The Second Ship Page 17

  His glance swept up her body, catching her laughing eyes with his own.

  “Same old Jack, I see.”

  “Just scoping out my surroundings.” Jack grinned, slammed the door, and brought the engine roaring to life. “We’re supposed to be married, you know.”

  “Then you may want to tone down the heat in that gaze of yours. That’s more of a mistress look you have going on.”

  “They never said we had to play an old married couple, now did they?”

  As he pulled out onto Interstate 25 headed north, Jack glanced back to see Harold following some distance back, the big, white Ford F250 pickup clearly visible.

  “How’s Bubba doing back there?” Janet asked.

  “It looks like he’s enjoying his ride.”

  “He’d like it more if he could get back out on some of these ranch roads. He’s probably having flashbacks to his childhood days out in Arizona. What’s the name of that little town he came from?”

  “Show Low. It sits up in the high country above the Mogollon Rim. Pretty place.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll stick to New York and leave the backcountry to you hillbillies.”

  Janet smiled at the thought. Jack Gregory looked about as much like a country boy as James Bond, comfortable in either a tuxedo or jeans and a brown, leather bomber jacket, equally elegant in either. No. The man was silk and leather, a shot of James Bond with a spritz of Carlos the Jackal blended into one lethal martini, never shaken or stirred.

  “What did you find out from the Old Man?” Janet asked.

  “They still don’t know where the virus originated, although they’re pretty sure it wasn’t Moscow.”

  “So the router tables had been modified?”

  “Sometime between the night shift and the end of the trace. Kurtz’s people checked against the nightly backups and several of them didn’t match, although the differences were quite subtle.”

  “How was it done?”

  “That’s the tricky part. You know those little agent programs that Kurtz thought were just doing a little encryption of random data?”

  “Right,” Janet said.

  “It turns out that they were posting a periodic health and status code up onto several public web sites. Someone snooping those codes could tell when the agents quit reporting and get a map of how our trace was coming. They apparently launched a cleanup virus as we closed in.”

  “But can’t our people find out who was checking the codes on the web sites?”

  Jack laughed. “That’s the funniest part yet. They picked out a selection of movie star fan sites. You know. The ones with pictures and juicy gossip. Anyway, the little agent programs were changing little bits here and there in the images, so small it wasn’t noticeable to the viewers.”

  “Buried in the hits.”

  “You’ve got it. Those sites get millions of daily hits. Determining who was downloading the pictures for the data instead of for their viewing pleasure is impossible.”

  “So why are we headed to Los Alamos?”

  “Two reasons. Kurtz decoded the message from the computer we heisted. It makes some pretty wild claims about Dr. Donald Stephenson and the Rho Project.”

  “So Riles wants us to snoop into the Rho Project? He must be desperate. You go to prison for spying on a deep black operation when you don’t have need to know. Did the president approve this operation?”

  “We work for Riles. It’s his ass on the line.”

  “What’s the second reason?”

  “The decoded message was loaded with inside information from the Rho Project.”

  “So we have a mole in the project leaking out damaging information on his boss?”

  “A very brilliant mole. Probably a mathematician, based upon the incredible encryption algorithms used. It’s not an intelligence operative, that’s for sure. They made too many mistakes in the way they tried to hide the trail in Moscow. This is an amateur playing at the spy game.”

  Janet nodded. “So we take out the amateur, find out what he knows, and then decide how deeply to dig into the Rho Ship.”

  “We’ll work both sides at once. I want you to focus on finding our mole. Harold and I will take a little look into the Rho Project and see what turns up.”

  A smile of anticipation lifted the corners of Janet Price’s beautiful mouth. “I’ve never liked rodents. Snuffing this one should be entertaining.”

  “Get the information first.”

  A needle-thin ice pick glittered in Janet’s hand as she grabbed her hair and gave it a couple of quick twists before shoving the pointed weapon through it, firmly securing her long brown locks in a tight bun atop her head.

  “Of course.”

  A large green sign slid toward them along the right side of the highway.

  Santa Fe, six miles.

  Good. Best to get a hotel room for the night. No use letting deadly little Janet’s sudden hunger go to waste.

  37

  “I hate to state the obvious,” Mark said, “but three people having exactly the same dream isn’t normal.”

  The three were camped out in the Smythe living room, taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the twins’ parent’s absence.

  “What was all that business about knowing what you’re becoming?” asked Mark.

  “Sometimes dreams don’t make any sense,” said Heather.

  “That wasn’t the feeling I got from this one.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us what you think it means,” Heather snapped and immediately regretted her reaction.

  Mark stood and began pacing slowly back and forth, reminding Heather of herself. “I don’t think the Rag Man guy is planting the dreams. It seems more likely that Heather’s subconscious mind is worried about what is happening to her.”

  Jennifer’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, Heather’s subconscious mind? We were all having the dream.”

  Mark stared out into the backyard. “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe to it,” Heather replied.

  Mark turned to look into her eyes. “I think we may be suffering from a residual link with the headsets.”

  “Can’t be,” said Jennifer. “That link is a direct tie into our brains. It only works when we have the headsets on.”

