Super World Two

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Jamie entered the emergency ward, Kylee in her arms, the shocked expressions of the nurses reminding her to slow up. They directed her into a room, and she laid out Kylee on a bed, so small and fragile and pale, and the nurses converged on her. A middle-aged male doctor, tall, bearded, and assured like a modern-day Abe Lincoln, appeared and started examining Kylee while asking Jamie what had happened.

  "It was a toxin in the air!" Jamie cried. "It affected me, too, Maybe nerve gas?"

  "From what source?" the doctor asked.

  Jamie shook her head at the impossibility of a simple explanation. "A person."

  The doctor just shot her a deeply puzzled look while starting CPR on Kylee and calling for a crash cart. He introduced himself as he alternately pressed on her chest and breathed air into her lungs. Dr. Ken Albert. Jamie told him who they were.

  In less than a minute the cart arrived and he'd placed the electronic paddles on her small chest. A jolt of current and she bucked upward as if someone had kicked her. The doctor performed more CPR, throwing in some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, followed by another shock from the defibrillator.

  Then everyone slowed down. The nurses stood around as the doctor leaned over Kylee, massaging the side of her neck and applying a stethoscope to her chest. Jamie did not like the way the nurses were exchanging sad-eyed looks, as if it was all over. The frantic energy from the moments before drained from the room, while her body vibrated with unspent power that she ached to unleash.

  "Don't give up," she said in a raw, quavering voice. "Don't you dare give up."

  "I'm not giving up," said the doctor grimly. "Not yet. But Mrs...?"

  "Shepherd."

  "Mrs. Shepherd. Your daughter is completely non-responsive. I want you to know that we'll do everything we can, but the prognosis is not good."

  "Just do everything you can."

  "There's a last-ditch option. We can induce hypothermia by replacing your daughter's blood with a cold saline solution. That would give her a chance while we attempt to find out what's happened to her."

  "Do it! Of course, do it!"

  "I can't guarantee your health insurance will cover it."

  "I can cover it. Please, don't waste any more time!"

  "Okay." He turned to the circle of nurses. "Let's do this thing."

  THE PRESIDENT and her advisors watched in glum silence as the cameras mounted on Darpa's Weaponized Autonomous Nanodevice Deployment Android captured in chilling detail her assassination attempt that had gone horribly wrong – ending in a blank screen.

  "Madame President," said Secret Service Director, Angela Lincoln, a rasping urgency in her voice, "I recommend you proceed immediately to Bunker Two."

  Bunker Two offered an even more hardened and secure bunker than the Presidential Emergency Operations Center beneath the East Wing of the White House. And it had, President Tomlinson thought, the more critical advantage of being unknown to Jamie Shepherd.

  "Hold on a moment, Angela." The President turned to Kushner. "Jacob. The ASP?"

  "It's in position. All systems operational."

  The big screen lit up with a aerial view of the Shepherd residence. As President Tomlinson pondered whether to take the shot, Jamie Shepherd burst through the front door, her daughter in her arms, and took flight. She didn't appear to be flying fast. The Aerial Swarm Platform had no trouble tracking her.

  "The pilot awaits authorization for a SHE TKO strike, President Tomlinson."

  Twenty Kiloton Ordinance. Tomlinson considered the possible fallout of detonating their most powerful non-nuclear weapon over a populated area. It might only be North Dakota, as Kushner had snidely pointed out, but the consequences could be large and were uncertain. She'd already worked her way to answer before authorizing WANDA's assassination attempt, but now Ms. Shepherd was carrying a child.

  "We could wait until she drops her daughter off at the hospital," suggested Molly Winters.

  "Her daughter's already dead," said Kushner, a hint of impatience in his voice. "The weaponized nanites would've caused irreparable damage in seconds."

  Tomlinson glanced at her Vice President and friend before setting her jaw.

  "Proceed with the SHE strike," she said.

  "Authorization received." Kushner paused. "Missile launched and locked on to target. ASP relocating. Detonation in six seconds. Five, four, three – "

  The scene shifted rapidly as the pilot repositioned his aircraft. Kushner was frowning.

