Prodigal (56 page)

The speaker piped up, a stern voice on the other end.

“
Ghostrider,
this is Manhattan free flight. We have you at the outer marker. Be advised that you are entering restricted airspace. Vector to zero-one-zero immediately. Do not approach or you will be fired upon.”

Nathan’s relief soured into anger.

“I don’t think you
understand,
free flight,” he shot back. “I’m declaring an emergency. I need to set down
now.
”

“We’re aware of your status,
Ghostrider
. Regardless, you are ordered to vector course zero-one-zero and await escort.”

“And how long is
that
supposed to take?”

As if answering, a bright flash exploded around Nathan. Pulse beams crossed in front of
Ghostrider
’s nose, blasting him like antiaircraft fire. The ship cavitated off a concussive wave, dropping over thirty meters before the foils could grab more air. Nathan banked into a clumsy evasive move, just as two interceptors roared past him.

“Shit!”

The interceptors peeled away from each other, coming around in a graceful arc to assume an escort formation. They flew in close, boxing Nathan in on both sides, allowing him no room to maneuver. Even if he could have, there was no way for
Ghostrider
to outrun them.

What the hell is going on here?

The pilot on his starboard edged in even farther. Hidden by his helmet and oxygen mask, he barely seemed human. He pointed at Nathan and motioned down, ordering
Ghostrider
to follow.

“Welcome home,” Nathan muttered.

Lea watched Didi Novak from outside the isolation ward, monitoring the examination through the one-way glass. The man she knew only as Commander Straka lay on a diagnostic bed, patiently enduring the good doctor’s ministrations while she ran a battery of tests—each seemingly more obscure than the last. Lea didn’t precisely know what Trevor Bostic was after when he ordered the exam, or why he had been so insistent—but something didn’t add up, and she could only hope that Straka could provide some answers.

Novak finished up with one of her charts, a grave expression haunting her face as she read the results. Just as quickly, she turned it off—resuming her friendly, professional demeanor when she went back over to Straka, patting him gently on the shoulder as she excused herself. She then exited the ward, immediately joining Lea in the observation room. She allowed the door to click shut behind her before she spoke, handing the chart to Lea.

Lea mulled it over, a complex list of chemical compounds Novak had found during the toxicology screen.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Yes,” Novak drew out, “but not for any of the obvious reasons. The screen turned up negative for pathogens, but I did find highly concentrated levels of betaflex compound in his bloodstream.”

“How high?”

“Lethal, I’m afraid.”

Lea glanced at Straka again, wondering if he knew.

“How did it happen?”

“According to the commander, self-inflicted,” Novak said. “It must have been a series of massive doses, taken in rapid succession.”

Lea sighed.

“How long does he have?”

“Betaflex acts as a slow nerve agent,” the GME explained. “The effect is degenerative, over an extended period of time—but in these amounts, it won’t be long. Best guess—not more than forty-eight hours.”

Lea nodded, passing the report back to Novak on her way out.

“What are you going to tell him?” the GME asked.

“The truth,” Lea said as the door closed, “if that’s what he wants.”

Nathan spotted the woman hovering at the edge of his room, studying him with wary eyes. He had a hard time believing she worked for the Collective—mainly because she didn’t look at him like a prisoner, a first since he had been rushed in here. She was also bruised and battered, fresh bandages on her head and hands. Corporate types rarely got their hands dirty, much less beaten up. That was enough for him to take a shine to her.

“Hey,” Nathan said. “You here to run some more tests?”

“No,” the woman said, walking over to his bedside. “We’re all done with that.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “I was starting to run out of samples.”

The woman smiled, but sadly.

“Nathan Straka,” he said, offering his hand.

“Lea Prism,” she replied, accepting his gesture.

“You the person I’m supposed to talk to?”

“That’s what my boss tells me.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“It’s been a crazy week.”

“You could say that,” Nathan agreed, the conversation lapsing into silence while he tried to figure Lea out. He didn’t have her pegged for Special Services—if she was, the first thing out of her mouth would have been some kind of threat. Lea seemed more like
him,
trapped here against her will. “They fill you in on my story?”

“Yes,” Lea replied.

“Then you know you’ve got big trouble headed this way.”

“JTOC is monitoring your ship right now,” Lea assured him. “They’ll take the appropriate action when it arrives.”

“That’s what my captain thought she was doing,” Nathan said, the memory of it nearly overwhelming him. “Look where
that
got us.”

Lea sat down on the bed and regarded him with sympathetic eyes.

“These survivors you discovered,” she began, “you said they were soldiers—Solar Expeditionary Forces. If you were attempting a rescue, why did they take over your ship?”

“It wasn’t a
rescue
—it was recovery. They were in stasis when we found them.”

Lea frowned.

“Stasis? How could they—?”

“One of my officers, Eve Kellean, revived them,” Nathan interrupted, forcing back his anger. “Made it seem like they were under, even though they were conscious the whole time.” He trailed off into a long, tense pause, hoping Lea believed him. “I don’t know how, but they managed to jack our computer core. By the time I figured out what was happening, it was too late.”

