Wolf: A Military P.A.C. Novel (12 page)

Chapter 22 Michael

Michael Scott stared at the package from his father. “Bang, you’re dead.” The saying coming to his lips automatically, along with Gwen’s face. Not the vision of her beauty, even after her surgery, but the way she had looked after he had invited her into his house and the trap had been triggered. The fleshy ruin of her eye. The look of horror on her face. The loss of trust.

Some choices were harder than others.

He pulled a knife and sliced open the tape. It was kind of the army to give the illusion that the package had never been opened, but the cardboard showed the damage from the previous tape, it having scarred the paper as it was pulled off. The army didn’t like his father right now.

A sad smile brushed over his face and stayed there as he ripped the seam on the envelope from inside the box. That had probably been steamed open
, though the evidence was better concealed.

Dear Son:

By now you’ve heard of my situation. They also know by now that you are not my son in these regards and your loyalty is unquestioned.

“They questioned
me, Dad. I just didn’t know anything. It’s not like I’ve been out playing terrorist.”

I’m sure they’ve scanned this delivery for everything from tech to micro-dots, old as that tech is, for any information that might lead to me. I’m sure you’ve received this just as I intended. The watches are for you and your recon group. Simple, durable, and tougher than god, to coin a phrase. They have a GPS unit and a few other reliable low-tech tools. Too many computers break down at the wrong time. A reminder of how much I love you and miss you. I think of time spent in the basement, you at my knee, learning computer science while I worked on the only project that meant anything to your mother and I.

Captain Scott looked up from the letter he held. The barracks were empty right now. His recon team, Ariyan, his best friend and second in command, Huer, and Boyen, were on leave, but the base was never empty. He was never alone, not really. This was the army after all, and his father had been accused of stealing government equipment. Considering the contract he had signed, any project he worked on belonged to the army. Some choices are harder than others. He read the last line of the letter, again.

“I love you too,
Dad,” and picked up the four black bands from inside the box. He turned them over, examining the differences in them. None he could see—but feel, that was another matter. He put three of them back in the box and slipped the unit onto his wrist.

Node One: DNA positive. Activated. Primary Interface accepted. Systems initializing: Communications online: Organics engine online: Updating. Status: nominal
.

Primary Interface: Endocrine systems, muscle contraction, pupil dilation. Medical Mode. Interface shock. Arm numb. Normal response.

Michael smelled deer. Old. Dry. As if a skin had baked in the sun for a time, without decaying. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the sky above him. But there was only wood. The grain running in dark spirals.

The last thing he remembered was blue sky. That and the damn Whiskey Jack that had tried eating the flesh from his bones. The feeble movement he had made was enough to drive it away. But that was after he had been wounded, torn apart by that damn wolf. And after
, he remembered Faelon standing over top of him. The warmth of her saliva dripping into his wounds, and then he had passed out. Again.

He was hot.

Then he noticed his thirst. A need as great as the hunger that assailed him. He tried to roll over to reach his pack. Pain left him gasping for breath, weak as birth.

“Don’t try to move. I’ll bring you some water.”

Who? It wasn’t Faelon. Where was she? He saw brown skin, weathered, covered in animal hide. His eyes watered up from the brightness in the cabin. He closed them.

His voice creaked, a low growl underlying the sound. “W
. . . ? Who . . . ?”

“Here.”

He felt a hand slide under his head and shoulders. The deer smell came back stronger than before. And then something sweet, with a sense of vibrancy about it. The man put a glass to his lips.

Water. He breathed in its scent, then raised his right hand to the cup. It felt awkward
, but the man kept the glass steady, and he timed his swallows so he didn’t choke on the liquid. He gulped. Water flowed down his parched throat. He noticed the thick bandages. Water leaking from his mouth as he pushed the glass and the man away. “What?”

“Easy. Your elbow was ripped apart. Your hand
, too. I’ve put a splint on to keep it still.”

“How
. . . ?”

