Post-Human Trilogy Part 3

"I think they'd appreciate that," Wilson replied as they entered the shade of the hangar, the temperature immediately dropping to a relieving degree.

Several feet away, in the shadow of WhiteKnight3's ninety-two-foot wingspan, the three other members of the team came to attention and saluted.

Wilson returned their salute and addressed his team. "SOLO Team Three, this is Captain Emilson. He is our newest and highest-ranking team member!"

"Sir!" the three other members shouted in unison. Each man had been in the process of putting their SOLO suits on. Craig had never seen a SOLO suit before and was amazed at their intricacy. They were black, though the material had a brilliant sheen. Lining the suit appeared to be some sort of metal exoskeleton, the likes of which Craig had never seen, even during his days training at a DARPA facility with Robbie. The boots were reminiscent of those worn by astronauts on the moon, as were the gloves. He shook himself back into the moment and saluted the team.

"At ease. As I said to the commander, from now on, please don't salute me. Refer to me simply as 'Doc.' I am here to learn from you and support you. I defer to each of you from this point forward."

The men relaxed, and Wilson took Craig over to meet the team members individually.

"The a.s.sistant officer in charge on this mission is Lieutenant Commander Weddell," Wilson said as he put his hand on the shoulder of a thin, but strong-looking young man.

Weddell appeared to be no older than twenty-five, and his face was fresh, but there was something in his eyes that revealed the confidence of experience. Craig couldn't help but consider for a moment what a young man such as Weddell would be doing if WWIII hadn't broken out. Would he be an accountant? A lawyer? A school teacher?

"It's good to meet you, Doc," Weddell said with a smile as he shook Craig's hand.

"Likewise," Craig replied, returning the smile.

Wilson turned to the other two members of the team. "These are Lieutenants Klein and Cheng."

Craig shook the hands of both men, each of whom looked equally as una.s.suming as Wilson and Weddell. He felt he could just as easily have been walking into a PTA or neighborhood watch meeting. He'd expected giant, muscle-bound men, but instead he was meeting a group of highly trained, highly specialized regular Joes.

Klein's and Cheng's eyes fell on Robbie, each man sharing identical expressions of tentativeness.

"Listen, fellas," Craig began to address the team, "the robot is here as an insurance policy, that's all. His presence doesn't reflect on the Joint Chiefs' evaluation of your chances of coming back alive."

"With all due respect," Klein replied, "how do you know that? I mean, we've all been through this c.r.a.p before, but we've never had our own personal robotic undertaker along for the ride."

Craig's spine stiffened with surprise at Klein's morbid a.n.a.logy. He smiled and shook his head. "Nah, it's not like that, Lieutenant. Look. This is brand new technology. The only reason these robots aren't included on every mission is because they just came online. When I started my training with Robbie here," Craig continued, gesturing toward the robot, "it was still in the testing phase. He's here because you guys are VIPs, not R.I.P.s, okay?"

Klein nodded. "Yeah, understood, Doc.," he replied. "It's all good."

Craig felt he could detect dubiousness in Klein's tone, hidden deep beneath the highly trained professionalism.

"I understand you haven't been briefed on this mission yet, Doc," Wilson stated.

"That's right," Craig replied, his eyes on the extraordinarily advanced gear that the team members were a.s.sembling. "Everything's top secret. I got a one-page order to join your team for the mission. I don't know anything else about it."

Wilson put his hand on Craig's shoulder and walked him a few paces away from the team as he lowered his voice. "I've got orders to brief you en route, Doc. And let me just say that when you hear the details, I don't think you're gonna be so confident about the whole R.I.P. thing."

6.

s.p.a.ceShip3 wobbled slightly in the turbulence as the 148-foot wingspan of WhiteKnight3 endured the stresses on its carbon composite wing. WhiteKnight3 appeared delicate from afar, but its carbon composite was three times the strength of steel, and the frame made it capable of not only nestling s.p.a.ceShip3 underneath it, but also executing six-g turns. As s.p.a.ceShip3 made the journey up to the 50,000-foot detachment point, there was an air of quiet contemplation amongst the crew.

Commander Wilson broke it as a computer-generated map of the Earth, complete with WhiteKnight3's current position and its trajectory, flashed onto the front screen. "Doc, when we reach 50,000-feet, s.p.a.ceShip3 will detach, and we'll start dropping in a hurry." He grinned. "It's a h.e.l.l of a rush. There's even more of a rush afterward. The hybrid rocket will kick in, and, in a matter of seconds, we'll accelerate to 4,000 kilometers per hour. You're gonna love it."

Craig smiled broadly, the notion that he was on a s.p.a.ceship finally beginning to sink in. Millionaires had been able to travel into s.p.a.ce in the years before the war broke out, but regular people like him could only dream of such an experience. As serious as the moment was, the idea of traveling into s.p.a.ce temporarily made the danger disappear from his mind.

"The distance from New Mexico to Shenzhen," Wilson continued, "is approximately 12,300 kilometers, so even at three times the speed of sound, the flight's still gonna take us three hours-plenty of time for me to brief you on the mission."

