The Meridian Ascent (Rho Agenda Assimilation Book 3)

by Richard Phillips

  For a moment, a vision filled his mind of Janet holding his hand as they stared up at the place where the Southern Cross graced a star-filled New Zealand sky. He could feel the warmth of her palm in his. But the last time he had seen his wife, she had stormed out of the cavern beneath the ruins of the Kalasasaya Temple, furious at Jack for making the decision that would take him away from her.

  Jack hadn’t wanted to, but he had let her go. Then he had walked through the passage that took him into the buried Altreian research vessel and let the alien rider in his mind guide him into a chrysalis cylinder. That cylinder put his human body into suspended animation and transported his and Khal Teth’s minds into the Altreian body he now wore. Khal Teth’s body.

  In the months that he and Khal Teth had struggled for primacy, Jack had discovered the true depths of the depravity embraced by Khal Teth and members of his psionic Dhaldric race. Throughout the millennia of their rule, they had used their psychic abilities to enslave the smaller gray-skinned Khyre race who made up 70 percent of Quol’s population.

  But Jack had discovered a secret.

  By allowing the Khyre to form a mutual bond with him, Jack could channel the sum of the psionic abilities of those individuals plus his own. And he discovered that he could form the bond with willing members of the Dhaldric race as well.

  The power granted him through his links to the Twice Bound had enabled him to kill the Altreian overlord, Parsus, and take his place. Jack had used that ability to cast Khal Teth’s mind into the void and block it from returning. But in an ironic twist, those actions had also trapped him on this world, far from the wife and son he longed for.

  A mental alert pulled Jack from his reverie. His psionic mind detected that the Altreian military operations center within the Parthian had just gone to high alert. On a distant planet, the research vessel AQ37Z had just detected the activation of a Kasari wormhole gateway and had sent the required notification to the Altreian command authority. That alert had automatically triggered the activation of the biological weapon that, upon arrival at its target, would kill all intelligent life on the planet.

  The weapon was far from perfect in countering the spread of the Kasari Collective. The Altreians detected only a fraction of the Kasari-targeted worlds, and the Altreian planet killer could be used only during the earliest stage of assimilation. Once the Kasari had established a significant military presence in a star system, they would destroy the planet killer before it could deploy its biological weapon against the planet’s population. Even if the weapon managed to reach the targeted world, its payload would be ineffective against anyone who had undergone the infusion of Kasari nanites.

  Jack’s body went cold, knowing as he did that this response was enshrined in Altreian military doctrine to such an extent that no overlord had ever issued a stand-down order. Until now.

  Sensing his commanding general’s excitement, Jack linked their two minds.

  “General Zolat,” Jack said, adopting the formality that Zolat expected from his overlord. “Recall the bioweapon, immediately.”

  Despite the fact that this Dhaldric general was one of Jack’s Twice Bound, a sudden fury boiled within him, the downside of the voluntary bonding. All Twice Bound retained their free will.

  “Overlord! We have little time to get the weapon to its target before the Kasari establish an impregnable planetary defense. If I gave that order, the High Council would accuse me of treason.”

  “The High Council will do as I command.”

  The shock he felt in the other’s mind surprised Jack.

  “What of your Twice Bound principles?” Zolat asked. “Will you now dictate your will to the people, just as the government that you replaced did? Or will you bring this matter before the High Council so that it can be properly considered and decided upon?”

  “I will not allow an entire world filled with intelligent beings to be obliterated.”

  “Overlord, it is my duty to advise you when I think that a course of action will have negative consequences. The majority of our fleet is situated well beyond the influence of the Twice Bound. Already there are rumblings of discontent among the Dhaldric commanders. They do not like the fact that you have declared the Khyre race the equals of the Dhaldric. This order will place additional stress upon the command structure within a significant portion of the fleet.”

  Jack increased the power of his mental link with the general. Although Zolat did not like the command, his loyalty remained intact.

  “My decision is final. Execute my order.”

  “Yes, Overlord.”

  General Zolat issued the order that was immediately translated into a subspace transmission. The recall would return the robotic weapon to its holding location, deep within the barren reaches of the Krell Nebula. The planet killer and its array of companions were far too dangerous to maintain anywhere near an inhabited star system.

  Jack broke the mental link he had established and returned his gaze to the beautiful twilight sky. The knowledge that a new Kasari gateway had opened on Earth and stabilized long enough to trigger the research vessel’s message turned his thoughts back to Janet and their son, Robby. His only chance to save his family might require a direct attack on the invading Kasari by the Altreian space fleet. But even though the Altreians had battled the spread of the Kasari Collective throughout the galaxy, they had always done so through proxy wars. Both sides knew that direct conflict between their empires might escalate into mutually assured destruction.

  But now that Jack had completed what he had come here to do, there were certainly going to be consequences.

  Jack could live with that. Even on a galactic scale.

