by M. C. Norris
It was Collin’s turn to stick his hand into the flesh vise that was Captain Roswell’s hand. However, he was so overwhelmed by the alien environment of the naval laboratory that he hardly even noticed the pain. Breaths billowed from their throats with every exhale, and rose into the frigid air. Ranks of glass cylinders jutted like glowing pillars from floor to ceiling on either side of the laboratory. Imprisoned inside these vessels were nameless creatures gawping back through streams of bubbles, exhibiting the benign disinterest in their surroundings that was common amongst lower forms of life. However, some appeared to be more aware of their human observers than did others. Collin awed over the whipping flagella and oscillating gills that performed single functions with clockwork regularity, while simpler specimens oozed around the walls of their cells with the dimmest deliberation.
“James Price?”
“J.J., sir.”
The captain stepped back up the row of former NEWTs to stand face-to-face with their team leader. “My father was a naval pilot. He flew alongside yours in the Battle for the Bering Strait during the last months of the End War. He told me about your father. He was a true hero. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” J.J. replied.
Collin’s head was spinning. It was all happening so quickly. Years ago, during their first go-around with the Navy, the NEWTs had languished for months in a sort of bureaucratic limbo while the system slogged through a screening process that seemed like it would never end. Pitching their program to the Allied Navy was J.J.’s idea, wrought of some personal ambition to secure his place in a familial legacy. His one-track mind had started to become a point of contention amongst the team, particularly once it became painfully evident that their program was not being taken seriously. From the start, they were banished to a sterile barracks where their only source of entertainment was a battered air hockey table with one short leg. Technology was forbidden. No contact with the outside world. By the time they finally set foot on the Barrier Reef, Collin felt as though he’d mentally devolved by some arbitrary differential that he feared he might never recover. This time, something was different. Red tape was being snipped. Security procedures were waived. Their admission was being expedited.
The captain lowered his chin, clasped his arms behind his back, and cleared his throat. “All of you remember that day, two years ago. You were deployed off the Chinese coast on what we all believed was going to be a routine offensive. Seemed like a perfect opportunity to introduce the world to the NEWT program, with minimal risk of collateral damage. However, as we found out, sometimes the small and manageable can evolve into something much bigger than we ever could have anticipated.”
Captain Roswell turned on a heel. He strode over to a nearby laboratory bench. While his back was turned, Collin stole a glance at Jill and Takashi. It felt so bizarre to be back together after two years apart. They all looked a little different. J.J. had put on a few pounds. Takashi had shaved his head, and grown a goatee. Jill’s hair was shorter. On her left hand, he noticed, when she bent to scratch Hotspot behind the ear, she wore a sparkling ring. For some reason, the sight of that ring made Collin’s stomach do a flip. He wasn’t sure why. It was just weird. Very weird. Just another sign of how much time had elapsed, and how vastly different their respective paths in life had evidently taken them.
J.J. had always said that there was no such thing as losing, only winning or learning, but there was nothing to learn from their program’s meltdown. It was a total loss. After the big break-up, they’d all gone dark. As far as Collin knew, his former teammates had not kept in contact with one another, or at least they’d never made any attempt to contact him. Shame seemed to be the underlying reason for their reticence. However, here they were. They’d all answered the call. The band was back together, and Collin wasn’t exactly looking forward to admitting that he’d done nothing with his life but wait tables, when the others had probably moved forward with their nanotech careers. While catching up was going to be a critical part of rebuilding the shattered infrastructure of their team, socializing rarely made any list of military prerogatives.
“An hour after the pirates’ sub sounded, we found this floating in the Yellow Sea,” Captain Roswell said, as he removed a cloth covering from a small steel canister. A round hole perforated its dented center. Looked like a bullet hole. “Found it amidst the wreckage.” He picked it up, turned it over in his hand, and then brought it over to the team.
“What is it?” J.J. asked.
“That is what your team was supposed to have been protecting.”
