The president set his glass down as the visitors entered and waved Rickert and Ben to sit. The Secret Service agents who had come in with Ben and Rickert drifted to the corners, joining half a dozen other agents already in the room. They didn’t speak at all, but seemed to relax a bit, down deep in this fortress.
Behind the president was a closed metal door, which Ben assumed led to a communications center and perhaps living quarters of some sort. Hard to imagine sleeping down here, in this capsule under ten million tons of rock and dirt. This wasn’t a shelter, but rather an impregnable tomb. He itched for the open desert of New Mexico, his former sanctuary, with moonlight and stars his only cover. Just run and keep running as his ancestors once had, no memory of the past, no thought of the future.
Lockerman held Ben in a long, steady gaze. Ben leaned back ever so slightly in his chair, his hands below the table, respectful but steady. Lockerman spoke at last.
“Tough piece of work out there. Russia, I mean. Well, all of it, actually, I guess.”
Ben didn’t speak, but finally broke eye contact with the president and stared at the table.
“I understand why you did what you did. And I don’t know that you should have done differently, despite what everyone is saying. The Russians nearly had that ship. Honestly, it was a lucky shot that slipped through their defenses. And the drone in China, hell, it could have rampaged for hours and done just as much damage. No, that’s not the problem. You might have made the right call. But you did it for the wrong reason.”
“Sir?”
“You did it because you can’t stand to see anyone die. But if you haven’t figured it out yet, let me tell you: that’s an indulgence. People are going to die one way or the other. Lots of them, in fact. Maybe every person in this room. Hell, most likely everyone in this room.”
Lockerman snapped the binder shut and leaned forward.
“But that doesn’t matter. Our job is not to save everyone. It’s to survive. As a species. If you need to sell the lives of everyone in this mountain to keep the human race from going extinct, then that’s your job. And if you had calculated the odds, figured the Russians were in a better spot to defend themselves than the Chinese were and had rolled the dice, I’d give you a damn Medal of Honor. But that’s not what happened. And it cannot happen again.”
Ben nodded. What else was there to say?
“We’ve all seen your bio. I don’t know what kind of emotional toll that took, losing your dad like that. We never did get the exact details of what happened, but I’ve had about a dozen shrinks each give me their pet theories on your state of mind, repressed emotions, and whatever other crackpot diagnosis they can cook up. But one of them said something that stuck with me.”
Ben struggled to keep his composure, the mountain-like stolidity he had adopted as they’d descended into the granite. He was glad that his new skin was unable to display the flush of anger and shame swirling inside. The president, at least, didn’t seem to notice Ben’s discomfort, but Rickert shifted awkwardly.
“It’s a quote from Jung: ‘Neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering.’ Took me awhile to wrap my head around that one. But I think I figured it out. I believe it means that our guilt, our humiliation, whatever we’re embarrassed about or afraid of, bubbles up in quirky ways if we don’t actually deal with the consequences of what we’ve done. Or failed to do. You’re a hell of fighter. But you’re dealing with some stuff. I don’t know how to help you get through it. I don’t think anyone does. But you’re going to have to find your way through it before this is all over.”
Ben blinked, all of his previous emotions now replaced by a thundercloud of confusion. He shook his head. Was the President of the United States really psychoanalyzing him right now? Surely they had more important things to worry about. He was about to say so when Lockerman beat him to it.
“Now, new business,” he said as he slid the binder to the side.
“As much bad luck as we’ve had, we were due for some good, and we just got it. As you know, our best geneticists and molecular biologists have been trying to reverse-engineer the nano computers in your body without much success. And by ‘without much,’ I mean ‘none.’ We’ve quietly put out feelers to other labs and research centers around the world because, honestly, we’re getting desperate. As much as we all appreciate what you’re doing, we need more than one of you. But so far, zilch. After your . . . adventure in Shanghai, we received an inquiry from China, asking if they could send their top researcher to us. I don’t know how familiar you are with Chinese politics, but sending aid to the US, no strings attached, as seems to be the case here, well . . . that’s not generally how they operate. So we obviously said yes.”
Lockerman pushed a button on his desk and leaned toward the embedded microphone.
“Dr. Ying? Could you join us?”
The door slid open and Ben was surprised when a Chinese woman walked in. He stood. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which rested on the collar of a white lab coat on top of military fatigues. The woman walked up to Ben and surprised him again by saluting. She held the pose. She was tall and nearly met his sightline. Ben raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the president, who waited, motionless.
Ben returned the salute and Dr. Ying Lai dropped her hand. She opened her mouth to speak and then paused, and Ben assumed she was casting for the few words of English she might know. She surprised him again when she spoke fluently.
“Thank you, Lieutenant, for what you did. While the Chinese president and his staff have asked me to formally extend their appreciation, I must be more personal. My family lives in Shanghai. They are alive, I suspect, because of you. And you have my eternal thanks.”
Ben was, at last, flustered.
“I . . . yes, of course. I mean, you’re welcome. It was nothing.”