  “Do we know that?”

  “There’s no way the computer has this kind of range.”

  “Really? How much range do we have with our little Quantum Twin device?” Mark asked.

  “It just doesn’t feel like that is the cause,” said Heather. “Have either of you accessed the computer from here? I can’t.”

  “Well,” said Jennifer, “I hope it was a freak event. I don’t really want to be sharing your weirdo dreams.”

  “Speaking of the QT device,” said Heather, quickly changing subjects. “Since we haven’t been back to the ship, we have no idea what else it may have recorded.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” said Jennifer. “Even if it turns out to be nothing, they could lock us all up for the spying.”

  Mark resumed his seat in the recliner, his white-and-red Nike sneakers dangling over the arm. “Yes. But two life terms in prison isn’t a whole lot worse than one.”

  Jennifer’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing.

  “Anyway,” Mark continued, “we’re all becoming something more than we were, no matter what the dream means. We think it’s because the headsets activated the whole brain, not just the ten percent most people use. We don’t have any idea what new side effects might appear.” Mark rose from the chair once more. “I didn’t want to show you guys this, but I think it’s time. Follow me.”

  Heather and Jennifer glanced nervously at each other, but followed him up the stairs and into his room. It had been rearranged since the last time Heather visited. The bed and dresser were pushed all the way against one wall to accommodate a weight bench.

  The bench took up most of the room. An Olympic weight bar, loaded with two hundred and fifty pounds of weight, res
ted across hooks at the top of the bench. Another stack of weights lay on the floor nearby.

  “Wow,” said Heather. “You’re benching two hundred and fifty pounds?”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. “That’s just for show.”

  Mark moved over to the bar, adding two additional fifty-pound plates to each end and then lay down on the bench beneath the elevated bar. Without hesitation, he lifted the bar, pumping it steadily up and down. The weight caused the ends of the bar to droop slightly.

  Heather’s eyes bulged. “Oh my God! Mark! That’s four hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “Four seventy-five, counting the bar,” Mark said, continuing to evenly knock out repetitions. After several more seconds, he stopped, setting the bar back in its rest. “I could lift more, but these are all the weights we own.”

  Jennifer finally found her voice. “But how is that possible? What’s your max lift?”

  “That’s just it,” said Mark. “I don’t know. I guess the neural tune-up enables near perfect synchronization of my muscles, making them easier to train and way more efficient. Either that or we’re wrong about our DNA not being affected.”

  Thoughts raced through Heather’s head so rapidly that her headache began to worsen. “You could hurt someone, even accidentally.”

  Mark sat up. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think so. My reflexes are just too good. So long as I control my temper, no problem.”

  Heather’s eyebrows shot up. “So long as you control your temper?”

  “We need to get back out to the ship,” said Jennifer. “We have to know what’s happening to us.”

  “I don’t get how that’ll help,” said Heather.

  “Don’t you see? The medical lab. I think I can figure out how to use that equipment, at least at a rudimentary level, so that we can get some physical readouts and measurements. Maybe there will be some clue indicating the extent of the changes going on in our brains and bodies.”

  “Worth a try,” said Mark. “We can, at least, check on the QT device to see if we have any more recordings of Stephenson.”

  Heather moved toward the door. “Well, if we’re going, it better be soon. It’s almost noon. I’ll tell mom we’re going out biking. Then I’ll meet you out front.”

  Stepping outside into the cold gray light that filtered through the clouds, conditions hardly seemed favorable for a bike ride. Nevertheless, anticipation propelled her onward. As Heather opened her front door, she saw her mother sitting on the couch, her entire attention fixed on the television, a rare scene for the ever-busy Anna McFarland.

  Glancing up, Heather’s mother beckoned Heather with her hand. “Sweetie, come watch. This is important.”

  By the time she had sat with her mom for five minutes, Heather had a lump in her throat from the steady stream of breaking news. A new power facility had been brought online at the Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant in Arizona, the first commercial usage of the Rho Project cold fusion technology.

  This first venture was being housed in a building at the Palo Verde facility. The reaction had been initiated without problem, and the power being produced already surpassed that of the rest of the plant.

  Scientists and industry leaders from around the world were praising the project as the first truly “green” commercial energy project that had the potential to satisfy most of the world's energy needs.

  In related stories, rioting had broken out in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, as well as in the Saudi cities of Mecca, Medina, and Daharan. The royal family had been deposed in a violent religious coup, many of them killed. The king himself had barely escaped with the help of US Special Forces. All US military facilities in the kingdom were on a full state of alert with fighting reported outside the US airbase near Riyadh.

  A statement from the Iranian government praising the overthrow of the Saudi royal family called for the immediate withdrawal of all US forces from the Middle East. The statement also condemned the new cold fusion technology as the “hot spawn of the devil,” an evil assault on Allah's people around the world, and threatened an immediate cutoff of oil to all countries pursuing the technology.

  An emergency meeting of OPEC ministers in Qatar was scheduled for Monday, to discuss a unified response to these events.

