Saturday, 0300 EST (0100 Grand Forks):
Karen shared with Roger until fatigue overwhelmed them both. In spite of her heroic high-tech intervention, the truth was that he had been in and out of death’s door and had undergone major surgery just hours earlier. She had almost died as well. The “transition effect” had rocked her, literally, all the way down to the atomic level. When Roger asked her what it was like, she didn’t go into a lot of details. Maybe later. But truthfully, she knew that no one else could have survived. She also knew that she could never go back. And the pain…!
After what seemed like days of sleep punctuated by vivid, sometimes troubling dreams, Karen awoke.
What?
The unfamiliar sensation was one she hadn’t experienced in, what? Nineteen years since her husband died?
Roger was sitting on the couch beside her, gently stroking her face and hair. She looked up, startled.
“I owe you my life. And not just for the surgery.”
She rubbed her eyes and smiled. “Now Roger, you know it’s not uncommon for a patient to develop feelings for a doctor of the opposite sex,” she quipped.
“Hush. You’re not really a doctor.”
“Okay, point taken. Go on.”
He stroked her face and returned her smile.
“I’m very, very grateful you’re here.”
“Me, too.” She sat up. “You know, this is the first time in many years that I haven’t had to worry about Jason and his goons?”
He stood. “That, too. But I think you have some more explaining to do.”
Karen nodded. “Let’s eat. And you’re right. I brought you right up to after I converted and found you unconscious on the floor. Now you need to know what else I did to you yesterday.”
An hour later in “their time,” Roger looked at her in silence with his mouth hanging open.
“That’s right. My husband was correct. At least, partially. Of course, we live in a different world now. And we’re carrying the baggage of several thousand years of significant genetic degradation. I’ve personally verified what’s been reported in peer-reviewed journals, that the human genome is not mutating to the good. It’s being corrupted, up to three percent per generation. I also believe that our average IQ has been dropping about one point per generation, at least for the past several hundred years.”
His scientific mind kicked back in, at least for the moment.
“So, the reason more children are unhealthy is more than environmental?”
“Both nature and nurture, actually. But yes, diabetes, autoimmune diseases, eyesight problems, and hundreds of other common disorders are increasing due to genomic degradation. One reason I believe Christ’s return is imminent is that my studies show we’re within just a few more generations of reaching significant infant mortality rates.”
“So…FSAT doesn’t always work?”
She gently placed her hand on his knee as they sat together on the couch. It seemed to Roger that her eyes were tearing up.
“Roger, FSAT never works. At least, not for long.” She took a long, deep breath. “The only time that it hasn’t killed the recipient is when they—you and me—are already within moments of death.”
She shuddered, remembering the agony of her transition the previous day, coming through just in time to see Roger take his last breath. There had been no time to set up the surgical equipment. She had grabbed him like he was a young toddler—she hadn’t yet fully explained the superhuman strength benefit of FSAT—and tossed him on a table. She fought to keep him alive long enough to do what she’d never done to anyone before. Only then, after it began to take effect, was she able to operate. Roger’s heart had literally stopped several times.
Roger put his hand on hers.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Now a tear did roll down her cheek.
“Roger, it’s the hardest thing of all. Even after all these years I haven’t broken it down completely. Of course, since I’m the only carrier now, the recipient’s blood type has to match mine. Yours does. Another requirement is that the body must be in extreme stress, under the influence of either natural or synthetic adrenalin. So, that one’s also easy. I’d just been shot, and you appeared to be fighting with your last breath to launch and get away from civilization. Pure oxygen, compliments of Guardian. Then there are other hormonal requirements, most of which can be met synthetically.” She paused.
“Karen…!”
“OK. Here’s the deal. The advanced biological modeling I just completed a month ago, shows that it can only work correctly if one other hormone is present soon after the transformation begins. It’s oxytocin, the so-called love hormone. And it has to be natural; none of the synthetics will work. That happened to me, and that’s where Matthews’ team failed time and time again. I don’t think any of them have an ounce of love for anyone, except for themselves.”
