by P A Vasey
“Cain,” I said out loud. “Let me take the ship to Washington. I know how to fly it. I’ll send it back to you, I promise.”
His eyes lazily opened and he blinked a few times, shutting down certain ship-wide systems and accessing others.
“I will need to keep the ship on station here in case any of the machines are viable,” he replied calmly.
My frustration welled up again and I prepared to revisit the argument the three of us had failed to resolve hours earlier, but Cain surprised me. “However, I can transport you directly to the Pentagon from here.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
He got out of the chair, which melted back into the floor. He had an impish look on his face, and he waved his arm at one of the walls, which span open, revealing a winding corridor disappearing around a curve. “Follow me, and I will show you.”
We walked through tight winding passages lined with flickering lights and accompanied by pulses traveling to and fro like blood cells in a vein or artery. The feeling of the ship twisting under my feet was initially unnerving, as it adjusted its shape constantly to match its surroundings. Occasionally my mind drifted through the walls and linked up with circuits and electronic mazes, traveling at the speed of light through the plasma and optic tributaries of the ship’s systems. Its internal structure was fairly constant, despite the morphing of its external shape. There were huge empty hangar-like spaces, with anchoring and docking stations for a variety of smaller craft. Living quarters for beings larger than humans were scattered throughout, specifications left over from earlier Vu-Hak requirements before they gave up the need (or want) for physical bodies. Internal pods containing massive weapons of a sort I could not comprehend were situated at various locations on the outer skeleton of the ship, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. The engine room was situated at the heart of the ship, a chamber six hundred yards across containing complex machinery keeping the power source in check. This, I discovered, was another black hole, a tamed singularity with immense power gradients. I marveled at the technology that had existed in the Vu-Hak’s past, and what they must have achieved. And yet, rather than benevolence, they used their incredible knowledge for conquest. For the subjugation and destruction of every other species they encountered as they pushed outward from their home world. I found myself wondering whether this was hard-wired into their DNA (did they even have DNA?) and therefore was just the natural consequence of their evolution. Or was this the inevitable end result of attaining god-like power, irrespective of the species – humanity included?
We arrived in another room, shielded from the rest of the ship by an exotic heavy metal hybrid unlike the nano-carbon hybrid the rest of the ship was constructed from. A raised dais occupied the center, surrounded by handrails and organically grown pods and control mechanisms. An obsidian block of jutting stalactites of various sizes and shapes hung above the dais. There was a low thrum of power vibrating through my feet, and a pungent chemical smell permeated the room. I gazed at the stalactites and my eyes switched to X-ray to display their internal structures. Crystals and power lines threaded through them like spiderwebs, pulsing with an unidentifiable energy source. Vu-Hak hieroglyphics scrolled along the bottom of my visual field, but without an AI they remained gobbledygook.
Cain walked over to the dais and accessed one of the control pods that extended organically up from the floor to waist height. “You’ll remember how you traveled from the moon’s surface to the underground cavern?” he said, a twitch moving the side of his mouth.
“Yes,” I said hesitatingly.
“Adam has spent a lot of time working on the Trinity formulae. We are now able to produce a transitory portal, which can be directed, opened and closed, on command. Unfortunately the range is very limited, probably five thousand miles or so depending on whether it needs to pass through dense substances such as the rocky mantle of a planetoid.”
“And this is it?” I indicated to the platform.
He nodded. “This is one of them. The portal on the moon was driven by a singularity extracted from one of the dead machines. This one draws its power from the ship, and is more, shall we say, fragile and temperamental. But it should get you from here to Washington DC. The curvature of the earth has required me to locate two waypoints in low orbit, and I have calculated the optimal geo-locations. I will bounce you off a couple of obsolete non-functioning satellites.”
If I’d had a swallow mechanism it would have been working overtime.
“Bounce me off a couple of satellites? But I’m not a radio wave.”
He threw me a knowing smile. “Do not worry. I will open the portal at these two anchoring points, and you will arrive and be transported from one waypoint to another almost instantaneously. The satellites will be vaporized as the portal opens and closes. It should work, in theory.”
“You’ve not done this before?” I said.
“First time for everything.”
I shook my head. I didn’t have a choice. The worst that could happen was that I would be marooned in space, in a geo-synchronous orbit, forever. However, Cain seemed to be reading my mind.
“When you arrive in Washington, let me know. If I don’t hear from you I promise I will come looking. I won’t leave you stranded in orbit.”
“Alright. Let’s do this.”
Decision made, no going back.
Cain gestured for me to step up on the dais, and I gingerly climbed the two steps until I was directly under the stalactites. The dais was a circle three yards across, and felt spongy, like a rubber mat. It started to glow with bluish phosphorescence and a surge of energy passed through my body from the floor to the structures overhead.
“Where exactly would you like to arrive?” he said, his hands hovering over the pod.