She cocked her head slightly.
“I assure you, it was not nothing. But I take your meaning. And I will convey your gracious response to everyone at home.”
“Yes, please, uh, please do.”
President Lockerman laughed. “Why don’t we all sit down and get to business before the lieutenant literally melts into the floor.”
Ben went to pull the doctor’s chair out for her, but she had already slipped into the seat, catlike, despite the cumbersome clothes and boots.
Ben shuffled into his own seat, remotely amused at his own sudden clumsiness.
The president, though, was done with triviality.
“Dr. Ying Lai is a computer scientist and microbiologist with Peking University, and a colonel with the Chinese army. And while she’s only been working with us for a few days, she’s done some amazing work. Doctor?”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said, nodding almost imperceptibly. “The work your team has done so far is extremely impressive, but I do believe we have made a significant advance in the last 48 hours. I’ll forgo the details, but we’ve cracked the code on the machines in your body, Lieutenant.”
“Really?” Ben said. “How?”
She smiled. “By realizing there is no code.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it might be more precise to say that it is encoded, but we already have the key. You see, the nanomachines are programmed to adhere to the precise structure of your cells, your DNA. You and the machines are bound at the molecular level, likely for the rest of your life.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds like a death sentence.”
“Not at all. Indeed, I suspect you will, if you survive the war, be as close to immortal as any living thing can be. But the point is that the American research team quickly realized that the machines are custom-tailored for your specific genetic makeup. But how could that be possible? You had never met the brin before the night you were injected. There is no way they could have customized their technology to your body. So what you were injected with clearly had to adapt itself to you. It wasn’t made for you. It was remade for you.”
>
Ben shifted in his chair.
“But surely it can’t be as easy as just injecting my blood into someone else and letting the machines reproduce.”
She laughed, a straightforward Western laugh, not the girlish giggling Ben associated with most Chinese women he’d met. Who was this woman?
“No, it was not that easy. But almost. For the trick, it turned out, wasn’t to reprogram the machines. No, all we had to do was turn them off and then let them reboot, if you will, in someone else.”
“And how do you do that?” Ben said.
“EMP. Electromagnetic pulse.”
“What? Like in a nuclear bomb?”
“Yes. The same effect, but we didn’t use anything so crude. Using a modified Van de Graaff generator, we think we’ve finally been able to isolate the correct frequency to temporarily disable the nanomachines for re-injection.”
“You think?”
“Well, we have not yet had a chance to test it. But I am confident it will function as needed.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“If the machines are not properly recalibrated, then I presume the nanobots will read their new host as in fact an enemy and destroy the subject.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re sparing me the gory details?”
“Oh, I have no aversion to that. I suspect the unfortunate victim of a failed transfusion would be essentially devoured from the inside out by the hostile machines. It would be extremely”—she seemed to be searching for the right word—“unpleasant.”
“So how do you know if you have it calibrated correctly?”
“We must test it on a volunteer.”
“Jesus.”
Ben turned to Rickert.
“What do you think?”
Rickert glanced at the president before responding, paused, then seemed to make a decision.
“I think it’s a nasty piece of business. It’s going to make a lot of countries very nervous to have a bunch of superpowered human soldiers running around that are basically one-man armies that can turn invisible. And if this tech falls into the wrong hands—ISIS, the KKK, whatever—we’ll be dealing with a total nightmare. And I think we need to do it immediately.”
Ben felt the old, familiar pressure on his chest, pressing on his heart, squeezing the breath from his lungs, at the thought that another human sacrifice would soon be called for.
Rickert saw Ben grimace and leaned forward.
“There’s no time for anything else. We’ve lost a dozen satellites from the last battle,” he said, ticking off the challenges on his fingers, “and while the Chinese production lines are coming online extremely fast, we’re still going to have a hard time getting those defenses back up soon enough, assuming the mrill dispatched a full invasion force as soon as they realized the drone attack failed. But rebuilding the satellite net won’t be enough. It was barely enough against what was, to be fair, a small strike force. If they come back with a full fleet of armed ships, the satellites will be overwhelmed. We need more manned defense ships like yours, mobile fighters and bombers that can engage the mrill in orbit and, if necessary, on the ground.”
Lockerman waved at the seated generals and admirals.
“The Joint Chiefs and their advisers think the most likely scenario is a full invasion. While some targeted bombing is likely, the use of nuclear weapons or other weapons of mass destruction is unlikely. After all, they want to live here when we’re gone. We’re beachfront property, and nothing drives down home value like giant radioactive craters. So, what we’re looking at is essentially an extraterrestrial D-Day. And we can’t win that battle. We can’t let the bulk of their infantry get on the ground. We have to take out as many of their landing ships as we can before they unload their troops. And to do that, we need our own fleet. And, so, we need volunteers.”
“Volunteers? For what, a suicide mission?” Ben said.
“No, we’ve got something else in mind,” the president replied.
The door opened and three men that Ben knew walked through the door. Eddie Dworsky, Nicholas Parson, and Diego Marquez. SEALs. His friends and fellow warriors.
