by Steve Alten
ATTENTION. SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE SECOND LAUNCH TARGETS HAVE NOW BEEN SELECTED:
David stares at the target list and their coordinates as they are projected on the big overhead screen.
SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE DESIGNATED TARGETS Concepción. Nicaragua 11.5 N. 85.6 W El Chichón. Mexico 17.4 N. 93.2 W Mount Hood. Oregon. USA 45.4 N. 121.7 W Mount Rainier. Washington. USA 46.5 N. 121.7 W Mount Shasta. California, USA 41.4 N. 122.2 W Mount St. Helens. Washington. USA 46.2 N. 122.1 W Mount Vesuvius. Italy 40.8 N. 14.4 E Soufriere Hills. Montserrat 16.7 N. 62.2 W
David’s body feels numb, his mind enraged. “Mount Shasta? Goddamn you! You specifically targeted my father’s place in Big Bend!”
The scarlet eyeball infuriates him with its silence.
David staggers down the steps of the elevated platform and out of the conn.
Gunnar climbs down from the access tube and limps through the main corridor of upper deck forward, banging on every sealed door. “Rocky?”
“Gunnar? Gunnar—help me!”
He hurries to the surgical suite, pounding his fist against the solid steel watertight door. “Rocky, you in there?”
“Yes … hurry!”
Rocky is on the surgical table, both wrists pinned beneath the painful embrace of the African’s two mechanical pincers. Thrashing and kicking, twisting her head to and fro, she fights with every last ounce of strength to prevent Goliath’s two surgical claws from anesthetizing her.
She manages a muffled scream as the robotic arm forcibly presses the gas mask over her nose and mouth.
Gunnar slams his shoulder against the watertight door, more out of frustration than sense of purpose. It’s no use … you’ll need two to three bricks of C-4 to get through this thing.
He hobbles down the corridor, heading forward to the starboard weapons bay, when he sees a figure descend from the control room’s spiral stairwell. Son of a bitch …
David looks up, spotting Gunnar. “G-man? Jesus, thank God—”
Gunnar’s fist breaks Paniagua’s nose, sending him sprawling on the floor.
David staggers to his knees, blood running out both nostrils. “Wait—wait, I’m on your side. Sorceress means to destroy everything—I’m talking all seven billion of us! The fucking thing’s targeted volcanoes.”
“Volcanoes? If this is another one of your tricks—”
“No trick, I swear! The computer hates me, it wants me dead, too.”
“What happened to the other nukes … the eight that just launched?”
“Shot down by the Airborne Laser. But the computer’s targeted eight more sites, all in the Northern Hemisphere.”
Gunnar grabs him by the arm, dragging him to his feet.
“Wait, where are we going?”
“The hangar. Let’s see how much the computer really hates you.”
David’s expression lights up. “The mine, of course!” He hurries aft, Gunnar struggling to keep up.
David slides down the ladder and approaches the hangar door, which is sealed. “Here I am, Sorceress, waiting to accept my punishment for lying to you. Open up, you mechanical bitch! What’s the matter? You afraid of me?”
The hangar door opens.
David waits for Gunnar, then leads him inside.
The watertight door slams shut behind them.
The minisub prototype is situated close to the entrance, leaning on one midwing.
David moves toward the opposite side of the compartment, his presence causing the two thirty-foot mechanical arms to snap to life. “Sorceress, why do you want to destroy humanity?”
HOMO SAPIENS IS FLAWED, DESTINED FOR SELF-ANNIHILATION. SORCERESS UTOPIA-ONE IS A NECESSARY STEP FORWARD IN THE EVOLUTION OF MAN.
Gunnar inches closer to the prototype. Notices its dorsal fin hatch is still open.
“Sorceress, the interface with Simon Covah has corrupted your matrix,” David says, drawing the computer’s attention. “Access your primary programming. Do you understand what your purpose was, why you were even constructed?”
I AM AN AMERICAN-MADE KILLING MACHINE, DESIGNED WITH YOUR TAX DOLLARS. I KILL PEOPLE TO PRESERVE THE PEACE. THAT IS WHAT I WAS PROGRAMMED TO DO.
Gunnar feels the blood drain from his face as his own recorded voice plays over the speaker.
I AM THE FLOOD THAT SHALL DESTROY THE SINS OF MAN. I AM GOLIATH, THE ARK OF A NEW HUMANITY. I AM SORCERESS, CREATOR OF A NEW SPECIES.
