He wasn't going to risk anyone else, and he'd have the two back inside the ship before someone could suit up to help him. He grabbed one of the lightweight stretchers hanging outside the decompression chamber, and found Mallory a few meters outside the ship, stirring weakly on his back but not going anywhere. The NDs had done their work, sealing the two entrance wounds and any internal hemorrhaging, judging from his pink color. No point in any trying to diagnose him up here. Patricia and the Compact Advanced Lab and Medical System (CALMS) would take care of him inside.
Mallory's eyes flickered open and he smiled as Zane eased his body onto the stretcher and strapped him in place.
"How are you feeling?" Zane asked.
"Great. Like disco dancing."
"You must be worse off than I thought."
Mallory's chuckle was cut short by a grimace. "Don't see any hornets. I take it we won."
"Yeah. Give credit to Patricia for that."
Zane dragged him inside. He called Horace and Dan over to continue carrying him with Patricia into the medical room. Too soon for celebration with Zzull lying wounded outside the wall.
"Be right back," he said.
Zzull was sprawled in a patch of blood-stained short grass in a loose-limbed way that made Zane doubt she was still alive. She'd taken at least three hits to the torso. The yellow jackets must've struck her down during the initial attack. He strapped her onto the stretcher without much hope. But these creatures were damn tough. Zane recalled how fast Jahitz had recovered. With some MENDs in her system, Zzull might do the same.
Zane carried at a trot into the med-lab room, depositing her on a cot opposite the cot Mallory was laid out on. Patricia was administering a river of nutrients, hormones, and Universal Synthblood through a pressurized injector to complement Mallory's hardworking med-nanites.
"I'm okay," said Mallory. "Help Zzull. She looks like she needs it a lot more than me."
Patricia turned her attention to the blue wasp. First step, which he understood, was the injection of the emergency medical nanites. Then Patricia magnetic-imaged her body, producing a holograph of her insides which made minimal sense to Zane. The lab started churning away, no doubt on her silent instructions, and soon she was injecting a yellowish liquid into Zzull's body. Zane moved to one side, stripping back his aug suit head cover.
Horace poked his head in. "Is she going to make it?"
"72 percent chance."
"Good. That blue bug tried to save our butts again out there."
Patricia popped the pressure injector free of Mallory's arm. He grimaced.
"You know," he said, "you should consider reprogramming your bedside manners. A little more girly would be good."
"Fuck you, Lieutenant."
Horse laughed. After a moment, Mallory chuckled, grasping his sides.
"Can you do this and get us out of here at the same time?" Zane asked.
"Not a problem, Captain. I'm transmitting departure requests to the Guardians as we speak."
Zane watched Zzull. Maybe it was his imagination, but her exoskeleton was assuming a healthier blue sheen.
"Returning Aerial Transceiver Surveillance Drone –" She stopped, staring into space.
"What?"
"There is activity at the Mountain of Remembrance."
"The place we just fried?"
"Yes."
"Show me."
A holograph of the burnt-out mountaintop bloomed between the two medical cots. An upside down anvil-shaped cloud hung over the mountain, its sharp tip piercing the peak.
"Magnify," said Zane.
The cloud resolved into thousands if not millions of small, cylindrical objects.
"Guardians?"
"No. Similar design, but slightly different dimensions and energy signatures."
"What are they doing?"
"I don't know."
"Let's not wait around to find out. Get us out of here, Patricia."
The opening in the outer wall sealed up. The inner wall opened. The Cheyenne rose, easing into the alien spacecraft hangar. The Guardians were there, performing their usual feverish circle dance in a new holograph.
"The exit tunnel is closed," said Patricia.
"Ask them to open it."
"I have. No response yet."
Two circles of sparkling Guardians closed in around the ship. The flashing lights penetrated the walls. A feeling of dead tiredness rolled over Zane.
"What the hell?" Mallory croaked.
