Ship of the Damned Page 13

  They were following a poorly maintained two-lane road. The blacktop was crumbled along its edges, and potholes were frequent hazards. Now Compton slowed, turning onto a dirt road that headed into the desert. It was nothing but two ruts, and they were bounced around inside the van. Compton’s recklessness amused Jett; he suspected that she was in a hurry to get somewhere where she could get some space between her and Ralph. Despite the rough ride, Ralph’s head still bobbed between their shoulders.

  “It’s bumpy,” Ralph said. “I think it’s bumpy, don’t you, Nate? Do you think it’s bumpy, Karla, do you?”

  “I can’t talk, Ralph, I have to concentrate on driving.”

  “Okee-dokee then,” Ralph said, smacking his gum. Then he said, “Want some gum, Nate?”

  Compton cursed under her breath as they started the routine again.

  “What kind, Ralph?” Nate said.

  “Spearmint. I chewed all the Juicy Fruit. I think I gots one piece of that pink stuff if you want it?”

  “Not that pink stuff—that stinks! Pee-yew!” Jett said, holding his nose.

  This time when Ralph snorted, something flew out of his nose, landing on Compton’s white shirt. It was yellow and wet. Jett smiled, feeling an urge to laugh. Compton’s face turned pink. Jett worried she might lose control and break Ralph’s nose with one of her fancy Tae Kwon Do moves. Fortunately, they reached the fence and she stopped, waiting while Jett got out to open the gate.

  Jett used a shiny new key in the rusty lock. The lock mechanism responded to a twist of the key, and he removed the chain. Compton drove through, then Jett locked the gate behind.

  He had been to Rainbow only once before and remembered the road as two ruts angling into the desert. When Rainbow was constructed there had been a paved road, well maintained chainlink fencing, and guard posts. Once the facility was finished, the paving had been removed to make the facility appear unimportant. There had even been a budget to keep the road looking unused and poorly maintained, like some forgotten path to an abandoned government base. With technological advances Rainbow had been automated and the budget cut, since fewer technicians were needed to monitor the facility, and soon the road really was under-used. Now, however, Jett could see the ruts cutting deeper into the desert, fresh red soil churned up along the sides, mixed with crushed sage. The trouble at Rainbow had dramatically increased the traffic to the facility.

  After thirty minutes of rough road they saw the complex, a two-story rectangular structure covered with rusty sheet-metal siding. A door and window were set in the end they approached. In front was a gravel parking lot. There were no cars in the lot, and everything was coated with a thick layer of red dust. Jett noticed many criss-crossing tire tracks. Along the side of the building to the left were large sliding doors. Compton headed for these, and they slid open as she approached, letting them into Rainbow’s dark interior.

  A dozen cars were parked inside; now armed guards appeared, four of them surrounding the van.

  “Are those policemen?” Ralph asked. “They don’t look like policemen.”

  The guards wore street clothes and carried automatic rifles. Jett recognized half of them as OSP agents he had worked with in the past. He recognized two of the others as CIA, and suspected the rest were CIA or NSA. There were no uniforms in sight, telling him that the army was mustering somewhere else. An agent Jett knew as McIntyre came to the car, asking for identification. While Compton handed their ID cards out the window, Jett sized up the guards; only McIntyre was a good match. He was six feet tall and probably weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. He had a ruddy complexion and blonde hair with a reddish tinge. McIntyre looked them over, too, quickly dismissing Compton and focussing on Jett. He nodded slightly, acknowledging Jett from previous missions. Compton made her own assessment. She was less obvious than he and McIntyre, but Jett knew that she had measured each guard herself, noted their readiness or lack thereof, and was ready to act if necessary. Looking at the gearshift, he noticed with approval that it was in reverse and the engine was idling.

  Agent McIntyre studied their ID cards, then stared long and hard at Ralph. Ralph rolled down his window and leaned out.

  “Hihowyadoin?” he said. “I’m Ralph and this here’s Nate and this here’s Karla. What’s your name?”

  The agent stared back, slightly amused.