Visibly nervous, she blushed. “And I was afraid you might fail, too. The person has to have a desire to live, to love, to bond. You didn’t have any of that. I knew you didn’t. I could tell by our emails. You wanted…well, you were clearly ready to go. You longed to be back with your family and to finally be with the Lord. But I believed God was impressing on me that I had to try, and that…somehow…” her voice trailed off. She was arguably the most intelligent, most learned person on earth, and she felt like an embarrassed adolescent with a crush.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Roger looked at the beautiful woman who appeared to be exactly half of his sixty-four years but was actually only a few years younger than himself. She had clearly put her own life at risk to save his, to painfully enter into his seclusion, and then to remain alone there herself, taking his place, if she couldn’t save him.
What a sacrifice!
Roger reached up and gently wiped tears from her cheeks. His eyes were starting to tear up as well. A wave of hope, of possibilities, even euphoria, swept over him.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said. “The greatest effects take place in the first several years? So, if we’re still around in 2035, I might look like I’m in my early fifties, and you’ll look like you’re in your mid-forties?”
“Uh, something like that. Of course, in those ten years we may be close to 100 years of age because of the trans-dimensional effect. I just won’t know until we study it for a while.”
Roger smiled, pulled her close to his chest, and whispered in her ear. “Karen Lane, let’s spend the rest of our lives together.” He started to let her go, not wanting to seem inappropriate, but she responded by holding him tightly and burying her head into his shoulder. It seemed to Roger that she was shaking slightly, even trembling.
They both laughed. And cried. And held each other close for a very long time. If anyone were to analyze blood samples at that precise moment, they would have seen several key chemical markers rise to very high levels in Roger’s sample. And in hers. Higher than either had experienced in many, many years.
+ + +
Saturday, 0900 EST:
Finishing their breakfast, Justin and Tamika were also laughing. They were young, healthy, deeply in love, and engaged. With the recently liberalized Florida laws, they would get married first thing Monday morning, then be on their way before they could be caught when the documents identified them and their location to Matthews’ henchmen.
They’d also enjoyed a good night of rest and a terrific breakfast. And they were taking the mysterious Karen Lane Richardson at her word, knowing that that they would financially lack for nothing.
+ + +
On the other side of the world, it was already in the early hours of Sunday morning. Two flight crews of Russian Tupolev PAK-DA strategic bombers were completing the pre-flight mission briefing in a secure room at the Petropavlovsk-Yelizovo airfield. Major Dmitry Orlov Shimko was grateful to be chosen to command the first operational flights of the first two production aircraft. He and his hand-picked crew were about to fly i
n formation with the second aircraft, and accompanied by a tanker for at least part of the way. They were taking a route that was rare for Russian bombers. True, Russian military aircraft had increasingly extended their flights further out from the mainland since 2014. As in the Cold War days, they had been testing and challenging the airspace, detection, and defenses of other nations.
Why in the world would we fly to Hawaii?
More perplexing were the orders both crews received.
The pre-flight briefing details continued; weather aloft, contingency fields—which were basically non-existent over the ocean. They discussed refueling details with the third crew, which would fly an IL-78M tanker aircraft with them out to a distance of 1,000 nautical miles. Out there, the tanker would refuel both bombers and then orbit, awaiting their return to top them off and follow them back.
The stealthy bombers would be virtually invisible to radar as they approached Hawaii, and current weather conditions indicated they could fly at 40,000 feet without leaving contrails. That also meant that once they broke from the tanker, they could accelerate to their full cruise speed of Mach Zero-point-Eight-Five.
The briefing finally ended, and they were transported out to pre-flight the three aircraft.
Wheels up in three hours.
+ + +
Saturday, 1200 EST (1000 Grand Forks):
“Not again!”