Ben snorted.
“Damn. Any other surprise guests in that room?”
The men laughed and hugged, although Ben’s friends were also fascinated by his new skin. They stared with the unabashed familiarity of men who’d hiked through hell together and had the devil’s scalp to prove it.
“Look, I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version later. But first tell me what you guys think you’re doing here,” Ben said.
Dworsky, the shortest person in the room and always the first with a joke, put on a look of mock outrage. “What, you think you’re the only one who gets to kick some alien ass? We’re all ready for a close encounter.”
Ben’s smile faded. “C’mon, guys, you can’t be serious. The doctor here”—he waved toward Dr. Ying—“basically just told me we’re looking for guinea pigs. If this doesn’t work right, putting my blood in your body will be like pouring sugar in a gas tank, if sugar could actually turn your car into a puddle of goo.”
Ying spoke up again.
“These men were carefully selected, Lieutenant,” she said in a tone that indicated the debate was over before it had begun. “Your familiarity with them was a key consideration. My government initially insisted that Chinese soldiers be included in this mission as a condition of our aid, but I was able to convince them these men needed to be the first participants. Once the injection process is complete, I suspect you will have a sort of telepathic connection with any others like you. If that is indeed the case, it will be essential to have partners you know and trust, colleagues who are trained to act and think like you. No confusion . . . well, minimal confusion.”
Ben shuffled his feet and looked over at Rickert.
“Look, these guys are the toughest bastards I know. But this, uh, transplant or infusion or whatever you want to call it sounds risky as hell. Shouldn’t we test this on monkeys or rats or something first?”
Ying shook her head.
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“We tried it. It killed the monkey. The nanomachines seem to require a human host. And in the short time the test animal did survive, it was in a frenzy. The data feed seemed to simply overwhelm its brain.”
Ben sighed.
“Dammit, guys, I—”
Marquez waved him off.
“Look, man, we’re all volunteers. Have been for a long time. We can handle it. And if we can’t, we’re prepared for that, too. This is just another deployment. We understand the risks.”
Marquez was the youngest of the group. He’d joined the team just a couple years ago, fresh out of training, eager to prove himself. Unlike most SpecOps fighters, he’d stuck with his boot-camp buzz cut, making him look even younger than his twenty-four years. He was a SEAL, though, and had saved Ben’s life more than once, including one particularly hairy mission in Nigeria. I owe all these guys my life. And this is how I’m supposed to repay them?
Lockerman spoke again.
“Lieutenant, they aren’t here to meet with your approval. This is an order. You’ve been recalled to active duty, effective immediately, and they never left. This is your team, and this is your mission. My team and Dr. Ying agree that this is the best course of action, the most likely to succeed. After all, it’s the only shot we’ve got,” he said as he jabbed his finger into the table. “We’ve got a few weeks, tops, before the mrill fleet arrives. We must get your men ready, and then train more. The four of you are a start, but that’s all. We’re going to need as many upgraded soldiers as we can churn out. So please accompany your team and Dr. Ying to the lab and let’s get started. Thank you, that will be all.”
Lockerman rose to leave, and the assembled generals and admirals did as well.
Dworsky stepped over to Ben’s side and looked him up and down, taking in his gray skin and strained appearance.
“C’mon, bro,�
�� he said with a laugh. “Lighten up. All we have to do is save the world.”
Ben chuckled at last.
“Yeah, and all I have to do is make sure your ass comes home in one piece.”
16
Dworsky settled into the gurney as the technicians strapped down his tattooed arms and legs. The bed was inside a metal chamber, and the gleaming walls made it look like a giant oven. Which it was. If the nano injection went haywire and the machines looked to be any sort of danger to the facility, the room would be flooded with fire to destroy the bugs. Nothing would be left of Dworsky’s body other than a fine gray ash.
“Hey, guys, I’m already inside a goddamn kiln. Do you think we could do without the restraints?”
Ben, standing beside Dworsky, shook his head.
“Nah, these aren’t to stop you from escaping. They’re for your protection. When I was injected, I almost had a seizure. And the machines were embryonic, designed to mold themselves to any host. What they’re injecting into you is a bit more of a brute-force solution. The doctor tells me this could be considerably more . . . vigorous.”
“Awesome,” Dworsky said with a sigh.
“On the other hand, if this works, you won’t need any help getting out of the restraints,” Ben said. “You’ll be able to tear out of them like toilet paper.”
“Yeah, and first thing I’m gonna do is tear you a new asshole for not talking me out of this,” Dworsky said.
Ben held his palms up. “Hey, I tried.”
One of the technicians walked over. “We’re ready, gentlemen. Lieutenant Shepherd, if you could step out of the room, we’ll get started.”
Ben tapped his fist on Dworsky’s shirtless chest.
“You’ll be fine. It feels weird at first, but you’ll be fine.”
“Hey, can you do me a favor? Reach in my pocket and hand me what’s in there.”
Ben snorted.
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