Area 51: Excalibur-6 (8 page)

As quickly as information was going into Aspasia's Shadow's essence, orders were being issued by him.

Kelly tried to keep track of what he was doing but it was like watching Niagara Falls and trying to discern each drop of water going over the edge. Still she did glean a few things. And then she waited, crouching, hiding inside the computer, until Aspasia's Shadow broke free and his essence was gone. She had an idea of his plans, but more importantly, she had an idea of his priorities.

Then she began to work on the message she would try to send.

Aspasia's Shadow felt more confident as he disconnected from the guardian and went back to the Grail. Things were

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progressing well and he had a good idea what Artad had planned. He had instructed the guardian to implement a strategy to counter Artad's efforts to acquire Excalibur, and to recover the Master Guardian itself. The latter was something he had begun planning many years ago. Aspasia's Shadow had many potential plans in place.

He retrieved the stone and held it over the end of the Grail. The flat surface opened. Aspasia's Shadow slid his hand inside, placing the stone into the slight depression. He gasped as the opening irised shut against his wrist, trapping his hand.

A tingling sensation began to tickle the skin of the hand. The tingling grew stronger, becoming pain. His hand felt as if it were on fire, yet Aspasia's Shadow remained perfectly still. Rivulets of sweat coursed down his pale skin.

Then the pain began to move up his arm toward his shoulder and, strangely, Aspasia's Shadow smiled.

All of Easter Island was enclosed in a hemispheric shield, impervious to most forms of attack. Inside the shield, on the surface of Easter Island, Aspasia's Shadow's orders only confirmed what had begun days ago. Thousands of humans went about the tasks the nanovirus inside of them directed them to do. At the same time, nanotechs went about their business.

Nanotechnology was a science that human scientists had just begun to explore while the guardian had perfected it. The concept was basic. All things are made from atoms. The properties of those things are determined by the way those atoms are arranged. If atoms could be rearranged at the molecular level then the possibilities of what could be constructed was limitless. Not only that, but the normal waste produced in most manufacturing processes would be eliminated.

The other thing the guardian had perfected with nano-

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technology was self-replication. Its nanotechs could manufacture more of themselves, just as the nanovirus it had invented to control humans could replicate and spread, much like a regular virus. The Guides and the followers who had come to Easter Island, along with all the military personnel who had come into contact with the nanovirus, were now all under the thrall of the guardian.

Two men who had once been Navy SEALs, "Popeye" McGraw and Frank Olivetti, were summoned by the guardian. The two had recently infiltrated the island to try to discover what was happening, but they had been captured and infected with the nanovirus, absorbed into the forces on the island. Under the influence of the nanovirus they walked down the tunnel from the surface to the guardian chamber.

Aspasia's Shadow was lying on the floor to one side of the golden triangle, a smile on his face, eyes closed. The two ignored him and Kelly Reynolds's withered figure as they approached the guardian. The nanovirus was enough to control a person's body, but for what these two would be tasked to do, more control and adaptation was needed.

They both leaned against the side of the pyramid, bodies touching the metal.

They were encompassed in the golden glow, the alien computer working on their minds, transforming them into Guides who would do what they were programmed to without needing constant activity and updating by the nanovirus. In addition to the mission they were given, the skills necessary to accomplish this were also implanted in their minds.

Since they would be traveling far from Easter Island into a harsh environment, a few special measures were taken. While they were still in the thrall of the guardian, several microma-chines skittered across the floor of the cavern, metallic spiders with various appendages poking from their frames. They crawled up the men's bodies and performed several

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modifications to them in conjunction with specific nano-viruses for parts of their bodies.

A miniature satellite transmitter and receiver was inserted just behind their right ears, attached to the skull with bone screws. Skin was grafted over the device. The wire antenna for the satcom was slipped under the skin and looped around the skull. Variations of the nanovirus immediately went to work on healing the incisions. Also, a special form of nanovirus that the guardian had just designed was injected into each man's lungs and went to work on those organs.