Brent Knowles was furious. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was two weeks behind on his home renovation—his wife was reminding him each day—but now he was called in to tear down a hangar. On a Saturday! No apparent reason; just one of the hangars had to be flattened today. No time to study, no time to plan the best and safest way, just get the heaviest equipment over there and knock it down.
It’s not even safe to do something like that alone! The whole thing could come down on top of me.
Then he remembered that this particular hangar was small and also low. His largest ’dozer might just be able to do it by pushing in from each of the four corners, with the scoop up as high as possible. Still…
His team for this particular weekend, including himself, was exactly…one. No one else was available to help within 200 miles. Military off on a Prime Beef exercise. One Civil Service worker out-of-state for his daughter’s wedding. Well, there was Jeff; sure, bring him in two days after his major back surgery.
Brent cursed. The call came at 0830. Hangar needed to be rubble by 1600; clean-up would be taken care of in the next few weeks. He arrived at 1000. The only ’dozer with a chance of doing any real damage had a dead battery. And it didn’t just need a jump; it was stone cold dead.
“I’m getting too old for this. Way too old.”
Years in Civil Engineering, pouring concrete and asphalt, digging trenches, scraping ice and snow; the fifty-five-year-old Civil Service employee was counting the years until retirement. “Fishing in the summer, hunting in the winter, and honey-dos when I have to,” is what he’d been telling people for the past five years.
The old-style lead acid battery was heavy. Exorbitantly heavy. He finally got it out, found a dolly he could use to get it to his truck, then wasted half an hour at the motor pool. Nothing even close. Back in his truck and a trip to a truck supply company back in East Grand Forks. Twenty miles each way. The speeding ticket didn’t help his schedule, and certainly not his disposition.
Roll the huge battery back to the ’dozer, fight to get it in, get it connected, fire up the diesel.
“Who used this last!?” More choice profanity. Near empty. Just enough to get to the pumps. Fill it up…
“Gonna be a long day.”
56. ATTACK!
Saturday, 1400 EST:
Chet Rowland finished his walk-around.
I hate off-sites!
Eight miles south of Washington DC on the banks of the Potomac River, The Gaylord National Resort & Convention Center was a huge facility. Chet expected sore feet by the end of the evening. Many security items had been completed days before, such as background checks on all personnel. Others were put in place yesterday, to include sequestering the convention center part of the complex and maintaining positive control over everyone and everything that entered and exited.
He stood outside in front of the Riverview Ballroom, a popular addition that was completed in 2017. To his left stood the main convention center. To his right, the Potomac. During the off-site, the ballroom would be closed.
Soon they would establish the no-fly zone over the venue, and finally they would visibly station armed personnel and snipers around the facility. The Gaylord featured a stunning nineteen-story glass atrium that overlooked the Potomac. Chet wasn’t as concerned about the giant open space as he was about the river. He made sure that two of his most trusted personnel manned the two radar-assisted fifty-caliber machine guns—the fifty Cals—set up in portable bunkers 150 yards on either side of the dock. Additional security and firepower would be provided by two Coast Guard cutters. They would maintain a “no boating” zone from Rosilie Island at the base of the I-495 Capital Beltway Bridge, most of the way across the Potomac, and out just as far along the south bank. Still, with current laser and computer augmented sniper rifles, Chet mandated that drapes would remain closed at all times.
What could we have missed?
+ + +
Saturday, 1730 EST (1430 Nevada):
“Justin!”
Why in the world would Tim Cason be calling? Something wrong with System Two?!
“Tim, what’s up?”
Tim’s cocky, self-assured bravado was gone.
“System Two just launched! I was heading to the lab to get suited up. I heard the turbojet wind up, ran around the building, and saw it clear the runway and fire the SRBs! And the optical cloaking isn’t on; it’s as clear as day!”
Justin glanced at Tamika, wide-eyed, and put Tim on speakerphone just as he spoke again.
“Wait… there it goes! The SRBs are spent, and I hear the ion drive kicking in!”