Good question, and one I’d not considered. I didn’t actually have a plan of action but the maxim that all battle plans go out of the window when the enemy was engaged loomed large in my immediate thoughts. “Can you put me somewhere close to the Pentagon, but not within the grounds? I’ll want to do a recce first.”
He brought up another hologram, this time a real time image of the Pentagon from the air, looking from the side of the lagoon.
“The Pentagon building is a huge office complex spanning almost thirty acres and includes a five-acre central courtyard. Would that work?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, visualizing the wormhole opening in the middle of some bushes right by employees at their lunchtime tables. The element of surprise would be somewhat lost.
I scanned the hologram, turning it around and inside out. The Pentagon’s river entrance on the northeast side featured a portico projecting out, overlooking the lagoon and facing Washington. A stepped terrace led down to the lagoon where there was a landing dock, which had been used until the late 1960s to ferry personnel between Bolling Air Force Base and the Pentagon. It was largely abandoned now, and I doubted whether it would be busy, particularly if the weather was inclement, which it seemed to be. A steady drizzle of rain could be seen washing over the water’s surface.
“How about there?” I pointed at a shady area by the dock. “It’s well away from the main visitors’ entrance, and the metro and bus stations.”
“Looks like a good option. Perhaps on the jetty?”
“What about if you actually drop me in the water? Maybe just under the surface?”
Cain pulled a face. “If the portal opened under the river, the resultant burst of energy would cause quite a noticeable tsunami.”
Right. A tsunami wasn’t really the right level of sneaky.
I pointed at the hologram and made it zoom in on the jetty. Lining the Potomac River were many trees and bushes which thinned out as the bank rose up toward the roads surrounding the building itself. There was a large tidily mown rectangle of grass leading to the entrance, a public space used for ceremonial parades and gatherings. A couple of nearby semi-circular tree-lined areas, which looked to be desert
ed, were more to my liking, apart from the high-tech surveillance cameras, underground sensors, infrared detectors and the like covering the position.
“Can you put me near to the jetty over there, under some of those trees?”
Cain peered at the hologram and pulled a face. “Are you certain? Would it not be better to drop you straight into the Pentagon itself?”
I shook my head. “I think that would be a mistake. We don’t know where in the Pentagon the Vu-Hak are keeping them, and what the trap actually is going to be. I need to get in undetected first, and then find out where they are. Then I can get them out. Sounds simple, right?”
Cain tilted his head slightly and gave what looked like a sympathetic smile. “There is an additional problem. You cannot change your appearance,” he said.
I’d given this some thought. “It doesn’t matter. They must be pretty sure they’ve killed me, right? Wong gave it his best shot. They don’t know that you’ve put me into this machine. They mightn’t be looking for me. They just want to draw Adam out into the open.”
“They may be able to sense you,” he said. “And if they get into your machine, past your defenses, it may be over for us all.”
“I can’t leave them, Cain. I can’t take the chance that they’re still alive. Surely you can understand that? What with your search for others of your own kind?”
He nodded slowly, his countenance serious and melancholy. “At least let me change your hair? And your clothes.”
He waved a hand and I felt something change in the molecular structure of my skull and hair and outer carapace of my skin. “Very fetching.” He winked.
I looked down and saw that I was wearing a smart business suit, tapered skirt, grey stockings – and a pair of Converse kicks.
“Typical business attire in the city, I believe. Working girls take their breaks and kick off their heels. I saw it in a movie. From the 80s if I recall. Working Girl was its name.”
I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to get used to his sense of humor. I pointed to the console. “Punch it.”
THIRTY
The journey through the wormhole was uneventful.
One moment I was looking at Cain and the next I was facing a tree branch, gentle raindrops tapping the leaves above and a light cool breeze triggering the sensors on my skin to simulate goosebumps. I was standing between a couple of well-tended saplings, newly mown grass under my feet and crunchy brown leaves. The wind touched the leaves and they danced an autumnal jig, red, orange and yellow.
A few yards to my left were floor-mounted lamps pointing up at the trees, presumably for nighttime illumination. My vision switched to an overhead schematic. There were ground based sensors at one o’clock, six o’clock and three o’clock, pressure calibrated and blue-toothed to a central hub under the grass twenty yards to my left. A CCTV camera was twenty-three yards away pointing beyond my current position.
I reached out with my mind and infiltrated the sensors’ electronics, sending a negative feedback signal. This stimulated a plateau of pressure on the grass, unchanging and steady, enabling me to walk without detection. The camera was also too easy. I accessed the chip behind the lens and switched it to a loop, replaying the same scene every three seconds. I watched it for thirty seconds, checking there were no ‘deja vu’ moments, like a bird flying though every frame, but there were none. Boring and uneventful, so the watching security guards would not be interested.
But there was a problem.