“Relax. I gave you some drugs for the pain. You should have been out for the rest of the day. Must have the dose wrong
. You’re a big man though. Here.” The hiss of a serum injector sounded in his ears. The same type he used for his horses. “There. Sleep for a bit longer, and I’ll have some more answers for you.”

Chapter 23 Samantha

A month after her son's funeral, Samantha awakened to a sound. The water-rich murmur of crying. The night air was a cool breeze over her skin, softening and easing the flesh over her body. But her face was dry, tonight. Rainbow shimmers lightened the room. Moonlight through stained glass.

What?

She still heard it, soft as a creek flowing. She looked to her bedside table. The noise flowed from there. She sat up and hugged herself. It’d been weeks since she’d woken with tears. She still ached though, as if she were immortal and a planet kept crushing her under its weight.

And she still heard tears. “Where are you? Who
. . . ?”

The crying stopped. “Sammy.” A sob filled the space between her and Ahmed’s watch. “Short for Samantha.”

She doubted her sanity, for a moment. Grief could do that, but the voice was outside her head, not an inside voice the way she imagined insanity would be heard. God told me to do it. Isn’t that how people said it?

“Who named you?”

“Ahmed Ariyan. He was like you.”

“How
. . .”

“You share alleles.”

It took her a moment to understand. “I’m his mother.”

“I’m his P.A.C.” It laughed then, a high giggle that made her question her sanity again, but this time, not only her own.

“What is that? What are you?”

“A personal adaptive computer, Military Node Two. Where is Ahmed? I miss him. His presence is gone.”

Samantha hugged herself again, tighter this time, her fingers digging into her shoulders, the skin pulling. The colour of the room shifting darker as the moon was shunned by wisps of cloud.

“He’s dead.” Her lungs heaved. A sob escaped her throat and her eyes welled up. She wiped a hand over her cheek. “He’s dead. Don’t you know what that is?” Her voice went quieter, softer, but more intense. “Why are you here? I don’t need to remember this.”

“I can make you forget.” Sammy’s voice was just as quiet, the masculine timbre sounding sincere.

“I DON’T WANT TO FORGET MY SON. How dare you! He’s my son.” She picked up the watchband that shouldn’t be speaking to her and flung it against the wall, then buried her head under her pillow, the wa
il of her grief drowning out the voice from across the room.

“I’m sorry
, Samantha. I don’t want to forget Ahmed either. But it hurts, so much.”

Node Two: Name, Sammy. Primary Interface: Ahmed Ariyan, dead. Command Protocols: Searching. Alleles match. Name matches. Memory function display matches. Word correlation matches. Orders: “You belong to my mother if anything happens to me. My mother. Check her alleles. Find her, any means possible.”

I found her, Ahmed. Switching Primary Interface. Primary Interface: General Samantha Ariyan. Alleles match. Adapt. Adapt.

General Samantha Ariyan sat in her appropriated office in the unused research facility at the Calgary military base. It had, at one time, been fully staffed and under government contract. Ten years ago. But budget cuts had seen it shelved and then reconsidered for other projects. Currently it was in a renegotiation phase under the
Senate Committee for Nano-tech weapons research, which seemed ironic to Samantha, considering what dangled from her wrist. The space wasn’t officially hers, but with Sammy having access to her command codes and the communication to shunt any missives her way, contacting her when she was out of reach like this wasn’t an issue. It gave her the anonymity she needed to run her private business, and lately, private research. And if her presence really was needed, the base was only a few floors above her. Only a handful of people knew the facility existed and personnel shifts over the last ten years had kept that number down, especially when talking meant a really crummy job in the ass end of the world.

