The trick was to spoil the wiring in the radio. The easiest way to do that was to short it out. For a man with a basic understanding of electricity, it was a simple enough task. He unplugged the radio, removed a few screws on the access panel, popped it open and gently frayed several wires, letting them touch each other. He then closed up the panel and plugged the machine back in. Even he was a bit surprised by the result. He instinctively ducked at the loud pop. Smoke and sparks shot out of the cooling vents, then actual flame. The radio set was quite close to a pair of heavy dusty drapes that suddenly caught fire. Jerry panicked and yanked the drapes away from the window, the act of which only added volume to the flames. He tossed the drapes away from himself and onto an old tweed sofa that had at one time served as a cot when the radio was surveilled on a twenty-four hour basis. In moments, the smoke became too much for him and he fled the room.
The Nantucket fire department was rarely lacking in action. With the island reliant on fire for much of its nighttime light, as well as heat, accidents were relatively common. Despite being short handed due to a number of volunteers being deathly ill, the men and women of the NFD leapt into bold action to save their town hall. Though the radio room was a total loss, most of the top floor was saved.
For less than a day, Jerry Mulcahy felt somewhat relieved that he hadn’t burned the whole place down, then he lost his mind.
During his year of living as a resident of the Barnstable area of Cape Cod, Nantucket deliveryman Jarvis Pettybone, had easily managed to find several sensitive jobs. Even a decade after Omega and the subsequent Russian manufactured nuclear winter, most people were hunkered down; more so now than ever. Neighbors didn’t barbecue in the real world, instead they made new neighbors who could be living anywhere in the Seven States or Canada; as long as they were participating in the same Virtutrip. Other than for growing and delivering food, managing waste and heating, the North Americans used nearly all of their energy to get virtually the hell out. Most people found work in the virtual world, making a living off of a real virtual economy; a full life could be had in a Virtusuit. As a result, the birthrate was plummeting. The government had resorted to paying people in Virtudollars to step out of their suits once in a while and screw — the problem was, Virtusex was far better than anything that could be had in a creaky old bed. Plus, having a kid would force a person to be in the real world to take care of it. As a new parent lost days in the virtual world, many a baby had starved while being forgotten. The penalty for extreme child neglect was the same as it had always been, thereby reinforcing the notion of forgoing real sex. If a zombie apocalypse and a nuclear winter wasn’t going to make the North American’s extinct, foregoing real flesh and blood interactions would.
The biggest real world jobs were in Virtu IT — writing code and maintaining vast numbers of servers, and managing the energy to run them. Those jobs required a kind of clearance that Jarvis Pettybone hadn’t managed to acquire. He’d figured a job at the municipal airport would be important, but nobody flew anymore. Aircraft fuel was far too precious. The streets of America were mostly empty and so were the skies. The small port on Cape Cod was where the only real action was, and that was because of the people on Nantucket. For reasons that Pettybone couldn’t grasp, the North Americans felt a continuing obligation to the exiles — the Halflies. Maybe it was survivor’s guilt. A steady supply of special pharmaceuticals was designated for the place — a precious use of medical resources that were nevertheless provided without debate. Bottom line; a tremendous amount of capital was expended, to not only keep the Halflies alive, but to also make certain that none ever got off the island. The Navy had its largest presence in Hyannis Port — another job he couldn’t get clearance for.
Pettybone’s mission required that he find his way into a sensitive position whereby he could make a connection with the population on Nantucket. For nine months, he had failed miserably, his bosses back home growing increasingly frustrated with him. Just as he was about to throw in the towel, the most sensitive connection possible presented itself. The guy who’s job it was to ferry goods back and forth from the island, had died from, of all things, FNDz. The authorities in Hyannis Port figured it was casual contact with a bodily fluid. A Halflie who had set whale oil out on the barge for trade had likely had a cold, sneezing a gob of mucus on one of the barrels. The dead ferry guy had gotten careless during the summer, discarding his gloves. He had probably gotten it on his hand, itched his eye or wiped his own nose, and sayonara.
Pettybone had heard that Hyannis Port’s only policeman had to shoot the guy — along with his still Virtusuited neighbors, whom the ferry driver had tried to eat while the neighbors were fully ensconced in a trip to another galaxy.
Immunity to the FNDz bacterium; the very reason that Jarvis had been sent north, was the perfect answer for the Navy commander who had interviewed him for the job. Jarvis was one in a million who were incapable of contracting the more commonly named Cain’s Disease. His patience had paid off. The perfect job had presented itself, and now he was putting into motion an action that had been planned for more than a year.
The mere facts of his job and its inherent dangers gave him a large amount of autonomy from the Naval authorities. Once a typical shipment was set dockside by a robotic delivery vehicle, Jarvis had his boat, and the loading of it, to himself.
As he prepped the tug for what he expected to be his final trip to the island, he found his attention drawn to the channel entrance of the Navy shipyard. A sleek black motor yacht, festooned with antennas, machine guns, and a rocket launcher was pulling into the port. He’d seen nothing like it since Omega. Motor yachts, much less big black heavily armored motor yachts, were never in use. Some very VIP thing was going on over there.