  In the meantime, the United States armed forces around the world had been placed on a state of high alert. The president had just issued a stern warning that the US government and its allies would neither permit nor tolerate an attack on its deployed forces or on the oil facilities in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, or Kuwait.

  Despite her pounding heart, Heather maintained an exterior calm. “Wow. That sounds really bad.”

  “Bad? Heather, this is terrible. I don’t mean cold fusion—that sounds great. But it sure is causing some very dangerous events around the world.”

  “Well, I’m sure the government will handle it.” Heather rose from the couch. “Mom, if we’re done watching the news, do you mind if I go biking with Mark and Jen?”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows, but smiled. “I guess it’s all right. But be home before dark.”

  “Thanks.” Heather kissed her mother and headed toward the garage, grabbing her heavy coat off the peg by the door as she passed.

  “What took you so long?” Mark asked as Heather wheeled her bike out of her garage. “Jen and I were about to come break you out.”

  Heather took a deep breath, then swung her leg over her bike. As she stepped down hard on the pedal, spinning her rear tire, she breathed two words.

  “It’s started.”

  38

  Although Heather constantly checked her surroundings as she rode, she didn’t stop on the way out to the Second Ship. Time was short if they were going to make it back by dark, and they had a lot to do. Besides, for the time being, no crowds dogged Mark’s footsteps—possibly because of the embarrassing hallway incident, or maybe due to his intentionally reduced scoring in recent basketball games. Whatever the reason, Heather was thankful for the respite.

  Only slight variations in grayness allowed her to see texture in the clouds that draped the sky, the air as still as death itself. While no wind was blowing, the speed of the bike whipped the cold air past her cheeks with enough force to make them tingle and to turn her feet into small blocks of ice inside her sneakers. Heather regretted having been so distracted that she had forgotten to change into some warmer shoes.

  By the time they dropped off the bikes and finished their descent into the steep canyon, Heather’s circulation had returned to her lower extremities. Still, it felt good to climb up into the ship with its controlled temperature. As she slipped on the headset, feeling the wonderful relaxing pulses it generated, Heather realized just how much she had missed this place. Jennifer barely hesitated, a pleasant smile lighting her features as she led the way into the medical lab.

  The doors snicked closed behind them as they entered the room. Heather relaxed her own mind, letting herself pick up the same computer imagery that Jennifer was calling up. The visuals changed rapidly as Jennifer focused first on one oddly shaped couch and then another, color patterns shifting and pulsing, great columns of symbols and figures cascading across her vision.

  Jennifer settled quickly on one particular apparatus: a table that rose from a single pedestal that looked like it had been pulled from the floor while it was still molten and allowed to solidify into its smooth, oblong shape.

  Jennifer sat on the edge of the table and then lay down. Immediately the table changed, flowing up and around her body in long tendrils that moved to gently encase her, the thousands of small tips looking like acupuncture needles, although they did not appear to penetrate Jennifer’s skin.

  If Jennifer had not appeared so relaxed and at ease, Heather was sure panic would have overwhelmed her. A quick glance at Mark’s tight face indicated he was considerably less comfortable with what was happening than was his twin sister.

  A perfect bubble appeared in the air above Jennifer’s body, as big as a larg
e beach ball, colors shifting and pulsing along its surface, symbols and numbers scrolling around the top. Inside the bubble, three-dimensional graphical displays rose and fell in a familiar rhythm.

  Pulse. Suddenly Heather began to recognize what she was seeing. One of the displays corresponded to measurement of Jennifer’s pulse while another showed a clear picture of her vascular system, every small vein showing its blood flow in a small, rotating hologram of her body, the heart pulsing with a steady and powerful beat.

  In another section of the beach ball's interior, a clear hologram of Jennifer’s brain activity drew Heather’s attention. The image of the brain looked like a lumpy clear jellyfish, its insides lit with a lightning storm of electrical pulses. As Heather concentrated, she found she could view it from any angle, zooming in and out at will.

  As fascinated as she was, something troubled her. They had assumed that because of each of their natural preferences, the neural activity in different parts of each of their brains would be enhanced more than others, but Jennifer’s brain looked like the whole thing was on fire. There was no indication of a preferentially influenced area.

  “Jen? Can you make it let you up?”

  Heather gasped as Jennifer rolled her head to look at Heather, something that should have impaled her on the sharp tendrils fastened to her face and head. Instead, the tentacles moved with her, perfectly maintaining their needle-point touches, but doing no damage to her delicate skin.

  Jennifer swung to a seated position and hopped down from the table, the tentacles melting back into the tabletop as she moved.

  “That felt marvelous,” said Jennifer, stretching her arms high overhead.

  “My turn,” said Mark, hopping onto the tabletop without waiting for a response from Heather.

  Once again, as Mark lay back, the table flowed like a living creature, thousands upon thousands of clear, little pinpoint tentacles crawling over his body. Mark looked like a refugee from a horror movie as each pinpoint found the spot it was looking for. Dozens of the things even attached directly to his eyeballs, while others ran inside his nostrils and ears. Heather had not noticed this with Jennifer, but playing back the previous scene in her mind, she realized that Jennifer had been attached in exactly the same way.