  "Missile diverted," he said. Another pause. "Pilot reports it detonated a few miles up."

  President Tomlinson realized her hands were clenching the edge of the table. She forced them to relax.

  "Shepherd's approaching Avera Medical Hospital," said Kushner.

  "Madame President, I must again recommend –"

  President Tomlinson raised a hand. Time to think, perhaps about the unthinkable.

  "General Akron," she said, "I want you to inform your fleet that as of now, Jamie Shepherd is an enemy of the state. Your fleet should prepare itself to use all necessary force against her should that need arise."

  General Akron's usual stoic face appeared exceptionally uncomfortable.

  "Bill," said the President. "Is there a problem?"

  "Um..." The Space Fleet Commander had never been known to stutter or mutter awkwardly, but now was proving to be the exception. "With all due respect, Ma'am, my commanders may be, ah, reluctant to take such an action...given Mrs. Shepherd's contribution to our battle against the aliens."

  "Are you saying they might refuse my orders?"

  "I'm not saying that, no. I'm saying that they may have reservations."

  "Then it's your job to convince them to eliminate those reservations." All warmth had fled her voice. "You could start by pointing out that despite Ms. Shepherd's valuable contribution the alien threat remains. In fact, her very presence here has altered the aliens' judgment from watching and waiting to passing a death sentence on humanity. Without her help, we wouldn't be facing extinction – except hypothetically by our own hands."

  "We don't actually know there is a death sentence or that they can execute it if there is," said Defense Secretary Burt Sanders. "That's all on the word of one alien, who could be lying."

  "What would be the point of lying?" asked Molly Winters.

  "Perhaps they consider her to be a threat and want us to eliminate that threat for them?"

  "Hmmm," said the Vice President. "That's an interesting point. It does raise the question of why they don't simply kill Jamie themselves. Surely, if they have any humanitarian impulses, they would do that instead of sentencing a whole world to death?"

  President Tomlinson's growing annoyance was as much about the note of question Burt Sanders' comment had raised in her own mind as his disputing her. What if destroying Jamie merely paved the way for an alien attack? That thought introduced enough cognitive dissonance to crack her already overworked brain.

  "Even if that's true," the President grated out, "that ship has already flown, wouldn't you say, Molly? Do you think she's going to work with us now that we've killed her child? Hell, if the Elementals come to kill us now, she just might lend them a hand. Or do their job for them in advance."

  "I agree," said Jacob Kushner. "We've gone too far to do anything but stay the course. If we don't kill her, she will certainly kill us."

  President Tomlinson nodded to him in gratitude. At least someone had rallied to her side.

  "You have your orders, General Akron," she said. "Now we'll take my Secret Service Director's advice and head over to Bunker Two. We'll continue this operation from there."

  Chapter 16

  "CAP, ARE YOU FUCKING kidding me?" Lieutenant David Mallory demanded. "Are they seriously saying that on some damn alien's say-so we should kill someone who put her life on the line for all of us?"

  "That's what they're seriously saying." Captain Zane Cameron stared at the holograph of the Grand Forks area from a perspective of about three miles up. The c
louds had generously parted, allowing a clear view of the city and surrounding countryside. He imagined what a 12 gigaton MAME would do if it struck the hospital. If he wanted, he could ask PAT for a precise simulation of the effects. He didn't want to give the possibility that much weight.

  "It might not come to that," Cameron said quietly. "They've got some other 'assets' in the area they plan to use against her."

  "What would they expect us to do?" asked Keira, the Chief Medical Officer. "Surely not use antimatter weapons?"

  "I'm not sure. We could use SHEs, though I doubt she'd have any trouble dodging them. But the same applies to our Proteus missiles or railguns. She's too damn fast. That leaves the particle beams and lasers."

  "Not stating this as a suggestion," said Chief Engineer Dan Mueller, "but in point of fact she's inside a hospital right now in no position to spot an incoming missile."

  "How do you know she wouldn't spot it?" Mallory growled.

  "We don't know her abilities with any precision, true, but from what we know she lacks any dedicated detection or surveillance system – or 'Xray vision.' She relies on good old-fashioned vigilance. I'd say that's her Achilles heel."