“What you’re saying is impossible, Nathan.”

He sank back into his pillow.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “But I’m telling you—whatever’s flying that ship toward Earth isn’t human. They’re
more
than that.” He shook his head, trying to explain in terms she would understand. “It’s like they’ve changed—
mutated
somehow. It had to be the Mons virus—”

“Wait a second,” Lea interjected. “They were
infected
?”

“Yeah,” Nathan said, playing off her reaction. “As soon as we found out, we tried to dump them overboard. That’s when they killed my crew.” He leaned in toward Lea. “You know something about this?”

Lea hesitated, as if she had no desire to confirm the worst. Instead, she answered his question with another one of her own.

“Their behavior,” she said, “describe it.”

“I don’t know,” Nathan began, turning those events over in his mind. “They all appeared to be in deep stasis, except…” When the words stopped, his expression became vacant.

“
Any
detail,” Lea coaxed, “no matter how small.”

He blinked several times, then turned to her in revelation.

“The monitors,” he said. “The readings—their vital signs, brain wave activity. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but now it makes sense.”

“What?”

“They were in perfect sync.”

Lea let go of him, some unknown horror dawning across her face.

“Like they were linked?” she asked. “Like a hive mind?”

Nathan shot upright in his bed.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Previous experience,” she said. “An outlaw group has been developing a technology to link human minds into a biological network. The protocols for that network are based on a genetically engineered agent—an agent
based
on the Mons virus.”

Nathan felt his jaw drop, his heart racing.

“It’s possible that your survivors are linked in the same way,” Lea finished. “That over time, the Mons virus did naturally what this new technology is being manipulated to do—create a living network more powerful than anything we’ve ever seen.”

My God,
Nathan thought.
What have you done, Kellean?

Lea lowered her eyes.

“Were they still in quarantine when you abandoned ship?”

“Yes,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “But I doubt they are now. Kellean probably sprang them after they repressurized the ship.”

Lea touched him on the shoulder, a cold comfort—but welcome nonetheless.

“You did the right thing, Commander. I know all about these people. You can’t fight them on your own.”

“Maybe not,” Nathan replied, “but I sure as hell could have tried.”

Lea seemed as if she wanted to say more—but then Dr. Novak appeared at the door again, motioning Lea over. Nathan listened in on their conversation, which Lea made no attempt to hide.

“What is it?” she asked.

“JTOC just called.” Novak spoke in a strained tone. “That ship you were talking about is about to assume orbit.”

Lea glanced back at Nathan.

“He’ll need to be there,” she said. “Can you fix him up?”

It was obvious from Novak’s expression that she advised against it, but Nathan cut off any argument she was about to make.

“Give me whatever it takes,” he said. “You couldn’t keep me away.”

Novak exchanged a quick look with Lea, who nodded. The doctor then ordered a hypospray of high-grade stims, which she injected into Nathan’s neck. The clutter of his perception cleared up in an instant, though the fatigue remained—always in the background, reminding Nathan that something in his body was amiss. He didn’t need Novak or Lea to tell him that.

I don’t have much time,
he decided, sliding out of bed.
But I’ll be goddamned if I spend the rest of it running.

Up at his command post in JTOC, General Tambor barked out orders left and right. His people reported back to him from dozens of stations, relaying information in a steady mantra of shouts and intercom chatter. The alert siren had silenced itself, though the defense condition lights on one of the overhead displays flashed bright yellow. The other screens showered the operations staff with reams of data, most of it downloaded from patrol satellites and earthbound tracking stations—all of them focused on the approaching space vessel.

Lea found Trevor Bostic occupying a small corner of the command post, seated in a swivel chair and biting his index finger nervously. He stood up when he spotted Lea and Nathan walking off the elevator, hastily assuming a cool corporate façade in her presence—but Lea shot him a look that told him she knew otherwise.

Tiernan was also there, helping coordinate the tactical staff. “Tell Space Command to patch their status feeds directly through JTOC,” he said, transmitting his instructions via the minicom in his ear. “We need full control over all their ASATs until further notice. Anybody gives you shit, send them back to me—got it?”

Lea turned away when Tiernan looked at her. In spite of everything, she had to admire the way he handled the pressure.

“So what have we got?” General Tambor asked.

“Orbital defenses are online and at our command,” Tiernan reported. “We’re moving antisatellite weapons to intercept the inbound craft as a precautionary measure. They’ll be in position inside of three minutes.”

“What about ground-based assets?”

“Six pulse batteries along the East Coast are within firing range,” Tiernan explained, pointing them out on a map display. “We’ve also put fighter wings out of New York, Norfolk, and Washington on full alert. They’re ready to scramble as soon as you give the order.”

“Do it,” Tambor said, then turned to Nathan. The general appraised him for a moment before asking, “You’re the only one to make it off that ship?”

“Yes, sir,” Nathan answered.