He stopped and looked Nathan in the eye.
"Do you know that Oppenheimer is said to have regretted creating the atomic bomb?”
Nathan shook his head. In truth he had heard something similar a long time ago, but he had a feeling the question was rhetorical.
“So they say,” Fred said thoughtfully, staring out to sea. “For myself, I think that is probably bullshit. Can you imagine giving birth to such power and wishing you had not? Can you imagine anything more pointless?”
The old man’s gaze flicked sharply back to Nathan, like a viper striking.
“What happens when somebody develops a weapon that is too dangerous to sell? The only thing left then is to use the damn thing, or destroy it and render the entire endeavour a pointless charade. Well, I don’t like charades. And I like pointlessness even less."
Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly. Increasingly as Fred spoke, he as beginning to get the impression that the old man was talking primarily to himself.
“I became attached to this project in the 1970s. Forty years ago. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I’ve handed over my entire life to Project Wildfire, but it goes back further than that. A long way back, way before I was even born.”
When Fred paused for effect, Nathan decided the best course of action was silence, and he took it.
“Mostly prior to my involvement it was just idle dreaming by fat men with a great deal of money and an even greater deal of time on their hands. Their dreams were small and messy, and seemed to inevitably gravitate toward starting petty wars with little thought of controlling the outcome. Such imprecise ways of achieving their goals.”
He’s not a psychopath, Nathan thought. What the hell is he?
“Most of them were too concerned with the aftermath, you see. Preoccupied with keeping their presence a secret; all of them worried that the masses would discover who really ran things, and would rise up to oust them. Thinking small. No vision."
Fred's hands were clenched into fists. Nathan edged away from the old man a little.
“My plan was perfect. Or, at least, it should have been perfect. But when you are forced to rely on other people...”
Nathan thought he detected a slight wistfulness in Fred’s tone as he trailed off; regret that the old man had tried to bury deeply but hadn’t quite succeeded.
At no point did Nathan hear even a hint of remorse about the genocide—or worse, the transformation—of billions. The only thing that seemed to matter to Fred Sullivan was that his immaculately-prepared scheme hadn’t been quite so immaculate after all.
Nathan shuddered involuntarily. The conversation had not gone as he had expected it would. Fred’s reputation for threats and intimidation preceded the old man by a long distance, but to Nathan it felt more like the man simply wanted somebody to hear his thoughts. Almost as if the old bastard somehow believed the end was near, and that somebody at least should know why he had done it.
"You can choose to think of me as a monster if you wish, Mr Colston. I don’t care. The only thing I care about at this point is your loyalty. I need to know that despite whatever…reservations you might have about all of this, that you can be trusted to carry out orders."
Nathan nodded.
"Of course. It’s not like there’s anything else out there anyway, right?"
Fred chuckled and clapped Nathan on the shoulder.
"Quite so, my boy. And I’m glad to hear it, because we have reached a crossroads, and I have to make a decision. Your input would be appreciated."
Nathan lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
"I’m not much of a tactician, Sir. I-"
Fred waved a dismissive hand.
"Phil Sanderson believes he can pull a rabbit out of the proverbial hat and turn this clusterfuck into something I can make use of. As useless as he is in most aspects, Sanderson knows his way around research."
Fred spat the last word out; laced it with contempt and poisoned the air with it.
"And so he may very well be right. However, given Sanderson's recent track record, it would be prudent to assume otherwise and to plan accordingly. So what I need from you is an answer on one simple question."
Nathan stared at Fred expectantly.
"How many people on this boat remain loyal to our cause? To my cause, if you prefer to think in those terms."
"Sir, I'm not sure I understand-"
"We've been getting along so well, Mr Colston. Don't throw it all away now. I know very well that there are...agitators on this ship. The only reason I can see for you to deny that would be that you are one of them. Is that the case?"
"No, Sir."
"Good," Fred said. "This is a numbers game now, Mr Colston, and I need to know how many I have. I believe implicitly in our friend Mr Skinner’s loyalty, but I have considerably less confidence that he has his finger on the pulse. The fact that he insisted on your joining our little meeting confirms that pretty clearly, I’d say, wouldn’t you?"
Nathan frowned.
"It’s just as Skinner said, Mr Sullivan. I'd estimate three to four hundred, but it could be less. Mostly those that came with us from Northumberland. But, Sir, even many of them are having doubts. If this turns violent I am honestly not sure how many people you could count on to back you."
Fred nodded, as if the news was not unexpected.
"If your estimate is correct we would be outnumbered by roughly six-to-one, at least."
"Outnumbered, Sir?"
Fred levelled his gaze at Nathan.
"The situation on this boat is going to escalate, Mr Colston. Accepting that truth as inevitable leaves me with a simple decision to make. And that is who gets to turn up the temperature: them or me."
Nathan nodded, and felt anxiety begin to unravel in his stomach. All Fred’s reminiscing suddenly seemed to have little to do with the past. Instead Nathan felt like it had been designed to test how he might react to the future that Fred was planning.