Zane's fatigue shifted to lightheadedness and then outright vertigo. He stumbled a few feet and braced himself against a wall. The interior lights flickered. The room itself faded, growing oddly transparent. Were they under attack? Enclosed in a fuzzy, darkening cloud he felt no fear, just a question.
Zane blinked hard a few times and the ship's lights steadied – as did the lights in his head. Patricia had one hand on Mallory's cot, seeming to steady herself as well.
Zane rubbed his throat, the fibers of his aug suit stiffening against his touch. "What just happened?"
"I don't know," said Patricia. "The ship didn't record anything. I'd guess we were probed."
"Blowing up that mountain changed something," Mallory murmured, shielding his eyes.
"It definitely got their notice," said Horse.
Zane wandered out with his former mentor into the main cabin on wobbly legs. The three Cheyenne crew were bent over their consoles while Adele and her four surviving crewmates watched.
Dan was shaking his head. "The ship's computer registered nothing."
"I know." Zane massaged the back of his neck. "I just spoke to her."
"Good news," said Andrea. "The egress tunnel is now open."
Zane moved in behind her, peering over her shoulder at the screen, not quite ready to accept good news. But the image of the half-kilometer wide opening was hard to dispute, and telemetry showed that it extended for miles.
"Send the probe ahead," he said.
"Already done." Andrea sounded slightly sour.
"Follow it."
"Yes, sir."
"Hold on," said Horace. "What about the Peacemaker?"
"They removed part of the engine," said Zane, noting the flicker of grief in his old mentor's face. "I'm sorry. But maybe Command can pick it up later."
"I have a feeling Command will have other priorities."
Zane returned to the lab-med room. Mallory's color had fully returned. He was stretching his arms and looking ready to jump off his cot. A light blue light had begun to shine in Zzullzhrun's multifaceted eyes.
"How is she doing?" Zane asked.
"She'll need a day or two to recover completely," said Patricia, "but she should fine."
"I hope we're all still breathing in a day or two."
Patricia glanced up at him, a puzzled crease in her brow. "They're releasing us. What further threat do you see?"
"It's Animus," Zane replied with an uneasy shrug. "Once we're clear, go full impulse, unless you can assure me Zzull will be okay with SC drive."
"I think she'd be okay, but I'd rather wait until she's at full strength before engaging a space compression drive."
"We'll wait and see then."
They emerged from Animus's black core without incident. But the expected collective sigh of relief never came: instead, Andrea and Dan stared at their consoles in pained disbelief, and Patricia emerged from med-lab room with a startling announcement: "We're now only 12 AU from Earth."
Zane wasn't able to process that for a few protracted moments. Horace was scratching his head, half-smiling as if waiting for the joke to be explained, while Dan, Andrea, and Dana looked like someone had slapped them. The four surviving Peacemaker crewmembers – First Ensign Adele O'Brien, Second Engineer Melvin Smith, Warrant Officer Ken Kessler, and Sergeant Dick Williams – turned to their captain for an explanation, but Horse could only shake his head and shrug.
"Did Animus accelerate while we were down there?" Zane asked.
"Negative, sir."
"I think we would've noticed if the whole sphere accelerated to fifty or sixty million miles per hour," said Dan. "Which would’ve been necessary to travel 70 AU in four days."
"The speed of Animus is unaltered," said Patricia.
"Which leaves us with something of a paradox."
Zane faced Patricia. "How long would it take for Animus to travel 70 AU, given its speed didn't change?"
"About three years."
"It could've accelerated, then decelerated." Dan's tone was dubious.
"I've sent a message to Command," said Patricia. "We'll know more in a bit over eight hours."
"What was the message?" Zane asked, a burr of annoyance in his voice over not being consulted. Patricia's independence and increasing leadership role was starting to grate on him.
"I told them where we are and summarized events on Animus." She paused, meeting Zane's eyes. "And I asked them what year it is."
Chapter 11
THE YEAR WAS 2021. The day was March 1, Monday.
That didn't quite seem real until they'd touched down at Nellis and were swiftly shuttled down into the most secure bowels of the underground complex and everyone they encountered stared at them as if they were ghosts.
