AMPED (39 page)

What if he and Icarus were on the same side, after all?

59

The story broke around the globe within an hour of the disaster being averted. First, the nanites had disintegrated while literally millions of people were examining them under scopes. And then the full story came out. Rumors and whispered suspicions had already been leaking like water through a cracked concrete dam, but when this dam burst the force behind it was
unthinkable
.

The aliens had designed the nanites to migrate preferentially to uranium and plutonium. Their goal had been to set off a nuclear Armageddon and reshape the planet’s atmosphere to their needs. And they had been minutes away from success. Only the efforts of a supremely gifted man on the
Copernicus
, an American known simply as Matt, had thwarted this terrible plan.

The news of the failed attack was met with stunned shock and horror. It was met with curses and prayers and words of outrage; uttered in Chinese, Hindu, Bengali, Spanish, Punjabi, Vietnamese, and Hebrew. In Russian, Javanese, Turkish, Pashto, German, Korean, and Telugu. Within twelve hours almost eight billion people, speaking thousands of languages, knew that the Earth had been under attack; that Homo Sapiens had been targeted for extinction; not out of hatred or malice or misunderstanding—but as an
afterthought
. As part of an ice cold calculation made by beings uncountable trillions of miles distant.

Shock, horror, and relief were quickly followed by fear. These aliens were far ahead of humanity technologically. And they were on their way. The Earth wasn’t a mighty planet hanging majestically in space—it was the mother of all sitting ducks.

And while fear remained the prevailing emotion in many; in many others fear had quickly turned to anger—and to resolve.

Who did these aliens think they were?
They didn’t
know
us. They sent their little bugs as impersonally as could be to pave the way for their arrival. And they knew the Earth was filled with sentient beings, because they fully expected nuclear warheads to be available to infiltrate. They just didn’t care.

Yes, Earth had been lucky to survive the initial surprise attack, but now it was
personal
.

Humanity might go down, but it would not go down easily. So much of the planet’s resources were squandered by governments with only their own interests at heart, by countries jockeying for position on the world stage like so many chess pieces, and by war and preparations for war.

This would have to stop.

Humanity had been in a boat rowing in thousands of different directions, pausing only long enough to shoot holes in the boat on a continuous basis—and yet had
still
moved the boat forward a remarkable distance. But things would be different now. When the aliens arrived in thirty-four years they would find out what
eight billion
humans could do when they were all rowing in the same direction. And when they were fighting for their lives. Humanity could be weak and pigheaded and barbaric; a tribal species quick to take offense, war on neighbors, and succumb to violence and self-destructive behavior.

But it was a species you did
not
want to piss off.

Thirty-four years wasn’t long to prepare, and the aliens had a clear head start. But much could be done in thirty-four years. In the thirty years preceding the turn of the century, technology had advanced in ways that were nothing short of stunning. From bulky black and white televisions to huge, sleek monitors with vibrant colors, so thin they could be hung on walls like paintings. From card catalogs in libraries using the Dewy Decimal System to a repository of billions and billions of pages of text, audio, and video, extensively cross-referenced and instantly searchable. From primitive telephones that had to be tethered to walls to cell phones bouncing signals off satellites and across towers to seamlessly connect callers thousands of miles apart; phones possessing far more processing power than computers that had filled entire buildings thirty years before.

No one knew just how much further humanity could propel itself in the next thirty years, but with everyone working in cooperation, it would be even more unimaginable than had been the progress of the previous thirty.

Human beings could be lazy and petty and shortsighted. But they were nothing if not goal oriented. And now the entire species shared a goal. And a purpose.

And they had become very, very motivated.

60

Desh and Griffin landed at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida. Griffin had slept for most of the trip, and Desh had convinced their captors to feed the nearly comatose hacker continuously during his brief periods of consciousness. Given that Griffin had just saved the world, the elite soldiers sharing the ride with them were eager to help him in any way they could—short of releasing him. After they landed, the prisoners were whisked to a safe house at an unknown location by a mercenary posing as a civilian, under Dutton’s orders.