  CHAPTER 6

  FRIENDSHIP ASSIMILATION CENTER, NORTH KOREA

  6 February

  Alexandr Prokorov watched as long lines of soldiers snaked their way through the enormous assimilation cavern toward the row of auto-injector booths. To avoid squabbles between those who might be reluctant to undergo the Kasari treatment, they had merely been told that they would be receiving the latest upgrade to the nanites already in their systems. To lighten the mood, their commanders had also informed them that, in addition to healing faster than ever, this version of the nanite serum would enhance their experience of alcohol’s more pleasant side effects.

  As each soldier reached the injection point, a green light would indicate when he was to step into the cylindrical, soundproof booth. Once he was sealed inside, the injector arm would press itself against the person’s left shoulder, sending a puff of compressed air to spray the Kasari nanobot serum through the skin of the upper arm. Although the body’s initial reaction to the nanites working their way through blood and into muscles and nerves was a shock wave of intense pain, the cortical nanobot array produced the most profound changes. At first the newly infused felt a sense of vertigo, as if he stood on a slender ledge, peering down into an infinite chasm below. This sensation generally gave way to wonder as the hive whispered in his head, granting calm and reassurance that all was well. Yet this feeling didn’t take hold with some of the more rebellious of the assimilated. These poor fools bore the perpetual internal turmoil that Prokorov thought they deserved.

  Just over a minute later, the exit door would slide open and a new member of the Kasari Collective would step out to take his place among the assimilated members of his unit in the adjacent rooms.

  There, for the first time, they would see some of the Kasari aliens that had come through the wormhole gate.

  Prokorov turned toward General Hollande, the commander of the EU army division currently undergoing assimilation. Although Prokorov could have queried the hive-mind for the answer to his question, he chose to speak.

  “General Hollande, how much of your division has been processed so far today?”

  “Two-thirds. Approximately nine thousand soldiers.”

  That was good. The assimilation center had increased its efficiency significantly during the last week. As Prokorov prepared
to ask a follow-up question, a commotion broke out near the central injector booths.

  From his vantage point at the edge of the cavern, he could see that several fights had started.

  “What the hell is going on over there?” he asked.

  But before the general could answer, Prokorov accessed the hive-mind for a better perspective, rewinding the time so that he could see what had started this disruption.

  A large black soldier had been approaching one of the booths when he suddenly roared and attacked those around him, fighting his way back through the lines. It was as if a mesmerizing spell that had kept all these soldiers in thrall had broken. Dozens and then hundreds of other soldiers joined the rebel in fighting their way toward the exit, ignoring the orders of the officers struggling to reestablish control.

  Several Kasari entered the cavernous room to block the exit, a move that turned the squall into a cyclone. The unarmed soldiers tackled military police, stripping them of their weapons as gunfire crackled through the room.

  Prokorov swore, then linked his mind with that of Kasari group commander Drolaag.

  “Gas the assimilation chamber!”

  His mental request came across as a command, but Drolaag took no offense. Overhead valves opened, releasing a heavier-than-air fog, long tendrils of which reached down toward the floor. And when the gas touched those who had not yet been infused with the Kasari nanobots, they dropped to the ground.

  Prokorov breathed in the fog, noting the cloying smell of rotten fruit but showing no symptoms of distress. His Kasari nanobots processed this chemical cloud as easily as they processed air.

  In seconds, it was over. Large numbers of assimilated humans and Kasari aliens moved through the chamber, picking up unconscious soldiers and carrying them to the injection booths. Much more slowly than before, the assimilation process began again as the workers dumped one troop after another into the cylinders, closed the door, and waited until a new member of the collective stepped out the far side.

  Prokorov hissed in disgust and turned toward the exit. He had seen enough for one day. So much for the vaunted improvement in efficiency of the assimilation. He thanked the stars that this had not been live-streamed to the Internet masses. That day would come, but only after he was ready to announce the existence of the Kasari gateway to the world.

  Jamal Glover leaned back in his zero-gravity chair and took off the headset that linked his mind to the supercomputer network within the New Zealand underground world the Smythes had created. Technically, their robots had created this incredible network of tunnels and rooms that housed the world’s most sophisticated manufacturing operation. But the Smythes had designed and built the first generation of the robots and directed them to produce Heather’s ever-more-advanced designs.

  Cradled in the chair beside his, Eileen Wu also lifted the Alice band headset from her temples and turned to meet his gaze. The Chinese American former NSA computer scientist known as Hex was four years younger than Jamal, and as usual, he found the intelligence in her eyes mesmerizing.

  “Learn anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing useful. But it’s strange. The UFNS headquarters is not making the number of security mistakes I’m used to seeing. It’s almost like they had a big training program where people actually paid attention to their cyber-security instructors.”

  “Interesting. I’ve noticed the same thing at the Pentagon and Special Operations Command. And there’ve been some odd troop movements as well.”

  This caught Jamal’s attention. “How so?”

  “On the surface, the movement orders look ordinary. The manifests are what you would expect to see for troops and equipment being moved into the conflict areas bordering the countries of the Islamic Alliance. The weaponry shows up on schedule, but I’ve observed some unusual troop delays. Usually just a few days, but I can’t find any record that any stopover occurred.”

  “Are we talking about troop movements by air?”

  “And by sea.”

  “No communications with headquarters?” Jamal asked.