CHAPTER FIVE
In Service Of One's Country
The train that ran across the upper arm of Cape Cod to Hyannis Port was a wreck, the tracks themselves little better. To make the ride more jarring to the kidneys, the car’s undercarriage needed a complete overhaul. Jon felt as if he was sitting in a rickety amusement park ride as he and Nikki were jostled back and forth. They had chosen to sit across from each other, a decision he immediately regretted, as it forced them to acknowledge each other’s eyes. They had used up small talk in the first half hour of the trip from Boston. Unlike a meeting between old friends where the conversation seems to pick up where it last left off, Jon and Nikki’s really significant last conversation had ended with an ending. The two were simply stumped on how to reignite words beyond the miserable state of the ride and the extraordinary emptiness of the train. As the only passengers, it was almost as if the train had been taken out of mothballs just for them.
Jon finally broke the silence, saying, “Why don’t you sit next to me so we can both enjoy the view without being distracted by the dumb looks on our faces?”
Nikki lay down on her seat. “I’m going to try to nap. Been up since o-three-hundred.”
“You mean three AM. Let’s say three AM. You could use a break from the Marines.”
She acknowledged this by closing her eyes and turning her back to him.
President George Downing considered himself a patient man. Winning a second term in an election that to be legitimate required placing all Virtutrips on hold for twelve hours, was easily the most stressful day in his life. He had been convinced that the interruption would doom him as a hated man. Instead, those who paid attention to the real world, lazily checked him off as a knownish quantity. What campaigning there had been was built around food and entertainment — The virtual world is always up and running and nobody is starving, right? So give me another shot.
He stood at a window in the Hyannis Port Navy Yard Mess Hall and watched as crates of luxury items: leather gloves, sweets derived from sugar beets, shampoo, and other odds and ends he used as goodwill gestures, were loaded by a lone skinny seaman onto the Nantucket tug that had its own pier. It was with profound anticipation that he considered the survivors of th
e previous year’s expedition; incredible really that any had returned to tell the tale. He had nearly written them off. And now this; it was terribly frustrating that they had chosen to land on Nantucket and demand things.
He paced and glanced at his personal detail, frowning at the wasteful extravagance that followed in his wake. The Navy had put out a huge buffet and there was hardly anyone there to eat it. His spoiled entourage poked at the precious real food, but mostly it went untouched. Stupid.
Chester Smith, his National Security advisor, smiled at him with unperceived clairvoyance, saying, “Nice spread. Navy always puts out a nice spread.”
Admiral North gave a nod of appreciation while stepping closer to his boss. “Mister President, while we’re waiting, I should mention an incident that occurred just this morning.”
“Incident?” interrupted Smith. “I haven’t been notified of an incident.”
North tried to offer what he hoped was a gracious smile, but it came out for what it was, controlled distaste for the National Security Advisor. “You’re being informed now, Chester.” He focused again on the president. “Sir, another fishing boat was approached by a mystery ship about forty miles south of Coney Island. The fishing fleet hasn’t really spent any time down that way, but this captain was looking for some easier pickings. As you know, with fuel being as precious as it is, we haven’t bothered with a Naval presence beyond Staten Island. The fishing vessel involved was pursued and fired upon, but escaped without injuries. That is the twelfth reported incident of piracy or attempted piracy in the past year, and doesn’t account for several missing ships. Add the recent attack on the merchant vessel from Morocco and we have concluded that elements beyond our border are responsible.”
“How have you determined that it isn’t our own citizens?”
North stifled a sigh over the president’s continued insistence that the Northeast represented the only survivors on the continent. He looked at Smith for back-up.
Smith cleared his throat, looking at the various personnel who were attempting to appear as if they weren’t evesdropping. “Can we have the room please?”
Assorted Naval officers, the press advisor, and other functionaries set down their nibbled food and filed out. When the door closed, Smith said, “Mr. President, I think it’s time we bring the Admiral up to speed.”
“Now? We’re about to brief Washington and Rosen.”
North scanned back and forth between the men and finally said, “Up to speed? Chester, what have you been keeping from me?”
Smith looked the man in the eye. “I’m sorry, Admiral, you’ve been kept out of the loop. We felt it critical to the nation’s…” he paused to find the right words, “the nation’s mental health, to keep this information as close to the vest as possible. Only Army — just a small Special Forces attachment — and a scientific team on Plum Island is aware of what I’m going to tell you.”
“Army?” blurted North.
President Downing placed a reassuring hand on the Admiral’s forearm. “Just listen, Robert.”
Smith took a sip of coffee before proceeding. “The children of the infected continue to survive. They are…” Again he searched for the right words. “All grown up. We monitor a few groups of them that have taken up residence across the Hudson.”
“Across the Hudson!” blurted North again.
“They have been there for more than a year. They have made no moves to come closer.”
“More than a year? You keep a game changer like this from me for more than a year?”
Smith continued almost as though the question hadn’t been asked. “The president feels, and I agree, that the fewer people who are aware of this, the smaller the chance that word gets out to the general populace. It’s nothing against you, Robert. This is standard protocol with top-secret information.”