"Sounds good, Commander," Craig replied.

"For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride," Lieutenant Commander Weddell added.

Craig turned to the other members of his team, each one smiling. The shared look on their faces was childlike ebullience, thinly veiled behind adult professionalism. It was clear that, despite their personal sacrifices, their loved ones left behind at home, and the mortal danger of the mission, it was all worth it in that moment. These were men slipping the surly bonds of Earth.

"Detach in one minute," said the calm, even tone of WhiteKnight3's pilot over the address system.

"Roger that," replied the equally calm tone of s.p.a.ceShip3's pilot.

"Roger that," echoed Commander Wilson. He turned to his team. "Okay, boys, helmets on and hold on to your b.u.t.ts."

Craig and the others slipped their helmets on and locked them into position, lowering the golden sun-reflective visors.

"Detach in thirty seconds," the WhiteKnight3 pilot said.

"Roger that," s.p.a.ceShip3's pilot repeated.

"c.r.a.p your pants in thirty-one seconds," Lieutenant Cheng said in a low voice.

"Radio silence," Wilson said calmly.

WhiteKnight3's pilot began the final countdown. "Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...ONE! We are a go for detachment."

"Roger that," s.p.a.ceShip3's pilot confirmed.

There was a thump against the hull of s.p.a.ceShip3's roof as the mechanized claws detached themselves, and the vehicle began to drop away from its mothership. Craig's posterior immediately came out of his bucket seat, only his harness keeping him from hitting the ceiling. The seconds ticked by, painfully slowly as the ship continued to drop a safe distance from WhiteKnight3.

Next, the hybrid rocket came to life. To Craig, it felt as though the hand of G.o.d had taken hold of the ship and thrust it forward, the nearly unimaginable power seemingly too much to be manmade. Barely controlled technology blistered its way up a steep incline, and the ship throttled through the upper edges of the atmosphere. Craig could hardly move his neck in his suit and helmet, but he managed to turn his head just enough to catch the spectacular view from the closest window. The blue of the sky began to recede, first becoming an indigo before finally giving way to black.

Suddenly, the engines stopped. It took Craig a moment to accept that the silence wasn't simply the result of the engines having been switched off; it was the silence of s.p.a.ce that was so unsettling. There was no more shimmering and shuddering of the fuselage through turbulence, no more sounds of wind drag stressing the wings. s.p.a.ceShip3 was now living up to its name, a ship in s.p.a.ce, the truly endless ocean of blackness enveloping Craig for the first time in his life.

"You're an astronaut now, Doc," Commander Wilson observed, his tone cheerful. Craig looked up to see his commander unstrapping from his seat at the front of the cabin and floating free in the microgravity of sub-orbit. "Congratulations."

Craig wanted to reply, but there were no sufficient words. Instead, his breath caught in his mouth. He hurriedly unbuckled his own seatbelt and stepped up quickly, amazed that the floor didn't welcome him as it had every other moment of his life. Instead, it let him go, his body floating freely through the cabin. "My G.o.d," he whispered.

"Boys, remove the seats," Wilson ordered the rest of the team. Each of them, already unharnessed and floating through the cabin, began detaching the seats from the floor of the ship. "Doc, you're with me. It's time you got briefed."

7.

"Twenty-three hours, twelve minutes, and..." Wilson checked the time readout on his aug gla.s.ses. "...and thirty seconds ago, the USS Independence fired a Trident 2 missile toward Shenzhen, which is, as you now know, our drop point."

Craig swallowed hard when he heard his fears confirmed. "Holy h.e.l.l. Trident 2s are equipped with sixteen separate warheads." Sam was right, he thought. They're going to drop me right into nuclear fallout.

"That's right," Wilson replied. The screen at the front of the ship showed a top view map of the missile's trajectory. "It split into sixteen, with one warhead hitting its true target and the other fifteen forming a perimeter 200 miles in diameter-basically, the manmade gates of h.e.l.l."

"What was the true target?"

"Hopefully, the Chinese A.I. mainframe."

Craig was silent for a moment. "Holy h.e.l.l."

"You said that already," Wilson replied with a grin as he slapped Craig hard on the back. "This is the big one, Doc, but with all the secrecy beforehand, I'm sure you already had your suspicions."

"I did. It's something else to have it confirmed, however."

Wilson nodded, though the muscles near his eyes tightened ever so slightly, making Craig suspect he was being read. "Intelligence believes the A.I. mainframe was located in a bunker about one kilometer below the surface. Our mission is to get in, get boots on the ground, and a.s.sess whether or not the strike was effective or ineffective. Basically, to provide ocular proof that the Chinese A.I. threat has been eliminated."

"Why can't that be confirmed with satellites?"

Wilson turned to the screen and swiped it, bringing up a live satellite image of the east coast of mainland China.

Craig let out a low whistle in response to seeing the image. A colossal dust cloud larger than the state of Texas had enveloped the area, making it impossible for the satellite to peer through. "Dear Lord. This is...Biblical."

