Wormhole (10 page)

Heather sat beside Mark’s bed, holding his hand while he slept. He’d been unconscious for eighteen hours before awakening with a sharp headache, his bloodshot eyes giving mute testimony to the mind storm he’d endured. After managing to swallow some vegetable soup, he’d drifted into a fitful sleep. But as she held his hand, Mark’s face finally relaxed in peaceful repose.

Since then, except for obligatory bathroom breaks, Heather hadn’t left his side. Jennifer had offered to help her, but Heather had declined, more for herself than because Mark needed her there. Seized by an irrational fear that he’d slip away forever, she couldn’t bear more than a few minutes of separation.

In addition to Jen’s periodic visits, Jack had been in twice to check on Mark’s recovery. Heather had asked him about Robby, and he reported that the baby seemed to be doing fine. After they’d removed the alien headset, Robby had sought his mother’s
breast, feeding and then falling sound asleep in her arms. Today, apart from being more playful and curious than usual, he’d shown no unusual symptoms from his trauma. Janet hovered over the child like a mama bear, alert for any sign of danger.

Through the window, the pink evening sky darkened to purple. The chirps of birds in the trees outside Mark’s open window grew in volume as more and more of the creatures settled in for the night, each determined to outsing its neighbors.

Heather reached out to turn on the lamp, its soft orange glow pushing the gathering shadows away from Mark’s bed. Somehow those shadows seemed to have acquired the thickness of San Francisco Bay fog swallowing the Golden Gate Bridge. As long as she was here, Heather wasn’t about to let that dark fog touch him.

Heather shook her head to clear it. She no longer required sleep, but the stress of the last two days had worn her down to the point that she longed for the relief of sleep’s healing embrace.

Suddenly Mark shifted, rapid eye movements indicating he’d entered a vivid dream state. Pain lanced through Heather’s fingers as Mark’s grip tightened. With a strong tug, she managed to pull her hand free from the iron grip, just as Mark awakened.

Heather felt him enter her mind with a force greater than any she had experienced during their headset links. A gasp of surprise slipped from her lips as her gaze shifted to his face.

Mark’s eyes had gone milky white.

President Leonard Jackson sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, the bright television lights adjusted to balance the light from the window directly behind the president’s chair. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated giving speeches, but it had to be done.

The cameraman nodded. On cue, the president leaned forward ever so slightly.

“My fellow Americans, I come before you today to correct a wrong that has been done to one of our true heroes. I do not speak of a war hero, but of an American who has spent a lifetime of hard work, a lifetime of true brilliance, sacrificing everything in the hopes of bringing about a better world, a world free of the damaging impact of fossil fuels, a world free of horrible diseases like AIDS and cancer.

“Late last year, this great American scientist found himself caught up in a maelstrom of disinformation, the victim of the
most sophisticated con job ever conceived, framed for alleged crimes by a man the press has dubbed Jack the Ripper. This rogue operative conceived of and executed an operation so intricate in its attention to detail that, for months, it even deceived the US government, and in the midst of that deception, caused us to imprison the wrong man.

“Dr. Donald Stephenson, deputy director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, has been accused of conducting secret and horrifying experiments on helpless patients at the facility known as Henderson House and of making unauthorized modifications to the Rho Project’s nanite serum, allowing the nanites to be remotely programmed for nefarious purposes. However, after a thorough investigation, we have determined that these allegations are false.

“Let me give you a brief overview of what Dr. Stephenson actually did instead of the propaganda to which we have all inadvertently succumbed.

“It is true that a highly dangerous experimental nanite trial has been operating in the secret laboratories at Henderson House. What you haven’t been told is that this program was not originated by Dr. Stephenson, but by the chairman of the Henderson House Foundation, Dr. Anthony Frell. When Dr. Stephenson discovered that his serum was being misused in a wrongheaded attempt to regenerate missing limbs and correct genetic deficiencies, he made a special trip to Henderson House to see for himself exactly what was going on so that he could put a stop to it.

“That fateful trip resulted in the now-famous picture taken by the Pulitzer Prize–winning investigative reporter Freddy Hagerman.”

The president paused, placing his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers.

“Now, let me be clear. Our strings have been pulled by a master manipulator and international criminal, the ultimate prodigy of our intelligence training program. I’m speaking of a brilliant, ruthless killer fueled by raging hatred for the very government that created him.

“The final issue I want to clarify is the allegation that Dr. Stephenson made irresponsible or criminal modifications to the nanite suspension fluid distributed around the world. Dr. Stephenson did add a simple external interface to the nanites. However, far from what you have been told, this interface was a fail-safe mechanism. Its only purpose was to allow the nanites to be shut down in the unlikely event that something went wrong after they had been administered to the world’s population. The nanites are incapable of taking any other external command. The rest of their programming comes from the genetic code of the person to whom they have been administered.

“By invoking the shutdown command across the GPS satellite link from Schreiver Air Force Base, Jack Gregory accomplished two critical parts of his terrorist agenda. He completed the frame-up of Dr. Donald Stephenson and ruined billions of dollars’ of work designed to free this world of some of its worst scourges.”

The president picked up the water glass on his desk and took a sip before continuing.