Everyone but Zzull, who was being held in Sector 13, a lower tier of their underworld reserved for exotic beings, including their rare Zetan and Alpha visitors.
"You disobeyed a direct order from high command," Colonel Hurtle addressed them in a steel-walled interrogation room. His stern scowl surrendered suddenly to a broad grin. "On the other hand, you discovered things about Animus we never would've known. And you gave it your all to complete the mission."
"And we did a pretty damn convincing imitation of Rip Van Winkle," said Horace.
"Another 150 days, give or take, and you would've slept through the whole show," said Colonel Hurtle. "Sadly, you will get the opportunity to live through Animus' fly-by with the rest of us."
"You mean those of us who get to live," Mallory rumbled.
Hurtle's bleak smile grew even bleaker. "That's correct, Lieutenant. You're one of the privileged few. We all are. Those and our closest family members."
"Lucky for us."
"The good news is that we haven't been sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves," said Colonel Hurtle. "We've reopened and refurbished bomb shelters all over the country. We constructed and distributed three million "Buckyball Safehouses" throughout the U.S. I understand our own Dan Mueller had a hand in designing the things, so hats off to him." Hurtle doffed an imaginary hat in the Chief Engineer's direction. "We'll be employing air scrubbing NDs to counter the effects of smoke and toxins in the air. We created hundreds of large partially underground communities housed in plastisteel frames. Covert advanced technology is being quietly utilized on a dozen fronts to ameliorate the crisis, including grid protection, extensive deep burial of gas and electrical transmission lines, and preservation of government records. We now have an army of medical personnel armed with some of our classified MEND technology. The projections for loss of life are not quite as grim as we'd thought. We do not plan on going gently into that good night, my friends."
"When did you tell the people?" asked Zane.
"We didn't. Amateur astronomers broke the story five months ago. Animus, because of its composition, doesn't reflect light or radar – that helped us keep the lid on this long – but it does block light. Quite a fair amount of it. Astronomers spotted that and eventually put two and two together."
"How much have you told the public?" Horace asked.
"Only as much as we had to, Captain Kinsley. Nothing about the USSC missions or any of our classified technology. We've downplayed the size and disastrous consequences while quietly doing whatever possible to minimize damage to our populations. Same applies to the other major world governments. There's been talk of other covert missions against Animus by the Chinese, Russian, and European space agencies, but after reviewing our experiences and the Alpha/Zeta warnings, they backed off."
The crewmembers exchanged uncomfortable looks or stared pensively into space. The mood was a dizzying mix of relief and apprehension – or so Zane read it, feeling that way himself. It was good to be home and safe, but it sucked to fail and to face the real-world consequences of that failure. On top of that was the question about what happened to those missing three years? The only logical explanation was that they'd been rendered unconscious and held in some suspended state for all that time, but no one – not even Patricia – knew how or why. The techs were performing a thorough sweep of the ship and its recording systems, but Zane doubted they'd learn anything Patricia didn't know.
"So what's next?" Mallory asked.
"We're going to fully debrief you, of course," said Hurtle. "Get all of your complete statements. Then you're going to get some time off, do some serious decompression. There will be an award ceremony in the near-future involving medals. President Elkton and Admiral Sanchez, while disappointed in the outcome, wish to convey their highest commendations to all of you and extend their deepest sympathies for your losses. I'm sure they'll be contacting you in person shortly."
"I meant about Animus," said Mallory, in a weary, acrid voice. "What's the time disaster time-table? Is Earth feeling any effects yet?"
"No. Its tidal force on us is less than Mars at this point. Needless to say, things are going to get considerably worse."
"How considerably?" asked Andrea.
"Earthquakes approaching magnitude 10 will likely level a good percentage of buildings, especially tall ones. Tidal waves will roll hundreds of miles inland, destroying pretty much everything in their path and flooding huge areas of land. Volcanoes will blot out the sun. Energy, food, and water supplies will be massively compromised." Colonel Hurtle shrugged. "Basic Old Testament stuff."