"What you are seeing is the result of decades of desertification in China, combined with sixteen nuclear detonations sending yellow dust into the sky. Even with the best resolution in the world, there's no way we can confirm the kill from s.p.a.ce," Wilson further explained. "The Joint Chiefs don't trust drones either, and if we don't get in there and confirm the kill, the Chinese may be able to recover the A.I. or the wreckage and reconst.i.tute somewhere else. As you can see, this mission is as top secret and high priority as they get. If we're successful, this war is over."

"So the perimeter the other nukes created is all about giving us a head start."

"That's right," Wilson confirmed. "The Chinese still don't know we can do suborbital insertions, so they'll concentrate their energy on protecting the perimeter until it's safe to enter. We're gonna beat 'em to the punch by jumping as soon as the fallout has reached the surface. With any luck, it'll take the Chinese anywhere from several minutes to an hour to mount a HALO insertion."

"And we'll already be finished," Craig added. "What if the A.I. is still functional?"

"Let's hope not, but if it is, it's defenses should be utterly destroyed. We'll be packing more than enough explosives to finish the job."

"All of that sounds reasonable," Craig replied, "but there's one glaring omission. If the Chinese are going to be collapsing in on us, I get how we're going to beat them to the punch on the insertion, but what about the extraction?"

Commander Wilson turned his head quickly, appearing once again to try to read Craig's face. "I thought maybe you'd be able to fill us in on that aspect, Doc."

"Me?" Craig responded, perplexed.

Wilson's smile returned, but this time there was something different-something behind it-an impurity. "We're not idiots, Doc."

At that moment, Craig realized that things were far worse than he'd previously thought. "Are you telling me the extraction is supposed to occur after we're dead?"

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "You seriously didn't know that already?"

"Hey, Commander, honestly, if this is their plan, I had no previous knowledge of it. I thought I was here to provide medical support. That's all."

After a moment of continuing to read Craig's face, Wilson finally nodded, apparently satisfied that Craig wasn't playing poker and there was no bluff to call. "Okay. Well, it doesn't matter whether I believe you or not. The fact is, there's an extraction plan, but it seems pretty farfetched. When we heard they were sending a MAD bot along with S.A. body bags, we put two and two together."

"What's the official plan?" Craig asked.

"The exoskeletons are our only transportation. With the respirocytes and the exoskeletons working in tandem, we're supposed to sprint for over an hour to the top of Maluan Mountain. Stealth Blackhawks will apparently be there to meet us."

"Sounds like a pretty typical extraction," Craig observed.

"Yeah, but these helicopters are supposed to make it through what will likely be a h.e.l.l-storm of Chinese air patrols in the area," Wilson pointed out. "It won't be impossible if their side is in enough disarray, but it seems like a long shot to me. If I were a betting man, I'd have to say it looks like we're about to punch a one-way ticket."

"So," Craig began as he lightly pivoted on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet to keep his upright position in the microgravity, "you think the real plan is to leave us stranded on the mountain? And that, with our respirocyte supply dwindling, our only chance of survival will be to put ourselves into suspended animation?"

"That sounds like the most likely outcome," Wilson replied.

Craig turned his head and regarded Robbie; the machine was floating in the microgravity, unmoving like a metal corpse, lightly brushing against the walls of the fuselage and bobbing freely throughout. "I'm not looking forward to that," Craig stated resignedly.

"How do those things work anyway?" Wilson asked. "The body bags, I mean."

"Hydrogen sulfide," Craig replied. "The bags are cooled, and small amounts of hydrogen sulfide will put a human into a suspended state. They've been designed so soldiers in danger of suffering catastrophic blood loss on the battlefield can be put into hibernation. The bleeding stops, and their injuries can be treated when their body arrives at a hospital, even if it's several hours later."

"Will it work if oxygen deprivation is the problem?" Wilson astutely asked.

Craig nodded. "Yeah."

"And the bra.s.s knows this?"

"Of course."

"Then, Doc, it looks to me like we're about to become frozen packages to be extracted at the United States military's leisure."

8.

Samantha Emilson sat alone in the dark, waiting to see who would be next to come through the iron door. She'd been in the room for over an hour-waiting. She'd experienced this before; keeping her waiting was a standard interrogation technique. As usual, she sat quietly frustrated and stared straight forward at the door, thinking of all the work that she could have been doing instead.

However, there was something a little different about her agonizing wait this time. Usually, the whole lab was dragged in together and questioned. The FBI wanted to know everything about the research taking place in the Aldous Gibson lab. They constantly checked and rechecked, even though the lab worked with multiple government grants from DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. The constant monitoring of their work was stressful, to say the least, but at least it had always been about the lab.

This time, however, it appeared to be only about her.

Finally, the metal door slowly creaked open and the friendly, wrinkled countenance of Professor Aldous Gibson appeared.

"Aldous!" she exclaimed, relieved, as she sprang to her feet and embraced him, happy to see a friendly face. "What's going on? Do you know?"