J.J. frowned down at the punctured vessel in his hand. He cast a glance at the rest of his team. “I don’t get it.”
“‘Course you don’t. You only know what you’re told, on the battlefront. What you’re holding is one of twelve cylinders that contained samples of pure water from Europa, Jupiter’s ocean moon. By now, I’m sure you all know the same story that we fed to the press. We still don’t have a clear motive for the attack, but that, right there, is what the pirates were after. That’s one of two that didn’t fall into their hands, and that’s the one that changed our whole world, as we all once knew it.”
“And this is the one that’s going to make things right again.”
Heads turned toward the sound of the female voice that came from the back of the laboratory. From behind the rows of instruments stepped a woman in a white lab coat. She clutched an undamaged canister to her chest. With the aid of a titanium cane, she limped through the alternating swaths of light and shadow cast by the specimen tanks. Collin’s eyes widened, as she stepped from a spot of darkness into a shaft of luminescence. Her beauty was almost breathtaking. If anything, her slight physical disability made her even more alluring. Perhaps her little struggle appealed to some ancient protective instinct that he never even realized was encoded somewhere deep in his DNA. She was a fluttering bird that had fallen from the skies, and he just wanted to scoop her up.
“I would like to introduce you to Ms. Skyler Hale,” Captain Roswell said. “National hero, brilliant scientist, and sole survivor of that pirate attack.”
“Well,” she replied, smiling, “at least one of those is true.”
Collin felt his half-witted smile fall. His lips went numb, and his throbbing heart plunged into the depths of his guts. His silly fantasy had just crashed headlong into a freight train of reality. Now, he knew who she was.
“Ms. Hale defended that last sample canister with her life, and she nearly died for it. Since the day of that attack, and through her very difficult recovery, she has devoted every spare minute of her time to the analysis of the microscopic life forms that were accidentally released into our world, and now threaten its very existence. Ms. Hale had the foresight to know that if any of those life forms managed to survive in our seas, then we’d benefit by learning all that we could about them in a controlled laboratory setting. She is the world’s foremost expert on the invaders. She alone knows the strengths and weaknesses of the microbes that have since evolved into giants.”
“Actually, they didn’t evolve,” Skyler said, offering Captain Roswell a kind smile. “By definition, evolution is the gradual shift in form within a species, over many generations. ‘Metamorphosis’ is a more accurate term for their sudden and exponential metabolic rates, in response to our planet’s level of ultraviolet radiation and higher temperature. The result is an unstable and titanic aberration.” She clicked a laser pointer in the direction of the cylindrical tanks. “The Japanese are calling them, Kaiju.”
Collin wondered if the others could hear the grinding of his emotional gears. He felt ashamed and embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized her. On one hand, he was awestruck to be standing in the presence of a true hero, but on the other, the sight of Ms. Hale hitching along with a cane was no longer the least bit attractive. In fact, it was starting to make him feel a little sick to his stomach. After two years, he found himself facing the only survivor of those victims he was hired
to protect, and whom he’d utterly failed.
Just like everyone else in the free world, Collin had watched the fragmented documentary of Ms. Hale’s slow and painful recovery over those months of televised interviews, award ceremonies, and public appearances. However, unlike the billions of other viewers, Collin suffered a private burden of guilt every time her face appeared on the screen. Nothing could have prepared him for meeting her in person. She was smaller than he’d imagined. Seeing her struggle to walk normally evidenced every minute of pain that she’d suffered, on account of him.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Jill was the first to speak. She stepped forward, and traded Skyler’s offered handshake for a hug.
J.J. rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets. He was grinning like an organ grinder monkey. When Skyler offered him her hand, he nearly leapt out of his own skin to accept it, as though he hadn’t been quite sure that she was going to offer him anything at all. Takashi took her hand more easily. Collin knew why he and Jill were more comfortable. As the technical wizards of behind the NEWT project, they’d done exactly what the Navy had hired them to do. If it ever came down to pointing fingers, Jill and Takashi had to know that they’d both done their jobs to perfection.
