State of Emergency (5 page)

'You know the trouble with this place?' Josh Thompson
observed, leaning back in his favourite armchair close to the
pool table in the main recreation area. 'There aren't enough
women working here.'

'How very socially aware of you, Josh,' Stephanie Jacobs
retorted, turning away from the TV, which was showing a
rerun of
The Sopranos
.

He laughed. 'Steph, you'll come out to dinner with me at
the beach bar tonight, won't you?'

'Sorry, I have to wash my hair.'

'Ouch,' Tom sniggered.

There was a sound at the door, and a cheer went up from
the five people gathered in the room as Maiko Buchanan
walked in.

'Fuck! It's a Borg drone,' Tom Erickson yelled, wheeling
over to Mai. Motioning that she should bend her head
down, he quickly inspected her neck. 'Nope, can't see any
bolts,' he said.

'Well, that's a relief!' Maiko laughed, and walked over to
Stephanie, Pete, Josh and Mark.

'How're you feeling?' Mark asked.

'Great,' she replied instinctively. She rubbed her neck.
The day before, she had volunteered to be the first of the
group to undergo three hours of surgery to implant a set
of devices into her body. This was her first time up and
about.

She was equipped with three enhancements. The first was
a nano-processor planted just behind each eye, expanding her
visual range dramatically. At the same time, it gave her far better
vision in low light. The processor was so small that a million
of them could fit onto a pin head, but it had the computing
power of a conventional desktop. The second implant was
a cochlear chip to enhance her hearing. Lastly, Maiko was
implanted with a nano-processor in her brain stem. When
needed, this controlled the release of a range of biochemicals
that performed a variety of functions – pain relief, hunger relief,
anti-motion-sickness, energy-boosting; even, in the direst of
circumstances, voluntary euthanasia. They were triggered by
the main computer centre at Base One but required a coded
numeric sequence from the team member in the field.

'It's a weird sensation,' Maiko said, 'but the doc assures
me it's just a matter of getting used to the stuff. And if I
don't take to the implants they can be atomised remotely.
It's pretty cool. I feel like the six-million-dollar woman!'

'Costs a bit more than that these days,' Mark retorted. 'And
I believe you're next, Pete,' he added, glancing his way.

'I'm late already,' Pete said, jumping up rather enthusiastically.
'I'll see you in a couple of days.'

'Yeah, in all the colours of the rainbow simultaneously,'
Tom sniggered.

'Don't worry, computer boy,' Pete shot back. 'I'll ask the
doc to rig up a cyber interface so you can get nice and cuddly
with the mainframe. With an I/O port right here, lad.' And
he pointed to the middle of his forehead.

'Bring it on, dude! Bring. It. On.'

'Right,' Mark said as the door closed behind Pete. 'Mai,
are you up to a flight simulation today?'

'I guess. It should be a doddle with these nanobots in my
cranium.'

The four field members of E-Force were kitted out in their
operational bodysuits. These were made from a 'smart'
fabric, a blend of manmade fibres including latex and a
polymer produced from ultra-fine strands of carbon called
carbothreads. But the suits were much more than a clever
fabric. Referred to as 'cybersuits', they were part-garment,
part-machine, so light and thin the wearer was hardly aware
of them. Across the chest was written E-FORCE, and under
this the name of the team member.

Woven into the fabric were millions of nano devices
and sensors that automatically adjusted the flow of liquids
through microscopic tubes interwoven with the threads of
the fabric. These cooled or warmed the wearer as necessary.
The suit could also supply nutrients, blood and other bodily
fluids through an almost invisible catheter. As well as this,
nanobots in the suit communicated directly with the
enhancements implanted into each of the field members of
E-Force. Combined, these allowed the wearer to survive for
weeks in even the most extreme environments. It also meant
the team had no need for heavy equipment such as phones,
laptops or sensor devices. Via the cybersuit, they were fully
connected – wired to the internet with a connection speed
of ten gigabits per second, thousands of times faster than
the latest conventional connections.

The team was standing in Hangar C, the smallest of three
at Base One. It was a vast empty space, except for a row of
glass pods standing in a line stretching from one end of the
300-foot-long building to the other. The pods were cylinders
fifteen feet in diameter and twelve high. They were each
placed about five yards apart.