  “It’s as if they passed through the Bermuda Triangle.”

  “Have you checked satellite imagery?”

  Eileen paused. “I thought I’d leave that to you.”

  As interesting as Jamal found this conversation, the rumble from his stomach distracted him.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You buy me dinner and I’ll apply my big brain to the stuff you can’t figure out.”

  He watched her eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “Hilarious.”

  Climbing to his feet, Jamal offered Eileen his arm, as if he were her date for the evening.

  “So?” he asked.

  Eileen rose, ignoring his extended elbow, to lead the way out through the doorway.

  “We’d better get you some food,” she said. “If you get any more light-headed, you’ll pass out on me.”

  As he followed her into the long hallway that led toward the cafeteria, Jamal grinned. For the first time today, he’d almost succeeded in making Eileen smile.

  Freddy Hagerman stepped out of the meeting between President Benton and the senior leadership of the senate, bothered by something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Outside the White House, Al Monroe, a blond ex-Ranger, and Judith Miller, a competent former FBI agent with gray hair and a slight British accent, escorted him to his driverless Cadillac sedan. With his breath puffing out in a white mist, Freddy climbed into the back seat. The other two slid into the front of the silver car.

  Even after all this time, Freddy still found the fact that there was no such thing as a driver’s seat anymore somewhat disconcerting. But it enabled his bodyguards to stay focused on the job of keeping him alive. Not such an easy task these days. Probably the only thing keeping him that way was that he was the political leader of the peaceful Safe Earth movement. As such, he had the popular backing of 47 percent of the U.S. population. Unfortunately, 53 percent of those residing in the fifty-nine states supported President Benton’s globalist policies.

  Freddy harrumphed loud enough to cause Judith to glance back at him. But she had grown used to his periodic outbursts, and her gaze didn’t linger.

  Globalist hell. President Benton and the UFNS were determined to place humanity’s independence in the hands of an alien race. Freddy thanked God every morning that the Smythes had destroyed the latest ill-conceived attempt to make that a reality, despite the devastation they had left in their wake just northeast of Frankfurt.

  So what was it about the president’s demeanor that troubled him so?

  Freddy spoke the words that put the car in motion, taking him back to the Hart Senate Office Building. When he reached his seventh-floor office, he told his executive assistant that he didn’t want to be disturbed and then settled into his comfortable leather chair, the answer to the question of the hour still eluding him.

  As he was about to turn his attention to next week’s schedule, a new thought wormed its way out of his subconscious. President Benton’s mannerisms had not changed. But now his mental sharpness and ability to recall intricate details of complex discussions reminded Freddy of the Smythes’ eidetic memories.

  That was it. Throughout this morning’s meeting, the group of senior senators had thrown questions at the president on a broad spectrum of topics. Although Freddy had not agreed with Benton on many items, the president’s answers had been remarkably crisp and clear. Now that Freddy thought back on the meeting, a very slight pause had preceded many of the president’s answers, almost as if the man were placing a mental query to an external source rather than searching his own memories for answers.

  Freddy shook his head. Ridiculous. This line of thinking was getting him nowhere.

  He turned his attention to next week’s Safe Earth fund-raiser in Richmond. President Benton’s oddities didn’t merit further consideration.

  CHAPTER 7

  MERIDIAN ASCENT, SCION SPACE

  MA Day 71

 
VJ brought the Meridian Ascent out of subspace a hundred million miles beyond the farthest of the Scion system’s planets. Immediately, she began the agreed-upon maneuver, adjusting the starship’s velocity vector to match that of their initial target on Scion.

  “Ready to release first insertion package,” she said.

  “Commence insertion sequence,” said Raul.

  “Aye, Captain,” said VJ, noting with satisfaction the hint of annoyance her archaic verbiage brought to Jennifer’s face.

  Smiling, VJ created a stasis field bubble around the interior of the cargo hatch and then opened it without extending the ramp. That modification of their ship had been one that Raul had intended to make for some time, but the crew had gotten around to it only in the last several days. VJ wrapped the first group of six gnat-sized micro-drones in another stasis bubble and moved it out through the field that kept the interior of the amidships bay from depressurizing.

  When the micro-drone group was fifty yards off the starboard, VJ made a final adjustment to fine-tune the trajectory. Then she released the drones and issued the signal that initiated the preprogrammed journey through subspace that would bring them out a thousand feet above the Eadric capital city of Orthei. Due to their tiny size, they would be invisible to the sensors designed to detect much larger targets.

  Moreover, the drones were each equipped with a one-time-use subspace field generator with just enough power to deliver them to their target. And when the micro-drones emerged from subspace, they would produce such a small displacement of the surrounding atmosphere that it would emit a sound no louder than a hand clap.

  The drones disappeared, and VJ adjusted the ship’s trajectory to match the next target as she prepared to deliver another package. Then the real fun would begin.

  Raul had watched VJ smile as her subtle dig at Jennifer produced the AI’s desired result. At some point, he would have to do something about the rivalry, assuming that he could get VJ to comply with his wishes. But since her behavior was a minor distraction to the otherwise professional manner in which his crew performed, the conversation would wait.