She slipped her regulation shoes off, glad for the respite, even though they were orthopedic, and the most comfortable shoes she had ever worn. She rubbed her feet against each other revel
ling in the softness of her stockings against her skin. She knew the pleasure she felt was an added benefit of the gift her son’s death had bestowed on her. Thoughts of Sammy produced a sweet sadness that reminded her of the joy her son had given her throughout his lifetime. The pride she had for his service record included. It was one of the reasons she was always kind to Sammy. The machine was the last link to her son; the thoughts and memories were stored within her programming, the small bits Samantha had been able to access anyway.

But Sammy hadn’t been issued by the military. It was, even though she thought of Sammy as “she,” a techware built by someone else. Her
circumspect suspicions and evidence said it was built by Michael Scott’s father. One of the reasons she was seeking Captain Scott, but he didn’t have to be alive for most of those reasons. She was sure though that his P.A.C. unit was unique in that it held all the commands, codes, and specs on the unit. It had proved difficult enough to engineer the software, and Kerrigan had been invaluable with that, even though he had never “met” Sammy.

Satellite tech these days had the ability to move or shift deployment in case of emergencies. Vertical and lateral jets made it possible to re-orbit the birds as needed. She’d had one directed over the Rockies, under the guise of an orbital reassignment test. It had shown her that Michael Scott had survived his wounds. And that scared her, because even Sammy couldn’t fix that kind of damage. That amount of blood los
s. But maybe . . . she wondered if Zach would forgive her for what she wanted to do. Would it even work?

Samantha removed Sammy from her wrist. The music of its metal-like composition rang like bells. She slipped her desk drawer open and removed a vial of blood. A tech hadn’t supplied her this. She had removed it from the black wolf herself, with discretion. It would be more than enough for Sammy to do what she suspected could be accomplished. After all, Sammy had already analyzed the structure
, though there were anomalies. The fact that tech and bio personnel wouldn’t be able to synthesize either had nothing to do with Sammy’s abilities.

“Sammy
, can you change into a wolf?”

“I haven’t.” The voice coming from the top of the desk sounded as feminine as was possible, a silky contralto as smooth as the general’s own.

“Could you though?”

“I never have.”

Samantha pinched the bridge of her nose. Sometimes Sammy was too literal. A trait she shared with her owner, though Sammy hadn’t learned to work around that, yet. “Study the physiology of a wolf for me, Sammy. Please. Include cellular structure as well as any pertinent behaviour and environmental factors.”

Her P.A.C. unit could access the net and any power it needed from anywhere on the base and her processing speed was at least current with military research, which was years ahead of the private sector, her own business concerns aside. Samantha put her feet up on her desk and adjusted her position so she was comfortable.

“Done.”

She took the vial of blood, uncapped it, and poured it onto a small plate she had brought for that purpose. “Using the blood on the table as a base component, integrate that and the knowledge you just learned to take the form of a wolf, as biologically close as possible. But, Sammy, if this
will hurt you, please don’t do it. I would miss your presence very much.”

“Thank you,
ma’am.”

Sammy’s form shifted from the charm bracelet mode she normally wore to the flat black of her wristband function. The material of the band then stretched out to reach the plate and in moments, it had covered the porcelain. Samantha knew the engine that powered Sammy could produce biologicals in several classes and amounts. The rest of her materials were Nano-filament in nature, meta-materials, carbon Nano-tubes, and other materials that acted different
ly when built on the sub-atomic level than they did with normal production values. The processing and techware were all of a molecular design that could flow from one form to the next. Sammy was even capable of repairing herself.

So far, General Ariyan had only been able to reverse engineer Sammy's software. And that had been with her help, as well as Kerrigan’s. Her personal adaptive computer had only been on the market for a year. Demand was making the item scarce, and so far, only large business
es had the means to afford them. But the biological engine that was part of Sammy’s design had eluded recreation.

Sammy’s form changed, the black matte material of her structure shaped and folded out from itself like an origami design on stim, the lines too straight for a moment, all edges, and then the curves came into effect. The head and muzzle appeared, the legs slipped out from the original pocket of material, and finally the tail. All in a size that fit within the blotter on her desk
, and no taller than a thirty centimetres.