When the guardian was done with them, the golden glow faded. Marines scooped up the unconscious and recuperating bodies and carried them out of the chamber to the surface. Other Marines picked up equipment they had been instructed to bring from a supply depot. The SEALs and equipment were carried to an F-14 Tomcat. The Marines stowed the rucksacks full of gear inside the cramped cockpit, before sliding the two unconscious SEALs into the seats and strapping them in. The Marines stepped back and the canopy descended, locking in place. The engine started up and the plane taxied to the end of the runway under the control of its flight computer. A second plane was right behind it, an S-3 Lockheed Viking.

The F-14 roared down the runway and into the air, turning hard as soon as it was airborne to stay inside the shield. The Viking was right behind it and with both airborne, the island shield was dropped for a moment and the two aircraft flew off to the west. The shield snapped back into place as soon as they were clear.

McGraw and Olivetti were unconscious inside the F-14 as the flight plan programmed by the guardian flew the craft. Somewhere deep inside their infected and transformed

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minds their essences as independent human beings still existed. That their bodies and skills were to be used in the service of the aliens was a horror of which they were aware but powerless to fight. It was the worst possible thing that could be done to a Navy SEAL, a fate far worse than death.

PACIFIC OCEAN

Six hundred and ninety-five nautical miles northwest of Easter Island Captain Porter, commander of the Los Angeles class attack submarine USS Norfolk was looking into the eyepiece of his periscope at the largest ship in the world, the Jahre Viking. It was cruising between two of the largest warships in the world, the supercarriers Washington and Stennis. Surrounding those three massive ships, each longer than the Empire State Building was tall, were the escort ships that had once been part of the US Navy's Task Forces seventy-eight and seventy-nine.

Porter had been briefed that the human hands that now ran those shops were directed by minds infected with an alien nanovirus and were not to be considered friendlies. Since departing Pearl Harbor he had been operating under radio silence, cut off from updates.

That was easier said than done, Porter knew as he zoomed in on the Washington, the closer of the Nimitz class carriers. He'd been on that ship for six months as part of his career training and knew quite a few officers assigned to it.

His submarine was sitting still in the water, all systems reduced to bare minimum functioning. His sonarman had already informed him that the escort ships were actively searching the water for intruders—surface, subsurface, and air.

His boat was one of six subs rapidly dispatched from

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Pearl Harbor and set up in a loose semicircle between Hawaii and Easter Island to intercept the fleet.

Satellite imagery had tracked the fleet and Porter knew that the other five subs were closing on this location, much like the German wolf packs had gathered in the North Atlantic during World War II.

Porter turned the scope slightly, back to what appeared to be the flagship of the fleet. He knew from his recognition handbooks that the Viking was the largest man-made moving object on the planet. Even the supercarriers were dwarfed by the former oil tanker as it pounded its way through the waves.

Porter's mission was to slow the convoy down to allow the other five submarines time to get in place. With three major targets coming into range, there was no question which one he would fire on. Despite the orders and explanations from higher headquarters, he was loath to fire on a Navy ship.

The problem, as his executive officer/weapons specialist had pointed out to him, was that the Jahre Viking, besides being huge, was constructed in a manner that almost defied attack. Like all modern supertankers it was double-hulled to prevent oil spills, a feature that would also help defeat attack by torpedo.

Additionally, its interior was composed of oiltight—which also meant watertight—holds. Even if he managed to breach the double hull, he would only be able to flood one compartment.

Porter had passed the problem on to his crew, letting them war-game possible courses of action as they steamed to their present location. His executive officer had come with a suggestion that Porter felt was worth the attempt.

There was the additional issue of a report that the ships might have the same sort of shield generator that surrounded and protected Easter Island. Porter clicked on a small button on the periscope handle, zooming in on the large tanker. He'd

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seen photos of the opaque shield that surrounded Easter Island—obviously, if there was one here, it was clear. If there was one, Porter thought once more to himself.