Once inside the safe house, the two men were placed on a black leather couch, their hands cuffed behind their backs, while four mercenaries kept a close watch.

Matt Griffin was sound asleep yet again when Eric Frey walked through the door several hours later, along with Andrew Dutton, fresh from the
Copernicus
.

Frey motioned to two of the mercs, who promptly pulled Desh off the couch and into a standing position. The pudgy scientist had kept his toupee but had shaved his beard, so he now looked like a cross between himself and the fictitious Adam Archibald. He walked over to Desh with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “David Desh,” he said. “Good to see you again. I have to say, I was a little pissed off that you escaped from the
Codon
.”

Desh kept his face passive and didn’t respond.

“You know you cost me an identity,” he said, and without warning punched Desh as hard as he could in the exact place
Desh
had been shot. Desh’s face recoiled in pain and it was all he could do not to scream out. “
Not to mention a very nice yacht
,” finished Frey, seething, as though Desh had tortured a loved one.

“I don’t know,” spat Desh through clenched teeth. “I thought it was a little
garish
.”

Frey delivered another blow to the same spot, and this time tears came to Desh’s eyes.

“I’d heard your gunshot wound was progressing nicely,” said Frey. “But still not fully healed, I see.”

Desh gritted his teeth while he waited for the waves of pain to recede.
Not a good idea
, he thought. It was stupid to wave a red cape in front of a bull for no reason. If he was going to risk this kind of retaliation, at least it should be for a purpose—like trying to stir the pot. He straightened to his full height again and shot Andrew Dutton a look of contempt. “So how do you feel about being the lapdog of this pudgy asshole?” he said. “That’s got to be humiliating. I bet it gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

Desh braced himself for another blow, but instead Frey just gave him a look of mild amusement. “It’s not going to work, Desh,” he said calmly. “Andrew knows where his bread is buttered. I created his identity and arranged for him to assume the role he’s in now. His title is little more than a cover. He wields more military and black-ops power than any other civilian in Washington. And I finance a lifestyle far above his pay grade. He knows if he sticks with me he’ll have more power than he’s ever dreamed of.” He smiled icily. “He also knows I’ve taken out an insurance policy. If anything happens to me, a hit is put out on him, financed by a considerable sum of money that becomes available for this purpose upon my death. I learned from Putnam and Alan Miller that when working with people of, um . . . questionable . . . morals, you can’t be too careful. You need to have leverage.”

“So what shoe did you scrape Dutton off of?”

Frey laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you right now. But suffice it to say, he’s one of
my
kind of people. In fact, he makes me look like
Santa Claus
.”

Desh’s upper lip curled up in revulsion. Given how much Frey liked having kids on his lap, the thought of him as Santa Claus was highly disturbing.

Frey nodded toward Matt Griffin on the couch. “While your friend is sleeping—which is rude if you ask me—I need you to call Kira Miller for me. When she answers, tell her you want to have a video call with her and have her go to a desktop computer to receive it.”

“We have a secure version of Skype on our phones,” noted Desh.

“First off, since you’ve forgotten, you didn’t bring your phone with you to
Copernicus
. So you’ll be using mine. And second, I want to have a steady, crisp image of her from a high-end webcam. She’s a beautiful girl. I want to be sure to see every last line in her face.”

Desh’s jaw tightened. “What makes you think I’ll lift a finger to do what you ask?”

“Do you always have to be so cliché?” said Frey in contempt. “Really?” He paused. “Okay, I’ll play along. I won’t waste time threatening you. The cliché says that noble dumbasses like you will sacrifice themselves for the cause. But it also says you won’t sacrifice
others
. Make the call, or I blow away Matt’s kneecap.” Frey glanced over at the large hacker and shrugged. “I don’t know, something like that just might be enough to wake him.”

Desh stared deeply into Frey’s eyes and detected not the slightest hint of compassion or any evidence he was bluffing. Reluctantly, Desh nodded his agreement.