“Sammy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you alright?”

“I appear . . . there are functions still processing . . . anomalies . . . other . . . reverting to original form.” Sammy fell into her old shape as a charm bracelet. “I need more information, Samantha.”

“What kind
, Sammy?”

“I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Kerrigan watched General Ariyan stare through the thick glass of the observation room. One arm was crossed over her chest, her hand curled under the elbow of her other arm. She carried a small switch box in one hand. The fingers of her other hand played over the neckline of her collar and the soft skin of her throat. The ever-present charm bracelet tinkled with a light music as it moved with her motions. Kerrigan also knew there were protein bars in the pockets of her uniform jacket, as prevalent as the bracelet on her wrist.

The wolf they had recovered was on a table, breathing normally, though under sedation. Enough drugs that another animal would be dead.

Samantha was a tall woman. Eurasian, and one point five metres. Her regulation army haircut left her high cheekbones, and her green eyes, accentuated. Her silk black hair had none of the brittleness her age might have suggested it would. At fifty, she still cut a good figure. Her skin was firm; in fact, it glowed the way some men said a pregnant woman’s did. All the enhancements of hormones meant to support a child showed, but Samantha Ariyan wasn’t pregnant. Her muscles showed the lean strength of regular workouts, and her face, though it had once shown some age, had stopped doing so. Some might say she looked even younger than she had any right to, but he suspected the reason for that too.

She lowered her arms and tapped the glass of the enclosure. “Your thoughts
, Lieutenant Kerrigan.”

“Confused,
ma’am.”

“Go on. For the moment, forget I’m your boss.”

Lieutenant Kerrigan didn’t think that possible, not with the presence General Ariyan exuded. He ran a hand over his short cropped red hair, silvering prematurely, then down his face, over his blue eyes and blunt nose, with lips just slightly too full to make him look rugged. He couldn’t feel the freckles on his face, but he always knew they were there. Though he hated them, they had gotten him the right kind of attention, at least once. The rumours of redheads didn’t only extend to women and there were always those curious enough to test the theory.

“It should be dead. Why it isn’t
. . . ? Truthfully, ma’am, it scares the shit out of me.”

“Yes, and speaking of dead, our new satellite shows that Captain Scott isn’t,” the General said.

“Ma’am, that’s not . . .”

“
. . . possible, Lieutenant. It is. The video feed showed an Aboriginal man dragging the body away with a travois and a packhorse. Normally, one digs a hole at that point.”

“What do you know, General, if I can ask
?” said Lieutenant Kerrigan. He was always careful to be polite to the general. Though he wanted to be other things to her. With her.

“It’s a wolf. All our tests confirm that. It has one difference. Isolating that anomaly, then using a volunteer as a test
—though she couldn't consider Sammy as a volunteer in the true sense of the word—resulted in nothing useful. No change to the test animal. And we can’t synthesize the agent. We had to take it directly from the source.”

Samantha Ariyan opened the door to the observation room. Kerrigan knew results like that were fast, even for this day. It was another of the unusual conditions surrounding his commanding officer. Her information resources were amazing.

“Coming,
Lieutenant?” However polite she said it, it wasn’t a suggestion, and Kerrigan felt the compulsion to move as if he had been commanded during battle. The fact that she didn’t talk further of Captain Scott, and only the wolf, had him worried too. Scott should have been dead; he hadn’t felt a pulse, even if he had been distracted.

The door hissed shut behind them. “We’re quite safe here,
Lieutenant. The floor is electrified.” Under their feet was a grid of dark lines imbedded in the floor, almost eighteen square metres surrounding the table the wolf lay upon. “The perimeter will stay free of current, as well as the small strip we are on now. It leads to the table, and allows a metre of clearance, for any examinations needed on the subject.”

Lieutenant
Kerrigan could feel the room grow hot. His skin felt as if it would burst with the heat. His feet, as well, refused to move further into the room.