Behind the nearest bush was a bench occupied by two adults. There was one man and one woman, the latter smoking, the former interacting with a smartphone. They were in my way, and there was no alternative route. I let my mind drift slowly toward them and tentatively accessed their thoughts. They were a couple of IT workers – just two normal everyday people on a break from a mundane job in one of the world’s most secure and protected office buildings.
Innocent bystanders.
But in my way, nevertheless.
I edged out from the sapling and quietly came into plain sight. The man was in his early thirties, clean-shaven, bullet-headed, wearing a winter coat covering a grey suit and a blue patterned tie. His glasses were on the top of his head, his eyes closed, listening to music through the headphones attached to his phone. The woman was snuggled up close to him, her head on his shoulder, taking a drag from her cigarette. Her eyes were also closed. She was wearing a puffer jacket over a crumpled business suit similar to mine, and sneakers.
Cain was right about the kicks.
The nearest other human beings were thirty-seven yards away: soldiers patrolling along the other side of the rectangle.
The woman’s eyes flicked open and she saw me. Shock registered on her face before she could hide it and then her face washed blank with confusion, as if the cogs in her brain couldn’t turn fast enough to process the information coming in.
“Hi there,” I said, affecting a smile and what I hoped was a laissez-faire kind of vibe. “Can I tap you for one of those?”
She nudged her colleague, who grunted but didn’t open his eyes. She bumped him again, harder, and his eyelids languidly opened and he saw me. I stood still about two yards away, trying to be casual. He sat upright and pulled his glasses down over his eyes and removed his headphones. He stared at me, clearly trying to figure out who and what I was. I reasoned this was a fairly private spot, and that only government employees would have access to it. I noted they both had badges and lanyards, and I did not. I was now also acutely aware I wasn’t wearing a winter coat.
The woman then surprised me by giving a lopsided smile as she reached into the handbag between her feet. She extracted a packet of Marlboro Lights and shook one out. Her index finger was lightly nicotine stained, and, when she smiled, her teeth were also browned. She had an unhealthy glow, her skin greyer then it should have been.
She had lung cancer.
My sensors kicked in automatically and scanned her using X-ray tomography and metabolic quantification. The tumor lodged in her right main bronchus was surrounded by swollen and bulky lymph nodes and was inoperable and incurable. I felt sorry for her, and wondered if she knew. The fact that she was still smoking didn’t mean anything: people often continued to smoke after being told they had a terminal cancer. Their thoughts were, not unreasonably, ‘too late to worry now’.
I sat down on the bench and took a cigarette from her. She pulled out a Zippo lighter with a picture of the Grand Canyon on it and fired it up. I leaned in and let the flame touch the cigarette. I took a deep breath and nothing happened.
Of course it wouldn’t: I had no fucking lungs.
I was just making movements, gestures, of a human being, but I wasn’t human anymore. I closed my eyes, reality ambushing me, the elephant in the room I’d been ignoring. What was I thinking? Was there ever hope? A tiny flicker of flame against the wind. A dying ember about to be inexorably extinguished. The future suddenly evaporated as if it had never been there at all.
“You gotta pull on it to start it,” she said with a grin, jerking me back to reality.
The man continued to stare at me, unsmiling, checking me out. He looked around us, behind me, and I could see his antenna was twitching. He knew I didn’t belong.
I gave her a tight smile, thinking what to reply and do when she broke out into a cough that rattled and spluttered horribly, and she clutched her chest in pain. Her colleague switched his attention to her and gave her a hug until the racking ceased, concern written plain over his face. He fumbled around in a pocket, bringing out a tissue, which she swapped for her cigarette. She buried her head into the tissue as the last vestiges of the cough settled down.
I sat down on the bench and put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, tears in her eyes, and looked at the tissue, which was flecked with green sputum and spots of blood. “I should really stop smoking, shouldn’t I?”
I hesitated, understanding now that she was very much aware of her disease.
My previous iteration, Sara Clarke, was a cancer doctor. I’d come to understand and come to terms with the fact that the ending of life was expected. What I resented was that death from cancer could be more painful and prolonged that it needed to be. The tumor growing, metastasizing, consuming the very organs, the very systems, that worked to sustain it. Like a selfish, narcissistic life form.
I closed my eyes and sent my mind into her body, and into the tumors.
I infiltrated the destroyed membranes and new blood vessels formed by the cancer as it had grown and entered the cellular matrix. I proceeded further and deeper into its genome, into its molecular fingerprint, searching for genetic alterations and specific pathways that it was using to grow and spread its dominion over her. There were no targetable mutations but I detected significant amounts of the programmed cell death receptor, PD-L1, a possible sign that the tumor was hiding from Marica’s own immune system, using the protein like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. I supercharged her thymus gland to produce antibodies against this receptor and target the immune checkpoint that was messing up her defenses. Theoretically this would allow her own immune system to resume its normal function and kill the intruder cancer cells.