“I’m sorry,” Collin whispered, when it was finally his turn. Her grip was as cold as the steel canister, yet he somehow felt her warmth. He heard his voice crack on the last syllable, and it suddenly became a fight to keep himself together. Maybe he should’ve gone through some therapy, and found a constructive way to dealt with the guilt, rather than hiding for two years behind an apron, just blending in, and pretending he wasn’t even there. Out of everyone on the NEWT team, his failure had been the greatest. Down at his side, Hotspot emitted a thin whine.
“You must be the dolphin pilot,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Collin felt his ears turning red. He didn’t know what to say. He supposed that she was able to guess his role in the huge disaster because he looked the most tortured by guilt, probably the most inept, and easily broken.
“They told me to not underestimate the shy guy, because you’re the only one brave enough to handle the task that lies ahead.”
Collin blinked. He could feel the stares of the others, as their heads all swiveled in his direction. If he’d not been embarrassed before, he certainly was now.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Collin. I’ve watched some of the videos of your training sessions, and what you’re able to do in there is nothing short of amazing. You and I will be working pretty closely in the years to come. You’re going to move mountains, and I can’t wait to watch you.”
“Did you all hear that?” Captain Roswell returned the punctured canister to the lab bench. He set it down with a resounding clang, and turned back to the team. “She said ‘years.’ I presume you all have friends, families, loved ones. There can be no misconceptions about what the Allied Navy has brought you here to do, and the level of commitment that we’re going to expect from anyone who accepts our offer for reinstatement.”
Collin couldn’t help but shoot a glance at Jill, just to check on her reaction. The others looked a bit shocked by the statement, but Jill appeared genuinely disturbed. Her parted lips and shimmering eyes kept no secrets. This looked to be bad news for her, and for whatever world she’d left behind.
“What are we here to do?” J.J. asked.
“We’re rebooting your old program, but don’t confuse what lies ahead with that half-baked novelty outfit that you might remember. This is the real deal. Welcome to the big leagues.”
“Half-baked?” Takashi murmured.
“The NEWT program died two years ago. What’s risen from the ashes is a new operation called Psyjack.” Captain Roswell’s steely eyes appeared to challenge dissent. “The fundamental skills and technology that you brought to the table remain in place, but the application is getting one hell of an upgrade.”
“I don’t get it,” J.J. said.
“Shush.” Jill frowned.
“Look around you. The people standing beside you will become your new family, because Psyjack has the highest level of military classification. We can’t afford leaks. If the details of this program ever fell into the wrong hands, it could be repurposed into the deadliest weapon that the world has ever seen.”
“Can we back up for just a second,” J.J. said, tamping the air with his hands. “We’re dolphin pilots. You knew that, right?”
“I’d hope so,” Captain Roswell replied.
“Are you suggesting we’re going to engage those things, those things the size of frigging aircraft carriers—with dolphins?”
“Not exactly,” Skyler replied. Captain Roswell and Skyler exchanged glances. “Psyjack deploys monsters against monsters, and you,” Skyler said, levelling her ice-blue eyes at directly Collin, “are going to pilot them.”
Collin was still in elementary school the first time he read about nanobots, those microscopic robots that would make such a tremendous impact on his life. At that time, nanobot phage technology was being marketed as a sexy new tool in the field of neurology. Modelled after viruses in both form and function, the little critters were touted as the future of neurosurgery. Thousands could be injected into a patient’s bloodstream. Once inside, the program took over, and they swarmed to their assigned destinations to perform specific tasks. Real-time communication between bots and surgeons, and between bots and bots, was already being slated as the next big step in their development.
The first prototypes were pretty simple. Armed with a single tool, an electrical prod, the one-trick ponies were programmed to seek out and destroy tumors that were embedded beyond the surgeon’s reach. It wasn’t long before the next evolutionary phase enabled them to cauterize hemorrhages, bringing new hope for patients suffering from head trauma. However, the best was yet to be discovered, and it was none other than Collin who would make that discovery.