At one end of the hangar stood a control room raised
about 25 feet above the ground on steel supports. It was
accessed by a steel stair. The control room was very narrow,
barely wide enough for two people to pass each other, but it
was packed with high-tech equipment. A holographic view
screen stood at one end, and there was a row of computer
stations with their 3D displays projected in the air above
virtual keyboards. The holographic image at the end of the
room and the computer holoscreens showed the same thing
– the four pods in the hangar.

'Okay. This is the set-up,' Mark said. 'Each pod is a
mock-up of a fission reactor core, modelled on the reactor
at Philli C on the Eastern Seaboard. It has an inner skin, a
smaller cylinder, floor to ceiling. In our scenario, the core
has gone critical. You have to go into the chamber between
the inner and the outer cylinders and secure the three
stabiliser devices there – A, B and C. These will control the
core breach. An extra problem comes from the reactor's
defence system, which will detect any alien presence. After
45 seconds it releases a toxic gas into the chamber. When
this reaches a concentration of 0.400 parts per million, it's
deadly. Once the third device is in place, the system will
shut down and the defence matrix be neutralised. Have
you got that?'

Pete, Josh, Maiko and Stephanie nodded in unison.

'Now, just to make it a little more interesting. One of the
pods is real.'

'What?' Josh asked.

'Okay, not
real
real, but active. That is, the gas is real. Real
deadly.' Mark stared at the four. 'Right. We're all cool with
that?'

They said nothing.

'I'll take that as a yes.'

'One question.'

Mark looked at Maiko.

'Where will you be?'

'Tucked up nice and warm in the control room,' Mark
replied, flicking a glance at the box on stilts at the far end.
'The code for the locks is 4321. On my mark . . . Go!'

Each of the four dashed to a pod, punched in the code and
dived in. The doors swished closed, sealing them inside.

It was a tight squeeze between the inner and outer skins.
Through the glass they could just see Mark striding towards
the control room. The inner chamber was semi-opaque,
changing colour constantly. Each of them set to work
immediately. The alarm system would be kicking in in little
more than 30 seconds.

Pete was the first to find the stabiliser marked Device A. He
sized it up and found a catch on the side. It snapped open.
Four small holes appeared and metal feet sprung out. Each
was attached to a sucker pad. There was just enough space to
twist the contraption round. He was about to fit it to the glass
cylinder when, right on cue, the alarm went off.

The screeching sound reverberated around the hangar,
but it was loudest inside the pods. Each member of the team
had the sound instantly filtered automatically by the nano-processors
in their cochlear implants.

The clock was now ticking.

Within ten seconds, all four team members had their first
device locked into place. Mai was the first to the second
device. She crouched down to pick it up. A computerised
voice inside her right ear told her that the toxicity level in
the chamber had now reached 0.100 parts per million. Still
well within safe limits.

Twenty seconds later, Pete was screwing in the final sucker
on Device B as Josh, Mai and Stephanie each dashed towards
Device C.

'
Toxicity level 0.250 parts per million
,' the computer voice
announced.

As Stephanie pulled one of the feet from the slot at the
base of Device C, she began to feel queasy.

'
Toxicity level 0.325 parts per million
.'

Her fingers opened the catch and she depressed the release
button for the four suckers. 'Damn!' she said aloud. 'What's
happening? Is this a simulation or for real?'

Her words came through loud in the speaker in the control
room.

'I've got the live one, haven't I?' she said without missing
a beat, as she tugged again at the last foot to be released on
Device C – it was stuck fast.

'Steph!' Mark's voice reached her ear. 'You've got the
active chamber. Get your mask on!'

'Mask? What mask?'

'The mask – oh, for God's sake!' Mark turned to the
operatives at the console beside him. 'She doesn't have her
helmet. Unlock that door – now!'

The man nearest him stabbed at the virtual keyboard.
Nothing happened. He hit the same sequence again.
Nothing.

'What's happening?' Stephanie called through the
communicator.

'We're opening up the pod, Steph. Don't worry.'

'It won't open,' the operative said.

'What?' Mark's mind was racing.

'Steph,' he said, making a supreme effort to keep his
voice calm. 'We're having a problem opening the door
automatically. I'm coming down to use the manual override.
Can you get the third device up?'

'I'm trying . . .'

'
Toxicity level 0.385 parts per million
.'

At that moment, Pete Sherringham burst out of his pod,
followed a moment later by Mai, then Josh. They looked
pleased with themselves before noticing the fourth pod. A
second later, they saw Mark running down the metal stairs.
He was yelling to them.

Realisation hit them and they dashed to the door of
Stephanie's pod.