"Find the people that are loyal to me," Fred said. "Gather them together, and get them ready."
"Ready, Sir?"
Fred levelled his gaze at Nathan, and for a brief moment the legendary menace was more than evident in the old man’s eyes.
"For escalation."
Chapter 16
"You’re here to wake him up?"
Kyle didn’t think he had ever heard six words uttered in such a way; six little words that carried a slew of emotions on their back, spoken with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Kyle’s neck stand to attention.
"It," Sanderson said, somewhat irritably. "Not him."
Sykes looked around at the rest of the welcome committee, and his stupefied gaze was met by four haunted stares and one nervous snort. When he finally returned his eyes to the scientist, the expression on the soldier’s face was how Kyle imagined somebody might look if they were told that they had just stepped on a landmine and they should not move.
"Are you insane? You do know what’s on this boat, right?"
Sanderson nodded impatiently and began to walk to the door that led from the landing deck into the ship itself. He waved at Kyle and Tom to follow. Kyle shot a questioning glance at his brother, and gritted his teeth at the noncommittal shrug he got in return. If Tom had picked up on the strained atmosphere, he wasn’t showing it.
Kyle fell into step behind Sanderson, listening intently.
"I know exactly what’s on the boat, Sykes," Sanderson said. "And I have to wake it up. I didn’t say I was going to free it. There is no need to be alarmed. Inventory the security protocols, please."
They entered the ship, and Sykes’ bewildered spluttering gave way to uneasy silence.
Inside, the vessel was sparse; echoing with emptiness. Functional steel corridors ran through the body of the ship like bones, and everywhere appeared to be deserted, giving the interior a funereal feel.
To Kyle's untrained eye the ship almost looked like a work-in-progress: exposed cables and ducting seemed to run everywhere, as though w
hoever had been building the ship had fallen at the final hurdle. It had been the same on the Conqueror, he realised abruptly, but had been less noticeable there because the ship had been full of people.
This one appeared like it had been abandoned.
Sanderson’s description of the McIntosh ship having a skeleton crew started to look to Kyle like an understatement. The realisation that the ‘welcome committee’ might in fact be the entire crew ran through his mind, and left nagging doubt in its wake.
Sykes moved alongside Sanderson, and Kyle noticed that the soldier’s posture appeared to have changed as soon as he entered the ship. On the deck Sykes had projected an air of authority, but with each step into the interior his spine appeared to bend a fraction and his shoulders drooped. Sanderson and Sykes began to speak in low, almost hushed tones and Kyle couldn’t hear what they were saying, but if he had to guess from observing their body language he would have said that the soldier who had been so bullish at first was now pleading. Begging.
Kyle felt the flesh on his arms begin to crawl, and he quickened his pace a little to catch their conversation.
"The subject is shackled and caged. It has been kept in a medically-induced coma since it arrived. We have low frequency emitters surrounding him…it," Sykes said. "Linked to motion sensors. Any movement more significant than a heartbeat will trigger a sonic pulse that should knock it back into a coma."
"It sounds secure," Sanderson said.
"It doesn’t feel secure."
Kyle couldn’t see Sykes’ face as he said the words, but it sounded like the man was pouting.
Sanderson nodded. "Yes. The creature continues to surprise. The defense mechanism the mutation is employing while catatonic is a little…unexpected. And I do appreciate how difficult it makes life on this boat," he said. "Once I’m done here, I will personally make sure you are all relieved. Please, show me the medication you have administered today."
Sykes waved an arm at a young woman who walked behind him.
"Patricia can talk you through all that stuff. I’m only here to point a gun if the need arises."
While the rest of the crew was dressed in unmarked uniforms identical to the one Kyle himself wore, the young woman who Sykes gestured at to join him and Sanderson was dressed in a white lab coat like a doctor.
Kyle would have placed her in her late twenties, but pallid skin and shadows cast on her face by obvious fear made her look older.
Sanderson motioned to an office, and followed the young woman inside, pulling the door almost closed behind him. When Kyle heard them begin to murmur, but found the words too faint to make out, he pulled Tom away from the rest of the crew firmly.
"There’s something wrong here, Tom," Kyle whispered quietly. "You feel it?"
Tom shook his head and stared at Kyle’s hand until the grip on his arm was released.
"Whatever Sullivan has got on this boat, it’s important," Tom hissed. "Maybe the key to stopping all this."
"It’s too late to stop this, Tom," Kyle growled, grabbing his brother's arm once more. "It’s already happened. Wildfire has happened. What’s left to stop?"
"Sullivan," Tom responded in a surprised tone. "He’s not done."
Tom shrugged off Kyle’s grip and stepped away, moving a little closer to the half-closed office door, tilting his head a little to listen.
Kyle gritted his teeth in frustration.
There it was again, that feeling. Drifting. Being pulled helplessly toward something terrible. Something that Kyle did not understand and could not stop. It felt like a pressure was building inside him, growing like a tumour.
Enough.
"Sykes," he said abruptly. The word tore itself from his mouth almost before he had given it permission to leave. He spoke loudly enough that everyone—even Sanderson and the doctor in the adjoining room—looked at him sharply.
