiver.
“You need to get back to base, sir! We’ve got issues!” came a panicked voice. “We’ve just lost control of both HOPE birds!”
“What! Have they spun out of orbit?”
“No, sir! Reacquired! I repeat! They have reacquired! I . . . I think they’ve targeted and gone active!”
“Targeted what!”
“Sandcastle!”
Briggs felt his breath expel. He went limp. “Well take them offline! Shut them down!”
“We can’t! We lost all communication the second they went active! We have nothing! It’s as though they’ve been taken control by something else!”
For the second time in just hours, Briggs felt his blood run cold and the malady of disbelief.
“Orders, sir?” the captain shouted back. “Colonel. Are you hearing me!”
Briggs blinked. He wasn’t hearing him.
“Sir!” called out the captain again.
The declaration had taken Briggs’ voice. All his mind could grasp was the inevitable: Mole Hole Base had minutes to live. “Evacuate the base!” he finally shouted into the vehicles HF radio. “Get out! Get everyone out of there!” He dropped the receiver and grabbed up his binoculars. In a flash he was back on top of the cab. He knew what was coming. He remembered Jimmy’s fateful warning: if my mother ever finds out what was done, she will find a way to destroy everything . . .
“Get on the emergency channel and contact the Wendover facility!” he shouted to one of his men. “Tell them to evacuate! Now!”
It seemed that Colonel Carl C. Briggs was about to get a front row seat to the end of Sandcastle, of Mole Hole Base—and if Jimmy’s warning was accurate—even the secret Wendover substructure was a sure target.
--
From miles above the earth, the two HOPE satellites had come to life. They began a slow, methodic roll—a strange synchronous dance. Sunlight gleamed from their metallic surface as they shifted and settled into a new orbital track. Once stabilized, their heavy-plated sides began to roll back. From within, large supporting arms extended outward like some great celestial creature stretching its limbs. Soon they halted and locked into position. Now it was time to power-up the nuclear cells which would create and maintain the immense EMR pulse. But where to draw such energy? An explosion of intense light suddenly arced across their backs in a symmetrical grid. Like cosmic batteries, they began to feed on the sun’s pure energy. Brighter and brighter they radiated, appearing more like fiery stars than a creation of man. Then, from within their hulls, massive cannons rolled out along the extended supports. Once in place, the giant guns trained down toward the tranquil blue planet.
All movement fell into abeyance now, as time itself seemed to tick to a grinding halt. Perhaps the great orbiters were content in their new state? But no. They were not. Nor were they dormant. They had simply taken a last breath before the release. For in the next instant, they fired their EMR pulse.
From atop the cab, Briggs watched with a sense of terrible anxiety. He knew what was coming. He had witnessed the tests at White Basin Lake and knew it would come swift, ruthless and final. And in his next breath, he was right.
The first hint that the transforming wave had arrived was a strange happening. It was the smoke—the black plume created from the ravenous feed of flames still upon the ruined solarium. It had climbed high into the air, hovering in an ugly blotch against the dawning sky. But now, from its highest wisps, something began to change. The ugly dark cumulous suddenly folded over onto itself in an ethereal spray of white glitter. The particles fluttered down like crystals in the sunlight. It was eerily beautiful in a curious sense. But then the pulse found the ground, dispelling all but terror and disbelief. Briggs watched in hor
ror as the ant-like figures scrambled to clear the area. His men had been caught completely unaware, and unprepared. He could almost hear them screaming . . . hear them dying.
Gracie could not have known. If she had, she would never have engaged the self-destruct protocol and targeted populated areas, even to safeguard Sandcastle’s secrets and technology. Never. But she had been deceived even in death. Jimmy had secretly made the changes at NASA, before the launch. He had been ordered by Tanner to modify the EMR devices on both satellites—and in this case, modify meant weaponize. Jimmy had successfully reprogrammed and removed the Four’s failsafe technology. When the HOPE birds were launched, they were launched as weapons of destruction. The energy pulse no longer cared, nor differentiated, between biological and non-biological matter. Every molecule would be transformed. If earthly events truly could be observed beyond the grave, there would be an inexpressible sense of regret for Gracie Reitman.
It was sheer luck that had kept Briggs out in the desert that morning. But for his men, providence was not to be found. As the EMR pulse impacted both above and below ground, many, like the Biblical stories of old, were literally transformed into piles of salt, sand and other natural desert ground-cover. It was a merciful death—there would be no pain for those caught in the killing swath. No sense of pending doom, or time to ponder a life soon to end. They would just be gone. How utterly ironic, that the deaths of these soldiers should take place upon the ruin of a sand realm once conceived and built to prevent just such a loss of life.
Briggs watched on. Sand bubbled and sprayed upward in massive geyser-like plumes as the pulse continued on its path. It swept across the smoldering remains of the solarium in one pass, leaving nothing but a smooth bump of pristine sand. Then, missing nothing, it moved to consume the rest of the grounds. Lush greenery, fountains, pools, walls, canals, gazebos and cloistered walkways . . . all vanished into jets of spraying, swirling granules and clouds of white dust. Then Briggs gawked in utter disbelief as the magnificent mansion—with her angled gables and high eaves, her rising spirals, balconies and shimmering glass face—succumbed. From atop her highest peaks, she began to tassel downward in a great spray of sparkling white. In the seconds that followed, her walls disappeared behind mounting piles of newly formed sand. The mixture poured down until, as it reached her base, collapsed and tumbled into the gaping hole which had been her foundation. Then, in a fleeting instant, the last residues of the fantastic mansion were gone.
Of Salt and Sand Page 83