“Can you tell what direction it’s going?” Justin asked.
“West!”
“Does Cliff know?”
“Don’t know where he is, and he doesn’t answer!”
+ + +
No rest for the weary. Or for General Officers.
It was Justin.
“General, we have an emergency. Can you talk?”
“I’m private, between meetings. Go ahead.”
“Sir, Tamika and I had two attempts on our lives yesterday. We can’t prove who’s behind it, but you know who we suspect.”
“Are you both alright?” he asked.
“We’re in seclusion. We don’t dare go back to DPI, or anywhere else where we could be recognized. But here’s the emergency. Our test pilot, Tim Cason, just called from Groom Lake. Someone just launched System Two! It had to be Cliff. He had almost nothing to do with the production of System Two, but he’s spent many Sundays in the Simulator. I did a run-time check, and he’s got almost half as many seat hours in there as Tim!”
“Hmm. And Senator Matthews is out in Nevada as well.”
“In Nevada? Just a moment.” Justin checked his tracking App.
“No Sir. It’s a long story, but we can track him. He’s in Washington, and he called Cliff…uh…less than an hour ago.”
“Okay. There’s even more that isn’t adding up. System Two…did Cason say anything more about how it was flying or which direction it was going?”
“Full mission profile, except he didn’t turn on the optical stealth. It’s completely visible. And he lit the drive. He’s heading west!”
The General’s mind was whirling. “Justin, I can’t reveal my source, but I just learned there’s reason to believe some new front line Russian long-range bombers are flying toward Hawaii; should be there around noon Hawaii time. Could there be a connection?”
“Hold on,” Justin told the general. He turned to Tamika and asked, “How far from Groom Lake to Hawaii? Nautical miles?”
; She had the answer in moments. “It converts to 2,317 nautical miles.”
“What time is it there now?” Justin asked as he did some quick math. “General, here’s the deal. If he’s heading to Hawaii, he could be there in about an hour, given time to climb and ramp up to full speed. I don’t think he’d do that in an aircraft that’s never been flown, though. And if he doesn’t have a pressure suit, he won’t go up to max altitude where he could go wide open. So, if he flies lower at a more reasonable Mach Four, it’ll take him about ninety minutes.”
“Can Roger intercept?”
Tamika spoke up. “It’s 10:30 a.m. in Hawaii, so Cliff would be there sometime shortly after 12 noon. And I already checked. It’s 3,267 nautical miles from Grand Forks…”
“General… he can go even faster than you’re aware of. He may be able to make it.”
+ + +
Saturday, 1740 EST (1540 Grand Forks):
“What’s that?” Karen asked, startled.
A low, throbbing rumble was getting louder, coming from the back of the hangar. Slowly, part of the rear corner wall caved in to expose a huge bulldozer.
At the same instant, Guardian’s landing lights came on, along with an alarm. The engine ignited and began to spin up. The hangar door started opening automatically.
“We’re on alert, and somebody’s trying to tear down the hangar around us. We’ve gotta get out of here!”
Roger was climbing into his pressure suit. Karen ran to another of her cases, quickly opened it, and to his amazement she pulled out her own pressure suit and slipped it on over the scrubs she had been wearing. She smiled before putting on a helmet she also pulled out of the case.
“Didn’t think I’d come to the party unprepared, did you?” she smiled.
Good grief, it’s even tailored! Roger tore his eyes back to the task at hand just in time to keep from tripping over a heavy toolbox. He kicked it out of the way and marveled that it didn’t just slide a foot or two; it skidded over twenty feet away.
The bulldozer stopped momentarily. If Roger had looked back, he would have seen a stunned Brent Knowles looking into the empty hangar with a mixture of consternation and confusion. No doubt he was feeling the unmistakable hot blast of Jet-A hitting him from…from nothing! With no sound, even when he shut off the diesel of his ’dozer.
The Guardian Collection (End of the Sixth Age Book 2) Page 29