One of the mercs cut him loose while his three companions stood back, their automatic weapons trained on his chest. When his hands were free, Frey tossed him a phone. “Here. And don’t get any cute ideas. If you don’t convince her you’re your own man, Matt here will never walk again.” To underscore his point he took out his gun, chambered a round, and held the barrel just a few inches from Griffin’s left knee. “Make your performance convincing,” he warned.

Kira’s phone didn’t identify the incoming caller, so she answered uncertainly, but when she heard Desh’s voice she became ecstatic. “
David!
” she squealed happily. “
Thank God
. I heard about what happened on
Copernicus
—about Matt stopping doomsday—but why didn’t you call? I’ve been worried to death.”

“Everything’s fine,” Desh assured her, not allowing his voice to betray the strain he was under. “The world really dodged a bullet this time. I’ll tell you all about it, but first I’d like to show you something. And I want you to see it on a big screen. How far away are you from the computer in the conference room?”

“Three or four minutes.”

“Great, I’ll be waiting for you online when you get there,” he said, and then ended the connection.

“Well done,” said Frey, reholstering his gun and retrieving his phone. “Matt gets to keep his kneecap for a while longer.” He removed a gellcap from his pocket and swallowed it. “I want to be at my best for my conversation with the esteemed Kira Miller,” he explained to Desh.

Frey had the mercenaries bind Desh once again, this time leashing him to a heavy desk, and then dismissed all but Dutton, who leveled a gun at Desh and kept watch.

Five minutes after Desh had given Frey the IP address for the computer connection, Kira Miller’s face appeared as large as life on a high-definition screen affixed at head height on the wall behind them.

When Eric Frey appeared on
her
screen she shrank back for just an instant.

“Expecting someone else?” asked Frey with a smirk. His eyes were blazing and it was obvious he was now enhanced.

After her initial surprise, Kira’s features became calm and impassive. “So, if it isn’t the smarter version of Eric Frey. And you have David. Can I assume you have Matt as well?”

“Interesting,” said Frey, his voice showing genuine surprise. “You aren’t concerned at all. You’re still missing the fucking point, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” said Kira smoothly. “You had a man on
Copernicus
. You managed to capture David and Matt despite the promises made by your puppet, the colonel. And now you want to trade them for my longevity therapy.”

Frey’s eyes widened. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You don’t
care
what happens to Desh. You’d prefer I didn’t kill Matt here, but it wouldn’t trouble you a bit. You may be colder even than I am. What a glorious bitch you are.”

Desh held his breath for several long seconds, waiting for Kira’s strenuous denial of Frey’s accusations.
But none came.
Which meant that what Frey said was
true
. Enhanced, he could not be deceived. Even if she was a split personality, she was telling the truth as that part of her personality knew it, or Frey would have called her on it.

Frey shot Desh a broad, cruel smile, knowing exactly what was going through his mind and that it was causing more pain than the two physical blows he had landed earlier.

Frey turned back to the monitor and to Kira Miller. “You were
hoping
I would contact you,” he continued, reading her like a book, his eyes still blazing with an inner fire. “Because you want to team up with me.” He paused. “You know I can read your body language with perfect accuracy, so when I ask a question, you already answer it. But for the benefit of Mr. Dutton and your boy toy,” he added, throwing Desh a self-satisfied smirk, “why don’t you spell it out? The pained, betrayed look on your beau’s face is priceless. Hearing about your betrayals in your own voice is like repeated daggers to his throat. Only he survives each time so the next one can have its full effect.”

“Nice thought picture,” said Kira dryly. “Okay, I’ll pretend you’re normal and spell it out. I was a split personality for many months while I grappled with myself. My enhanced personality and my normal personality waged quite a battle. In the end my enhanced personality won, assuming control even when I’m normal. So now I’m an integrated personality—with
her
personality traits.
Thank fucking God
,” she added passionately. “No more pathetic, misguided attempts at altruism. No more stubbornly ignoring my own best interests. Normal Kira’s personality is enough to make a
saint
vomit. Gods should act like Gods, not mice.”