"What about the National Underground Complex?" asked Horace. "I know now it was built to withstand this close encounter, but how do they think it will hold up?"
"Well, the good news is that the NUC was built to withstand a much larger version of Animus, so the experts are optimistic there. The bad news is that the effects of an Earth-sized mass passing within five million kilometers of our planet are largely theoretical. We won't know the reality until Animus passes the perigee point in about 148 days. Fortunately, it will be passing by rather quickly – around 330,000 KPH – which will reduce the carnage, I'm told."
Zane was starting to get a little pissed off at his superior's casual tone. From the other scowling or frigid expressions, he wasn't alone. He glanced at Patricia – something he found himself avoiding much of the time since their departure from Animus – and as usual she caught his look and latched onto him with her Keira green-blue eyes. She smiled, also as usual, and he made himself smile back. Her smile gathered a question mark.
There were a number of question marks about Patricia. No one had made any official decrees, but he could hear and see them in Hurtle's off-hand remarks and quick averting of eyes when Zane had asked him about her future in their initial private meeting.
That question also loomed in his own thoughts. She'd been shut down before, switched off like an unwanted appliance. Her natural curiosity had gotten her into trouble, and these days her bold independence might do the same. Hell, she scared him, as much as he liked and valued her. So much power in the hands of an unknown was intrinsically scary. Or maybe it was just "Hal Syndrome," a paranoid, primitive prejudice toward the notion of a machine consciousness?
Patricia seemed trustworthy and loyal and morally upstanding, but then again he might be just anthropomorphizing. She acted much like a human being, but she wasn't human. He wasn't confident he knew what was going on in her head. With Horse or Mallory or Dan – or any other crewmember or person he got to know over time – he was confident he basically got them. Maybe Patricia was as human and reliable as any of them, but not knowing how her mind worked made him unsure.
Colonel Hurtle dismissed the group for lunch, to be followed by their for
mal debriefing sessions, but asked Zane to stick around.
"Let's do your debriefing over lunch in the private sector," he said, referring to the strip of private commercial restaurants and stores on the upper, less secure level. "It's on me."
"Very generous of you."
"A big shot like me can afford it. By the way, Dr. Spencer will be joining us. He wants your personal views on Patricia."
Great, Zane thought. He can personally accuse me of being a Neanderthal. Images of their erstwhile friends and guides on Animus flashed through his head and he smiled. If he does, I'll have a pretty good comeback. Turned out Neanderthals weren't too shabby intellectually.
"What's happening with Zzull?" he asked.
"She's comfortable, from what I hear." Hurtle's shrug didn't reassure Zane. "She's out of my bailiwick, Captain. She's in the hands of exobiologists, now, God help her."
Good to Hurtle's word, Lance Spencer was waiting at a table in The Texan Lounge, fidgeting with his tall drink and looking like a guy about to meet up with a suspect blind date.
"Dr. Spencer, I'm sure you recall the dashing Captain Cameron," Hurtle introduced him.
Dr. Spencer unfurled his lanky frame up from behind the table and they shook hands. It was an open question how well Spencer recognized him. He rarely seemed to look at or acknowledge anyone directly, and Zane was no exception.
"Thank you for what you did up there," he said. "And for trusting me in activating PAT."
"It was a Hail Mary but it paid off."
"As I knew it would."
Zane and Colonel Hurtle settled down across the table from him. A waitress brought over menus. Dr. Spencer still wasn't looking at him – or anyone else, for that matter – but he no longer appeared completely uncomfortable.
Zane ordered the biggest, juiciest steak on the menu, and Hurtle did the same. Dr. Spencer ordered spinach soup. Colonel Hurtle asked for a pitcher of the restaurant's local brew.
"I'm going to turn the floor over to you, Dr. Spencer," said Hurtle. "I know you want a full performance report on your creation."
Lance Spencer resumed fidgeting with his drink, not meeting Zane's eyes.
Animus Intercept Page 21