"I've had more than enough of being kept in the fucking dark, and I’m tired of riddles. What’s on this ship?"
Kyle felt Sanderson’s gaze on him from the adjoining room, and he flicked his gaze at the balding man defiantly for a moment. Sanderson, apparently, decided that the conversation wasn’t worth his time, and returned to the clipboard the doctor held before him.
Kyle turned his attention back to Sykes.
"The mutation," Sykes said at last. "Something that was changed by the virus. It’s more monster than human. They say it moves so fast that it’s invisible to the naked eye. Powerful. Really powerful. It can’t be killed."
Kyle heard a loud snort from the next room, and his nerves began to dance on a razor’s edge of irritation.
"Something to add…Sir?"
Sanderson stepped back into the room.
"It is stronger than anything I’ve seen," he said, "and it’s true that the creature’s movement is extraordinary, but it can be killed. Everything can be killed. I could kill it right now simply by altering the drugs we’re pumping into it."
"So why don’t you?"
"Because it is not my call," Sanderson said with a trace of bitterness. "And because the creature represents an opportunity for a scientific leap that we may never see again. The information locked in the mutation’s genes could offer humanity the chance to make huge strides forward."
Sanderson waved an arm around the room. His voice began to rise in pitch.
"Let's not lose sight of what can be accomplished. I know what you are feeling, but everybody here is safe. The creature is something that nobody has encountered before, because it did not exist until we gave birth to it. I believe it is connected to the Infected as much to us. It is an incipient species."
From the corner of his eye, Kyle noticed his brother’s head whip up sharply when Sanderson mentioned the Infected. He ignored him.
"And, what?" Kyle snorted. "This creature of yours has superpowers?"
Sanderson sighed wearily.
"Do you know what an area of effect is, soldier?"
Kyle searched his memory banks. The phrase seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
"I do, Sir," Tom said suddenly.
Kyle looked at him in surprise. In general, Tom didn’t talk much to people. Couldn’t. Kyle could not remember the last time he had seen his brother voluntarily address a group of strangers with such confidence.
"It’s a videogame term," Tom continued. "Weapons, magic spells, special powers. They only effect a certain radius around the character in the game."
Sanderson blinked.
"Exactly," he said, sounding more than a little surprised. "I believe the mutation has the power to affect the molecules around it in ways we do not yet understand. It has an area of effect. This allows it to move at incredible speed; to display incredible strength. It is not operating under the same rules of physics that we do. Maybe gravity affects it in a different way; we don’t know for sure. Yet."
Sanderson shrugged, as if that alone was enough reason for not killing the creature, no matter how dangerous it might be.
The dismissive gesture made Kyle’s jaw clench involuntarily, and for a moment he found himself wondering just how to operate the assault rifle he was carrying.
"What we do know," Sanderson continued, "is that when it is unconscious—as it is right now—it exhibits a defense mechanism across this area of effect.
"To us it feels like the atmosphere in the creature’s vicinity has been poisoned by…I suppose you’d say by fear. Very possibly it is emitting a pheromone that we have not encountered, something that triggers a flight response in would-be predators. A natural defense mechanism, like a hedgehog curling up behind its spines, or a toad that secretes poison on its skin."
Sanderson paused, as though he was used to having to wait for people to catch up with his thoughts.
"Those near to the mutation feel overwhelming dread, designed to convey one message: stay away. It is…unsettling, but we are in no danger. Not now. All of that might sound strange or supernatural somehow, but it is not. The properties the creature exhibit
s are found elsewhere in nature. Only the fact that those properties are inherent in something that used to be human makes it of interest."
Kyle shook his head, and almost snorted. Might sound strange?
"What you’re saying sounds like science fiction," he said.
Sanderson smiled.
"A lot of science does, right before it becomes science fact."
"So how is any of that even possible?"
Sanderson paused, apparently searching for the simplest way to put his answer in layman’s terms.
"How does a bee fly? How does a chameleon change the colour of its skin? How does an ant carry a leaf many times heavier than its body? Or a hummingbird beat its wings so fast that the human eye can barely perceive them? There are miracles all around us in nature. What we have become exceedingly good at is tapping into those miracles, and turning them into resources that we can exploit. That’s our miracle."
Kyle rubbed his temples. Either the area of effect was giving him a headache, or talking to Sanderson was.
Probably both, he thought.
"But you said this was a man who was infected. No human can do those sort of things."
Sanderson blinked.
"I don’t believe it is human; not any more, at least. It is something else altogether. If the Infected are a leap backwards on the evolutionary scale, the mutation is like a giant leap forward. Or perhaps sideways might be more accurate. I’d say the only thing it has in common with humans is its ability to think; its emotions."
"And doesn’t that make it human?"
Sanderson rolled his eyes, as though matters of philosophy were not worth spending much time thinking about.
"That makes it dangerous."
Kyle sighed. The conversation appeared to be meandering in circles, and getting straight answers out of Sanderson about anything looked unlikely. He let it drop.
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