Shortly after he enrolled at the University of Glasgow, bots were being programmed to form artificial synapse chains, bypassing damaged circuitry in degenerated brains with synthetic neurological highways. This was the last knock at the gates, before the doors to nanobot science would blow wider than ever before. All eyes in the medical world, including Collin’s, were fixed in the same direction. The little robots were so much bigger than their original role, as cauterizers and cutters. Connected to one another, and connected through code to the outside world, they became microscopic miracle workers that restored cognition to those robbed of it, and redeemed souls born damned into intellectual darkness. The possibilities were endless. Nanobots marked the grand opening of the human mind.
“Hotspot,” Collin whispered, clicking his tongue at the wandering animal. The dog had evidently discovered something of interest on the floor beneath a laboratory table. “Psst. Get over here.”
The lab raised its head, gazing quizzically at Collin with the usual guise of feigned innocence. After a brief staring contest, Hotspot plodded back over to Collin’s side. It was sometimes a difficult case to make that Hotspot was something more than an ordinary animal when the dog’s snout was always snuffling around garbage cans. Some behaviors were simply more hard-wired than the circuitry in the animal’s head.
While studying under the wings of J.J., Jill, and Takashi, Collin’s groundbreaking discovery was made in the typical flippant manner in which the biggest turns in his road of life had always been taken. Goaded by Takashi, who was his roommate at the time, Collin self-administered an injection of customized nanobots into his own bloodstream. These particular critters were programmed to go places where no bot had ever gone before, into the prefrontal cortex of a test subject’s brain. It was Collin’s hypothesis that when implanted in the brain’s control center for body movement and cognition, the bots could translate the electrical impulses of the subject’s will into binary code. This code could then be transmitted to a synchronized nanobot colony in a second test subject, where the translated impulses of the first could be artificial
ly replicated. In a nutshell, the will of the second test subject could be overridden by the first.
It was one of those lightbulb moments. Once in a lifetime, if he or she was lucky enough, talented enough, and positioned in just the right time and place to exploit the available resources, a person could stumble onto an idea that might leave their life and the world around them forever changed. This was one of those ideas. Collin never had any illusions about the magnitude of his brainchild, and he made Takashi his only confidant. While they worked together in secret through weeks of crunching nanobot code, they rarely ate, drank or even slept, because this was science fiction realized. This was the stuff of comic books. This was mind control, Manchurian candidates and zombies.
On the night of Halloween, freshman year, backlit by the wonderfully ironic chaos of an electrical storm, Collin found himself reclined in a chair, covered in electrodes, and strapped into a customized VR headset. The lights in the dorm room were switched off. By the glow of a laptop and Takashi’s eyes, a nanobot network came online in Collin’s head. With the tap of Takashi’s finger against a function key, Collin found himself being dumped quite literally into the mind of an experimental test subject, located three doors down. Blissfully unaware of its significance in scientific history, the test subject’s eyes flicked open, transmitting visual and auditory data back to Collin in an encoded flood of ones and zeroes. From the moment he rose shakily upon those four borrowed legs, Collin would forever have a special connection to Hotspot, the living host of his first out-of-body experience.
“Why not conventional weapons? I mean, why entertain an idea like this?” J.J. inquired.
“Conventional weapons can be effective under ideal circumstances, but we’re not getting those ideal circumstances very often,” Roswell replied. “We never know where or when they’re going to strike, and when they do, there’s no time to evacuate the local populous for a counterattack. It happens fast, and then it’s all over before we have a chance to respond. While we’re waiting for one of these things to show us a glimpse of its soft underbelly in some conveniently unpopulated area, the greatest cities in the world are burning. We can’t afford to wait for ideal circumstances. We need to get down there, now, and bring the fight to them. We need to stop them before they ever decide to step out of the sea.”