Inside, Stephanie was choking, her eyes streaming, but
her only hope lay in prising the fourth sucker pad out of its
housing. She punched at the button repeatedly but it simply
would not shift. Trying to suppress her panic, she looked
around the narrow curving corridor searching for something
to dislodge the foot of the device, but there was nothing.

She hit it again. Nothing. She could hardly see the button
now, her eyes were filled with water. The nanobots in her
suit were working overtime pumping her with stimulants to
help her fight the effects of the gas, but there was only so
much they could do.

'
Toxicity level 0.390 parts per million
.'

Josh was running towards a control panel set into the
wall at the far end of the hangar. Pete found a wrench and
raced over to the door of Stephanie's's pod, where Mai was
vainly attempting to force it open with her bare hands. He
reached the pod and started to smash away at the keypad to
the side of the portal.

Mark reached the control panel at almost the same moment
as Josh. 'Stand back,' he called. 'I know the sequence.' He
began depressing keys on the numeric pad.

Stephanie was on the verge of passing out when the foot
of the device suddenly sprung out. Shocked, she almost
dropped it. It slipped to the floor. Steadying herself against
the outer wall of the chamber, she pushed herself forward
and held out the stabiliser, feet extended, ready to fix it into
place.

'
Toxicity level 0.395 parts per million
.'

She could hear someone bashing at the door, muffled
voices. The light in the chamber seemed to fade, then
brighten. She began to lose focus and could not help her
head falling forward. She caught herself.

'
Toxicity level 0.399 parts per million
.'

Her legs buckled and she fell back against the outer wall,
the stabiliser tumbling onto her chest. She gasped and
everything faded to a bleached and formless white.

Pestilence ran his hand along the withers of his favourite
mare, Hermione, and whispered quietly in her ear. He and
a stableboy had been up all night with the horse, helping
her deliver a very large foal just before dawn. The spindly
brown thing that had emerged from Hermione was already
standing, albeit wobbly. She looked like a perfect clone of
her mother.

Pestilence walked out into the orange glow of sunrise as
morning broke over 100,000 acres of green. Screwing up
his eyes and raising a hand to his brow, he could just see,
coming in from the south, the black shape of a chopper. It
began to slow, lowering towards the helipad 50 yards from
the ranch. Pestilence could see two figures in the cockpit.
Turning, he walked away towards the house to wash away
the stench of the stable.

Twenty minutes later, Pestilence had changed into an
immaculate pair of Levis, soft leather boots and a checked
shirt. Striding into his library, he saw the Dragon sitting
in an armchair close to the roaring fire. Without a word,
Pestilence settled into the chair opposite and gazed at the
fire. The two men were silent for at least 30 seconds.

'We congratulate you on the Hollywood Hills assignment,'
Pestilence said eventually, without looking round.

The Dragon said nothing, staring into the flames.

Pestilence stood and took two steps towards a painting
of a black stallion to the right of the fireplace. He touched
the corner of the ornate gold frame and the picture lifted.
Inside was a metal panel with a line of three lights beside it.
He placed his palm on the plate, tapped a keypad, and the
panel slid to one side. Pestilence put his hand into the cavity
and withdrew a cardboard folder. He closed the panel and
lowered the picture, then returned to his armchair. Once
seated, he handed the folder to the Dragon and looked into
his face. 'Read,' he said.

The Dragon studied the contents of the folder carefully and
Pestilence began to talk. 'Kyle Foreman,' he said. 'US senator,
43 at his last birthday. High-flier, very, very bright, and very,
very determined. Tipped to become the 45th president.
Extremely popular in the Senate, and with the public.'

'I've heard of him,' the Dragon said slowly, his faint
accent just detectable.

'He's big on the environment. Formed OneEarth two years
ago. It's become the fastest growing cross-party movement
in history. As I said, he's popular . . . but not with us.' And
Pestilence produced a cynical smile.

'What do you have in mind?'

Pestilence was staring at the flames again. 'How many
men and women have you killed for us?' he asked, his eyes
fixed on the ever-changing patterns of yellow and orange.

'Twenty-four.'

'Eliminating the good senator will be messy. He is very
well protected, but we've given a great deal of thought to the
matter, my . . . colleagues and I. Serious collateral damage
will be unavoidable. How do you feel about serious collateral
damage, my friend?'

The Dragon stared at him without expression.

'It could mean putting at least one zero on the end of
your tally for us. How do you feel about
that
?'

The Dragon's face was an emotionless mask. 'When do I
start?' he said.