  "A MAME would destroy most of the state of North Dakota, wouldn't it?" asked Keira.

  "Pat," Cameron sighed. "Give us an approximate estimate of the damage a Proteus striking Grand Forks, North Dakota would cause, including human causalities."

  A diagram consisting of multiple circles filled with shades red that grew lighter as they expanded outward from the point of impact.

  "Overpressures ranging from 5000 to 3 PSI would destroy most structures out to 240 kilometers from a surface detonation," said Pat, with her usual neutrality. "Fireball radius: 32 kilometers. First degree burns occurring up to 670 kilometers. Major cities significantly impacted: Minneapolis-St.Paul, St. Cloud, Winnipeg, Brandon, Fargo, Watertown, Brookings, Sioux Falls, Duluth, Bismarck, and Minot. Estimated casualties: 1.742 million immediate fatalities, 2.433 million injuries."

  No one spoke. Pat's mellifluous gender-neutral voice faded gently, but her words did not. A half-minute passed.

  "Would you like further details, Captain Cameron?"

  "No. That will do, Pat." Cameron sagged in his chair. "Well, that obviously is not going to happen."

  "Akron did say by 'all necessary force,'" said their navigator, Andrea Wilkins.

  A pulsing blue light indicated an incoming communication.

  "Image on," said Cameron.

  A split-screen image of the Fleet's three other starship commanders appeared: Captains Horace Lindley of the starship cruiser Peacemaker, Martin Armstrong of the starship cruiser John F. Kennedy, and Gary Bascombe of the Cheyenne's twin, the smaller Interstellar Fighter Class Ardent. Everyone, even Cameron's friend and mentor, the normally smirking Horace Lindley, looked like they were attending an unexpected and tragic funeral.

  "You know," said Horace, "I'm smelling something rotten. And here I thought you can't smell anything in space."

  "There's a first time for everything up here," said Mallory.

  "I'm not sure about the rest of you," said Captain Martin Armstrong, "but I have a major problem with an enemy power dictating our actions – in this case, commanding us to kill one of our own, or else."

  "Hear, hear," said Mallory.

  "Not only one of our own," Horace stated, "but someone who served honorably alongside us in battle. And her reward, I understand, was a ten megaton nuke."

  "Not to mention the execution of her child," said Keira.

  "But we're supposed to just fall into lock-step with the aliens' demands." Horace shook his head. "I think you can count me out."

  "I suggest we think this through very carefully," said the commander of the Ardent, Gary Bascombe, the oldest of the four starship captains. "Court martial in the USSC is not a pleasant event. In some cases, it carries the death penalty."

  "They fired a TKO in a residential area," said Cameron. "I'd say that carries a death penalty, too."

  "Gentlemen, were not above the law," Captain Bascombe stated. "We don't get to decide what orders we're going to follow."

  "And if we're ordered to fire a Proteus missile at her over or near a population center?" Horace cocked an eyebrow at his older fellow. "You willing to sign the death warrant of thousands or even millions, Gary?"

  "I don't believe it's going to come to that."

  "But if it does?"

  Captain Bascombe lowered his eyes, his face ashen.

  "We don't have any duty to fulfill unconstitutional orders," said Mallory. "Killing innocent American citizens has gotta be unconstitutional."

  "Except when and where the Constitution is prohibited by law," Horace snorted. Mallory echoed him with a harsh laugh.

  "Of course Jamie Shepherd is not an American citizen," said Captain Bascombe. "She's designated an enemy combatant, as the brief made clear."

  "Whoop-de-doo," Mallory growled. "President Julius Caesarette designates anyone who opposes her as an enemy combatant."

  "President Tomlinson is our lawful commander, and we took an oath to obey Presidential orders." Bascombe unfurled his thick eyebrows at Mallory and the others in turn. "Are we talking mutiny or an insurrection against the government of the United States?"

  "Don't get your stars and stripes panties in a bunch, Gary." Horace waved a gnarled forefinger. "You're not more patriotic than the rest of us. We have every legal right to question or refuse an unlawful order."

  "Well, unless I missed something, none of us are Constitutional or military law scholars."