"XO, are we ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sending targeting information," Porter told him as he clicked another button and the top of the scope "lased" the Jahre Viking with a quick series of laser pulses that would give the targeting computer range, speed, and direction of the massive target. Porter knew missing was out of the question but the plan called for precise shooting.

"We've got it," the XO reported. "Ready when you are, sir."

Porter did a quick scan from side to side. To remain undetected, he had turned off sonar and the surface radar on the periscope. He wondered briefly how effectively the escort ships would react—he had conducted war game missions against his own Navy many times but had never thought he would be doing it for real. He knew the escort's antisubmarine capability and it was enough to cause a small trickle of sweat to go down his back.

"Fire at will."

Unlike the submarines of World War II, the tubes on the Norfolk were amidships and vertical. The reason—the MK-48 torpedoes they fired weren't line of sight, but guided either by wire or preprogrammed targeting. In this case, the XO had preprogrammed every MK-48 on board, all twenty-four.

Four torpedoes rushed out of the tubes. As soon as they were gone, crewmen rushed to reload. As the MK-48s rushed toward the Jahre Viking, they moved on two tracks, two torpedoes each. The trail torpedo was two seconds behind the lead missile. The XO's idea had been to blow a hole in the outer hull with the first one, then follow it two seconds later

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with another warhead to breach the inner hull. Right at a junction between two cells, flooding both. And subsequent volleys would do the same from stern to stern.

"Tracking," the XO reported. "Twenty seconds."

Porter looked through the periscope. He noted that the closest escort, a destroyer, was already turning toward their location. Through his shoes, Porter felt the deckplates shudder every so slightly as the next volley of torpedoes was fired.

"We're being pinged," the sonarman reported.

"Keep firing," Porter ordered. He could see the destroyer closing. He turned the handles, putting the Jahre Viking dead center in the crosshairs.

'Ten seconds."

Even without headphones he could hear the oncoming destroyer's sonar fixing their location.

"Five seconds."

Two geysers exploded out of the ocean. "Too soon," Porter muttered. Another two geysers as the sound of the first explosions reached the sub. As the geysers settled back, he could see the Jahre Viking unscathed, continuing on course.

Porter spun about to face his bridge crew. "Helm. Hard right rudder, flank speed. Crash dive." As the Klaxon announcing the dive sounded, he took a couple of steps toward his communications officer. "Radio Pearl. Tell them the ships do have a shield. Warn off the other subs. There's nothing we can do."

Checking the instruments, Porter noted that they were descending quickly while accelerating away from the fleet.

"Range to destroyer?" he asked.

"One thousand meters and closing."

"Prepare countermeasures," Porter ordered.

The captain had known when he committed to the firing

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that they wouldn't be able to get clear without the escort attacking them. In simulations his crew had managed to beat an escort 50 percent of the time. Now he was going to find out how realistic those simulations were.

"MKs are in water," his sonarman announced. "Tracking two. Range one thousand."

The best weapon against a submarine was the same weapon Porter had just tried using—MK-48 ADCAP torpedoes.

"Launch decoy," he ordered.

A small, but very "loud" submersible was fired out of one of the torpedo tubes and raced away, in the hope of drawing off the two incoming torpedoes. Porter realized he was gripping the edge of his command chair, his knuckles white, and he forced the muscles in his arm to relax.

"Range five hundred. Still closing."

"Prepare for impact," Porter ordered.

"Three hundred." The sonarman's voice rose. "One is breaking off. Tracking the decoy!"

Fifty percent, Porter thought.

"One hundred."

Porter braced himself, his mind flashing to every submariner's horror of implosion. He, along with everyone else on board, flinched as there was a loud thud from the direction of the bow. Porter blinked. But no explosion.

"A dud!" His executive officer was the first to say it.