“As your president, I am here to make right the wrongs I have just described. First, I apologize directly to Dr. Donald Stephenson on behalf of the nation that owes him so much. Rather than go through all the red tape associated with judicial review, I hereby issue a complete pardon to Dr. Stephenson for any actions associated with his efforts on the Rho Project. I am pleased to announce that I have reinstated him as deputy director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, something that I discussed with him in my office earlier today. In addition, I am appointing him as special
United States scientific advisor to the European nuclear agency, CERN.

“After consultations at the United Nations Headquarters in New York, I have also decided to restart the distribution of the original Rho Project nanotech formula in Africa, a continent with the most critical need for this medical breakthrough, and the one most harmed by Jack Gregory’s terrorist attack.

“Lastly, I pledge to you, the American people, that I will not rest until I have brought to justice the assassin and terrorist known as the Ripper. As president of the United States, I bear full responsibility for having allowed our nation to be caught in his web of deceit, and I assure you, I will not be deceived again.

“Thank you. May God watch over and guide each of us in the challenging days to come.”

Heather stood over Mark’s bed, watching as he stretched his arms, sleep gradually releasing its hold on him. Opening his brown eyes, he smiled up at her. As disturbing as last night’s white-eyed invasion of her thoughts had been, seeing this morning’s smile in those eyes eased her concern.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said. “How you feeling?”

“Had the strangest dreams. But right now, I’m starving.”

Sitting up in bed, Mark threw off the covers, then, realizing that he was entirely naked, quickly pulled the sheet back.

“Sorry. Guess I should throw on some clothes first.”

Heather’s laugh brought a flush to his face.

Reaching the hallway, she called back over her shoulder, “A shower might be a good idea too. I’ll have Yachay warm up some leftovers.”

Heather paused in the hallway to catch her breath. As familiar as she had been with Mark’s body, this was the first time she’d seen him naked. There were probably millions of women who would kill to be with a man like that. Hell, she would. Feeling a thin sheen of sweat dampen her brow, Heather shook her head to clear it. Christ, if she didn’t get hold of her thoughts she was going to need a cold shower.

After stopping in the kitchen to relay instructions to Yachay, Heather stepped out onto the porch, where Jennifer sat relaxing in the afternoon sun.

“Mark’s awake.”

As Jen started to rise, Heather held out a hand. “In the shower.”

A wave of relief softened the worry lines around Jennifer’s eyes. “Does he remember anything?”

Heather shrugged, settling into a wicker chair beside her friend. “Don’t know yet. Thought I’d let him wake up and get dressed first. Yachay’s fixing him something to eat.”

Heather paused. “Where’re Jack and Janet?”

“Janet took Robby for a walk. Jack went into San Javier to get some supplies.”

“Good. That’ll give us a chance to talk with Mark privately.”

“Jack wants to debrief us.”

“I figured.”

Just then a rising dust cloud in the distance caught Heather’s attention, presaging the arrival of Jack’s Ford Explorer. Heather shaded her eyes with one hand, gazing down the dirt road. “Sometimes that man’s just plain spooky.”

Jen followed Heather’s gaze. “So much for our private chat.”

By the time Mark finished eating, Janet had made her way back to the house and put Robby down for a nap, and she sat waiting with Jack in the living room. Heather wasn’t quite sure, but
from their faces as she led Mark and Jen into the room, it seemed that Jack and Janet had been arguing.

“Are we interrupting something?” Heather asked.

Jack’s head turned toward her. “Have a seat. Something’s happened.”

As Mark, Jen, and Heather complied, he continued. “President Jackson has granted Dr. Stephenson a full pardon and restored him to his position as deputy director of LANL.”

“What?” The startled question simultaneously erupted from all three of them.

“Not only that,” Jack said, “Stephenson’s also been selected to represent the United States as a special advisor to CERN. The Associated Press reported that he left for Europe almost immediately upon being released from prison.”

Heather felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. As a swarm of visions threatened to pull her away from the conversation, she fought to regain her focus.

Mark rose to his feet. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Jackson can’t be that stupid.”

“The president claimed to have proof that I framed Stephenson. He also ordered that nanite serum production and distribution be restarted.”

“Something else is going on,” Heather said.

“And why CERN?” asked Jennifer. “Stephenson would want to get back to Rho Project research.”

“We need to get on the Internet and figure out what’s really happening.”

“And you will,” said Jack. “But first, Janet and I want a complete rundown of everything you encountered during your link to the Bandolier Ship.”

Although Mark, Jen, and Heather argued the point, Jack refused to be swayed. Thus, with Mark taking the lead, they passed the afternoon taking turns describing their experiences.

As Mark’s story unfolded, the pieces clicked into place in Heather’s mind. She’d been analyzing the possibility that the alien artificial intelligence was an integral part of the starship’s computational system. In response to Mark’s counterattack, it had sought to shed computational resources in an attempt to hide itself. That meant the AI existed within the starship’s computers, not tightly coupled to those systems. It no doubt required an advanced parallel processing system to operate, but that was likely the extent of its bond to the ship. Somehow the AI had managed to isolate itself, severing the link to the systems linked to Mark’s mind. One second the thing was there, trying to counter Mark’s attack on its logic systems, and the next it was gone.