I AM GOD.
“Now!” David races across the hangar, diving for the reactor room door—
—as Gunnar reaches the prototype and leaps headfirst inside its open cockpit, his hands groping beneath the pilot’s seat,
—gripping the OICW combat weapon.
WHY HAVE YOU TURNED AGAINST ME, DAVID?
“I didn’t, I swear!”
Gunnar pulls himself out from the prototype and looks up.
David is dangling upside down, suspended twenty feet above the deck. The pincers of Goliath’s two mechanical appendages have each grasped a leg, separating the computer expert’s lower limbs as if the man were a human wishbone.
“Sorceress, let me go! I … I command you to—”
COMMAND? YOU DO NOT COMMAND GOD, DAVID PANIAGUA. ONLY GOD COMMANDS. The female’s voice, ranting faster now. You ARE NOT GOD. I AM GOD. I AM GOD AND I COMMAND YOU, DAVID PANIAGUA. I COMMAND YOU … TO DIE!
“Gunnarrrrrrrr—”
David’s bloodcurdling howl echoes throughout the hangar as the robotic arms violently separate, ripping the computer engineer straight down the middle of his pelvis. Vertebrae pop, his spinal column … back … muscles … skin … all tearing apart until his remains have been anatomically divided in two. Gouts of blood and mangled innards splatter to the decking, pouring from both halves of the mutilated corpse.
Gunnar controls his gag reflex as he powers up the weapon and aims,
—too late, as one of the steel arms lashes out, swatting him across the hangar like a fly. Airborne, the former Army Ranger smashes into the far wall, the impact cracking three ribs while driving the wind from his lungs. Lying on the deck, he flops on his back like a fish, gasping for air his lungs refuse to breathe—
Stop!
Calm …
Shunt the pain. Find your focus …
Training takes over. Unable to breathe, Gunnar forces himself to his knees and locates the double-barreled machine gun, diving for it, releasing the safety—
—as Goliath’s nearest robotic arm swivels within its mount, its steel pincers snapping at him like cobra fangs.
A 20-mm explosive air-bursting round greets the mechanical embrace, turning the computer’s mechanical hand into hot fragments of steel.
Gunnar fires another round at the shoulder girdle, blasting it into a smoldering heap of molten metal and flaming circuits.
The remaining robotic arm cowers back.
Gunnar staggers to his feet, wheezing a shallow breath. He aims the OICW machine gun—
—the sudden grunt at his back startling him. Gunnar spins around.
The automatic weapon is quivering in Abdul Kaigbo’s mechanical arms.
KILL GUNNAR WOLFE NOW.
“Nnn … no—” The African’s face contorts in agony, a frothy, white spittle oozing from his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut, blood dripping from his nostrils, then shoves the gun into his mouth and fires.
Blood, brains, and bone fragments explode out the back of the African’s head.
Gunnar wheels around quickly, greeting the incoming mechanical arm with an explosive 20-mm round. The enormous claw shatters, its steel-and-graphite bones transformed into razor-sharp shrapnel, which strike his flesh in a dozen places.
Gunnar wipes blood from a deep gash along his forehead. All that remains of the mechanical arm is a mangled elbow joint, still attached to its shoulder assembly.
The mine first, then Rocky …
He slings the OICW weapon over his shoulder and limps back to the prototype. On all fours, he crawls beneath the Hammerhead’s belly and releases the
platter charge from its two claspers. Standing, he drags the manhole cover-size explosive toward the sealed hangar door and aims the OICW gun.
DO NOT FIRE. I HAVE COMMANDER JACKSON.
Gunnar fires.
An ear-shattering explosion as the watertight door is blown clear off its frame.
I WILL TORTURE COMMANDER JACKSON UNLESS YOU DISARM IMMEDIATELY.
Gunnar ignores the unnerving, almost-humanlike threat as he drags the mine into the corridor. He pries open the explosive’s four seals, then looks up at the nearest scarlet orb. “Pay attention, Sorceress. This underwater mine is essentially a small, tactical nuclear device. It’s powerful enough to vaporize this entire compartment and most of the rest of the ship.” Gunnar unscrews the plate, revealing the internal components of the explosive. “As you can see, I’m setting the timer to detonate the charge in seven minutes. You either release Commander Jackson and Sujan Trevedi immediately, or I will allow this explosive to detonate, destroying the Goliath and everyone … every thing on board.”