President Downing felt a deep need to unload and added, “They’re fully telepathic and seem to be able to control minds, Admiral. Just like at the end, when all those reports were coming in.” He began to pace again. “We’ve only just truly gotten back on our feet. If the people found out about this… Anyway, there’s no way that a population of survivors exists outside of our borders. Given the chance, these things, these pucks — as the science guys nicknamed them — will have little difficulty doing whatever they want to a group of survivors.”
North stood flummoxed for a very long minute. The president stopped pacing again, and he and Smith let the news settle.
Finally Smith asked, “Can I get you some water, Robert?”
“No you cannot, you shifty son-of-a-bitch, and its Admiral North.”
“Robert,” Downing admonished.
“Respectfully, Mr. President, you have put us all in grave danger. That you would leave the Navy out of the national security equation on this is simply… is simply a dereliction of duty. We have the capacity to monitor much farther than our border. That I haven’t been ordered to do so is unforgivable. That we have been tasked almost solely with the responsibility of keeping a population of Halflies sequestered on an island is a gross underuse of our capacity to protect the nation.”
Downing’s face flushed with indignation. “Respectfully, Bob, the Navy is in little position to do more.”
North’s eyes narrowed. “George, let’s get real for a moment. Your willingness to place the vast majority of our nation’s resources in the hands of a video game company—“
The door cracked opened and one of the Secret Service agents poked his head in. “Mr. President, they’re here.”
North closed his mouth, crushing his teeth together. Downing gave a wave to have them enter. He looked at the Admiral with a steely gaze. “You will check that shit right now or you’re done. Clear?”
“Mr. President, but for the security of what’s left of our nation, my resignation letter would be on your desk in an hour.”
The president’s eyes widened slightly at the threat. It was clear to both North and Smith that the Commander-In-Chief had been bluffing. North would have loved to get the man into a proper card game.
The door cracked again and the agent showed Nikki and Jon into the room. Downing quickly checked the knot on his tie and then beamed while holding out a hand to each of them, “Ah, the prototypical son and daughter of the antidote. Saviors of the Halflies. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Both Nikki Rosen the Marine and Jon Washington the reporter had spent considerable time with Downing when he had been vice president. At the time, he had been tasked with the promotion of good news to an exhausted and terrified nation of survivors. Jon and Nikki’s immunity had been one of the few rainbows to point to when their antibodies had been used to help synthesize the drugs that had spared the Halflies. So it was with little fanfare that they were reintroduced to the president and his staff. There was more noshing and then the minor staff was asked again to step outside the room.
The president had been briefed on the divorce between the two and thereby avoided any awkward relationship questions. While the small talk petered out, Jon and Nikki took full advantage of the buffet. Neither had seen such a spread in years. There was even kiwi; a fruit that the general population assumed to be gone from the American diet.
When the niceties seemed to have gone on appropriately long enough, Smith got to the point, “Mr. Washington, you’ve been to the island.”
“Yes sir, as has Nikki. But you know that.”
“Right. So I’ll just brief you on the mission then.”
Jon held up a hand. “For the record, despite the fact that I am a private citizen, who has yet to volunteer for anything, you are referring to this as a mission.”
“Whatever feels right to you, Mr. Washington. You and Ms. Rosen are going to interview some people who have been out West. Americans, who made that remarkable trip and further, into Central America and along the Nicaraguan Canal before making their way back to us.”
“Wow, okay,” said Nikki. “Why Nantucket? Why the most danger
ous place in the country?”
Downing said, “All but two of their party are infected. They were chosen for the mission because of that condition.”
“And there is a twist,” said Smith who briefly glanced at Admiral North. “Two of their party are offspring of Fiends. The infected I mean. You know, the—“
Nikki set her plate down. “Hold on. The babies back during Omega that—“
“Yes,” said the president. “The children of the infected. I’m sure you’ve more than heard the stories, maybe even Virtutripped with what some programers imagine them to be.”
“Stories,” said Jon. “We had direct contact with them. Absolutely took over our minds. They’ve survived?”
“Apparently,” said Admiral North, indignation still rattling his voice. “Evidently, we’re telling reporters now too.”
Downing offered another appeasing pat on North’s arm, only to have the man take a subtle half step back.
Smith held up his hands to get the focus back on him. “Two of their party are what we are referring to as pucks. When you see them you will get it. They were part of the expedition. They are full blown telepaths. And, though trained to behave, they have the power to take over your thoughts without effort.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Nikki, who upon catching the curse, said, “Sorry, Mr. President.”
Downing smiled at the deference. “I said the same when I found out, Sergeant.” He began to pace, hands behind his back. “We need two things from the pair of you. First: that this information doesn’t leave this room.” He stopped and looked hard at Jon. “You are a reporter, Mr. Washington, yes. However, you are here as a citizen volunteering to gather information and return it to me. This is not a reportable item at this time. If it should become reportable, you will have the exclusive right to do so. The two of you were chosen not just because of your immunity, and therefore your easy ability to walk onto that island, but also because of the relationship that I feel we have; the three of us. We did good things together back in the bad old days. What I need is the story these people have to tell. I need to know what they saw. We need to know what is out there.”
A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Page 5