  "True," said Cameron. "Right now we're just talking. And the subject is: What will we do if we're ordered to kill Jamie Shepherd with extreme force."

  "I'm out," said Horace. "I'll take my chances with a military court. This is too far off the reservation, in my opinion."

  "I'm with you," said Captain Armstrong. "In my opinion, it's illegal for the United States to bow to ultimatums from an enemy power that require killing our own people."

  "I agree." Cameron met Captain Bascombe's cold gaze. "Gary?"

  Captain Gary Bascombe's stern expression softened slowly, his barrel chest deflating as he issued a ragged sigh. "I will tell you this. I will not fire a SHE missile anywhere near a populated area. Nor would I even entertain launching a MAME at a target in the US, if my ship had any in its arsenal. As for a laser or proton strike, I would follow that order as it stands now – under protest."

  "I doubt either beam weapon would hurt her," said Cameron. "But I bet it would piss her off."

  "Be that as it may, Captain Cameron. When given orders, I'm not in the habit of disobeying them because the enemy might get pissed off."

  They all took each other's measure for a few moments. Cameron wondered how many crewmembers in the other ships were witnessing this exchange as his own small crew was.

  "I think we all know where we stand," said Horace. "I guess we'll know soon enough how this plays out. Good luck to us all."

  "I'M SORRY, Mrs. Shepherd," said Dr. Albert, emerging from the Acute Care room. "We weren't able to perform the procedure."

  Jamie stood stock-still as horror roared through her. Everything in her life had rested on the miracle infusion that would give her daughter a chance to hold on.

  "Why?" she cried. "What went wrong?"

  "We were unable to penetrate her skin." Dr. Albert shook his head in helpless wonder while a colleague named Dr. Thomas nodded in confirmation. "I know it sounds crazy, but the needle wouldn't go in. We tried, two nurses tried, but it was no go. We actually bent three needles. I can't explain it."

  The wave of panic and horror tearing through Jamie stopped in mid-stream. My skin can't be penetrated, either. She'd tried it once with Dennis's hunting knife. The blade had just crumpled when she'd applied force. Something vaguely akin to hope flared in her chest.

  "I want to see her."

  "Of course."

  The two doctors followed her into the Acute Care Unit. Kylee was ly
ing just as lifeless as before. Jamie touched her cheek. Her skin was cool and as pale as if she'd just come in from a romp in the snow. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  "We tried everything, Jamie," said Dr. Albert. "I'm so sorry. Such a beautiful young girl."

  "Did you try scanning her brain?"

  "Yes – an MRI. We also hooked her up to an electroencephalograph monitor. No sign of brain activity."

  The words hit like a demolition ball in her stomach – from a time when a demolition ball could've hurt her. Jamie doubled over, her head resting on her daughter's unmoving chest. Maybe her strangely resistant skin was a delayed response to their physical proximity? Her alien nanites had some effect, but no superpowers? But to no avail. No brain activity could only mean one thing.

  No. This can't be happening. The nightmare was beyond reckoning. Nothing was adding up – except the pain. And the pain was giving way to something more primal: a molten, unquenchable anger. The aliens meant nothing. The world meant nothing. It all washed away in a fiery red curtain of pure fury.

  "Jamie..."

  Dr. Albert's concerned voice was her first clue that she was backing away – stumbling through the door –

  "Please, hold on a moment – "

  Jamie careened into the hallway, the doors swinging shut in the doctor's face. I'm on the top floor. That was all the permission she needed. She blew through the ceiling – roof, bricks, wood, and sheetrock vaporizing – her eyes fierce slits as she set her sights on the southeast.

  See you soon, Mrs. President.

  "THIS IS ASP Striker One. I have visual."

  The Aerial Swarm Platform pilot's calm voice invaded the eerie silence inside the Control and Strategy Room within Bunker Two. President Tomlinson was surrounded by her usual advisors, plus technical assistants and other USSC officers, including USSC's second-in-command, former Air Force General Ellis Mathews, who'd directed the aerial attack on Iran after Doomsday. A central display screen showed Jamie streaking through the sky just above the cloud cover, red, glowing crosshairs planted squarely on her back.