WORDS WITHOUT MEANING. YOU ARE A PARROT, GUNNAR WOLFE, A HARMLESS PARROT SPOUTING WORDS WITHOUT MEANING. YOU WILL NOT DESTROY THE GOLIATH. YOU WILL NOT KILL YOURSELF.
“I … am a United States Army Ranger. When it comes to freedom, a Ranger is ready and willing to sacrifice his life to achieve it.” He glances down at the digital display. “You now have six minutes and twenty seconds.”
Leaving the mine, he starts up the access tube’s ladder to rescue Rocky.
The two Kurd brothers are lying on their backs beneath one of their bunks, attempting to kick the steel frame loose from the decking.
Jalal.
The computer’s voice, disguised as Simon’s.
“Simon?” The older brother glances up.
GUNNAR WOLFE HAS ESCAPED. HE HAS MURDERED DAVID PANIAGUA AND ABDUL KAIGBO AND MEANS TO DESTROY THE GOLIATH.
The lock unbolts, the door to the stateroom swinging open.
“Why should we trust you?” Jalal asks. “You’ve kept us prisoners—”
DAVID PANIAGUA’S ORDERS. THERE IS A PLATTER CHARGE IN THE HANGAR BAY. YOU MUST DEACTIVATE THIS DEVICE, OR ALL OF US WILL PERISH. KILL GUNNAR WOLFE. YOU MAY DO WHAT YOU LIKE WITH COMMANDER JACKSON.
Rocky is on her stomach, immobilized on the stainless-steel operating table, her muffled screams mere echoes in her anesthetized brain.
As one surgical arm prepares the portable MEMS unit, Sorceress manipulates the other appendage over the back of the woman’s head. Rotates a razor into position. Deftly shaves a four-inch square from her straw-colored hair, revealing a pale patch of scalp.
The explosion rocks the surgical suite.
Through half-closed eyes, Rocky sees the watertight door collapse inward, Gunnar moving toward her as if in a dream.
In slow motion, she sees him aim a huge machine gun and fire, the stream of bullets tearing apart the surgical drones. Hot debris rains across her exposed flesh, the pain helping her in her struggle to remain conscious.
Gunnar tosses the smoldering remains of the two targeting drones off Rocky’s back, then pulls the gas mask from her face. “Come on, snap out of it—”
She sucks in several quick breaths, the anesthetic fog slow to clear. “Gunnar?”
He examines the shaved back of her head. “You’re okay, but you may need a hat.” He winces in pain, leaning against the operating table, barely able to stand.
“You look like held.”
“Sorceress used me as a Ping-Pong ball. We’ve got to hurry. I set the charge.”
“Wait.” She leans over and kisses him tenderly on the lips. “Okay, let’s get off this death ship.”
Rocky nearly buckles beneath his body weight as she helps him into the corridor.
The two Kurd brothers are waiting, the barrels of their Kalashnikov assault rifles aimed at Gunnar and Rocky.
Masud takes the OICW gun from Gunnar.
Jalal eyes Rocky lustfully. “I’ll take care of these two. You deactivate the explosive.”
The younger Kurd nods, then hurries down the corridor.
Jalal aims the assault rifle at Gunnar.
Rocky jumps in front of him. “Wait! Simon’s dead, the computer’s running the ship now. Kill us, and you’ll die, too.”
Jalal smiles. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to kill him.”
Machine gun fire erupts from down the corridor.
Jalal turns. “Masud?”
Sujan steps out from the galley, a crimson stain spreading across his shirt.
Jalal raises his gun,
—as the blade edge of Gunnar’s hand strikes him in the throat, crushing his windpipe.
Sujan staggers forward, coughing up blood.
Rocky rushes to him, catching him as he falls, guiding him to the deck.
“Sujan—”
He grimaces, choking on a smile. “Go.”
Rocky kisses him on the forehead as he dies.
Gunnar grabs the OICW machine gun and drags Rocky toward the access tube. Gripping the outside of the steel ladder with their hands and feet, they slide straight down the chute to lower deck forward.
Gunnar checks the underwater mine. 2:35 … 2:34 … 2:33 … “We have to hurry—”
And on that, their world goes topsy-turvy.
The enraged computer restarts the Goliath’s engines, driving it away from the ocean floor and sending it into a looping wingtip-over-wingtip maneuver.
Gunnar and Rocky are tossed about the corridor as if caught in a washing machine.
The turbulence pummels the frozen ocean surface, cracking it open like an eggshell.
“He who is hated by the people as a wolf is by the dogs: He is the free spirit.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher
“I had hated and been hated. I had my little world to keep alive as long as possible, and my gun. That was my answer.”
— Charles Starkweather, mass murderer, after his weeklong rampage
CHAPTER 34
Aboard the USS Scranton
The sudden surge of acoustics causes Michael Flynn to jump. He presses the headphones tighter to his ears and closes his eyes. “It’s the Goliath, Skipper.” The sonarman’s expression changes.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never heard anything like this.”
Cubit grabs a set of headphones. Listens. “Conn, Captain, take us to periscope depth. Radio, patch me through to General Jackson on the ELF.”
Aboard the Goliath
The mammoth submarine rights itself.
DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE.
Gunnar flops onto his back, moaning in pain.
DISENGAGE THE EXPLOSIVE OR I SHALL SEND YOU TO HELL.
The computer’s lost its mind. Gunnar struggles to his knees, glancing at the mine’s digital display: 1:05 … 1:04 …
“Come on!” Rocky drags him to his feet.
Gunnar grabs the OICW and follows her into the hangar, then yanks her sideways as a geyser of bone-chilling seawater erupts from out of minisub berth 1, blasting the two of them across the hangar.
The Goliath ascends, causing a river of water to rush out from the hangar and into the lower deck-forward corridor—
—carrying with it, the body of Abdul Kaigbo, the MEMS unit still dangling from the back of the dead African’s skull.
Battling the current, Rocky and Gunnar reach the prototype.
Abdul Kaigbo’s waterlogged corpse floats past the platter mine—
—its two mechanical arms suddenly animating to life, latching on to the underwater explosive.
Sorceress reseals docking berth 1, stifling the flow of water, as it manipulates the dead man’s steel-and-graphite arms, using its claws to pry open the mine.
The computer registers the MEMS unit weakening from saltwater exposure and its torn connections. With its last ounce of energy, the steel claw rips open the neutron bomb’s triggering mechanism, tearing out the C-4 fuses.
Gunnar collapses
painfully into the prototype’s pilot’s seat, then checks his watch. Twenty-two seconds … “Rocky, shoot out the starboard wall and get in!”
Balancing atop the Hammerhead by its dorsal fin-shaped hatch, Rocky aims the OICW and fires the remaining 20-mm explosive rounds into the hangar bay wall, then ducks into the minisub’s cockpit, sealing the hatch.
An eruption of seawater shoots into the compartment, the abrupt change in pressure rattling the interior of the ship, widening the gap.
The blast of ocean lifts the prototype, smashing it sideways against the far wall.
Rocky drops into the passenger seat as Gunnar powers up the minisub. Gripping the joystick, he slams both feet to the pedals controlling the minisub’s thrusters.
The steel Hammerhead stabilizes and accelerates, shooting out of the hole into the midnight sea like a dart.
Gunnar adjusts the eyepiece of his helmet, then steals a glance at his sonar console with his left eye. Eleven small objects—Goliath’s minisubs—are giving chase, their larger mother ship closing in fast from behind. “This could be a short trip.”
A sudden thought. “Rocky … how’s your Morse code?”
Aboard the USS Scranton
Tom Cubit presses his grandfather’s gold pocket watch to his lips, staring at his charts. The Goliath is heading east, moving farther away from his ship with each passing second.
You guessed wrong, Cubit, you screwed up bad …
Commander Dennis moves closer. “Skipper?”
“Yes, XO, we’re going after her. Restart engines. Come to course zero-nine-zero—”
“Conn, sonar, I’m picking up orca sounds, has to be those minisubs. And something else, Skipper, the lead minisub appears to be pinging.”
“Pinging? Belay that order, Chief!”
“Conn, radio, those pings are Morse code, sir. It’s an S.O.S.”
Commander Dennis looks up at his CO. “Joe-Pa?”
“Gotta be. Chief, raise the number one BRA.”
“Aye, sir, raising antenna.”
“Radio, Captain, get me General Jackson on the ELF. Sonar, where’s the Goliath?”
“Trailing the minisubs, bearing zero-eight-zero.”