  “Call me Mac,” he said.

  “You gots a 7-Eleven around here? I’m pretty thirsty.”

  “No,” McIntyre said, handing back the ID cards. “Please get out of the van.”

  The air was hot outside the van. Even so, Jett guessed that it was twenty degrees warmer outside the building. Ralph stepped close to the guard.

  “Got any gum?” he asked.

  “No,” McIntyre said.

  Jett pulled Ralph along, holding his arm to keep him from introducing himself to everyone they passed. There were three lower levels to the complex at this end, and they used the stairs going down. At the bottom they passed through another security station. Most of the lower levels of the complex were devoted to the nuclear reactor which had been installed in the early seventies, eliminating the heavy power drain from the local supplier. The reactor took only a fraction of the space; the rest was devoted to cooling grids and heavy water storage facilities for the spent fuel rods. The floor they had entered on was divided in half. The end they were passing through was filled with the banks of electronics necessary to monitor Pot of Gold and to keep the Specials inside. At the far end of the facility the space was a full three stories high, and in the middle of this space were three huge black rings sitting parallel to each other. Stairs led up to the middle of the first ring and a platform ran through the middle of all three.

  “Looky there,” Ralph said. “They look like giant chocolate-covered donuts.” Then, after a slow thought, “I’m hungry. Got a candy bar or something?”

  Jett pulled a Hershey bar out of his pocket and handed it to Ralph.

  There were offices and a ready room along the back wall, and they found Woolman waiting in one. He studied Ralph, who had chocolate on his face and hands, then called out to a young woman seated outside his door. Her hair was black, eyes brown, and she moved gracefully. Jett noticed that her sweater bulged along her hip, suggesting a holstered weapon.

  “Take Ralph down for a can of pop,” Woolman said.

  The young woman looked at the large retarded man doubtfully.

  “Pop?” Ralph said excitedly. “Do you gots orange? I like orange the best but grape’s pretty good, too. I don’t like that Dr. Piper stuff.”

  “Dr Pepper,” the woman said.

  Ralph snorted and then smiled, the chocolate smear cracking open to reveal his teeth. Then his arm shot out and he hit himself on the side of the head with a loud thump.

  “How could I be so stupid?” Ralph said. “I said Dr. Piper.” Grinning like a fool, Ralph said to the secretary, “Hihowyadoin?” Ralph’s hand shot out, and the woman reached for it reflexively, letting Ralph pump her arm. When he finally released it, her hand was sticky with chocolate.

  “Let’s stop at the rest room on the way and wash our hands,” she said, wondering what she had done to deserve this assignment.

  “Good,” Ralph said. “Cause I gots to go. And when you gotta go, you gotta go!”

  Then Ralph turned to look at Jett, and together they said, “And I really gots to go.”

  Ralph snorted and grinned, and followed the woman out of the room. Jett realized that Woolman was staring at him.

  “You two seem to be getting along,” Woolman commented.

  Instantly, Jett’s smile was gone.

  “I’m just kidding him along,” Jett said.

  “It wouldn’t pay to get attached to him,” Woolman said. “You know what he’s here for.”

  “I don’t get attached,” Jett responded firmly.

  Woolman studied Jett’s face as if he was seeing him for the first time. Jett knew his behavior was disconcerting to Woolman, and
his position as team leader was in jeopardy. Finally, Woolman turned to Compton.

  “What about you? How do you feel about Ralph?”

  “He’s irritating,” Compton said. “If I’d had to ride another mile in the car with him I would have sedated him.”

  Satisfied with Compton’s hostility, Woolman sat down behind the desk. Unconsciously, his hand came up and began to drum on the table. There were chairs in the office, but Jett and Compton weren’t invited to sit.

  “Dr. Lee reports that the field around Pot of Gold has been stable since the disappearance of the Nimitz, although it’s assumed a new shape,” Woolman said, fingers drumming a background beat.

  Jett took that as evidence that the Nimitz was inside.

  “Your primary objective is to determine if the Nimitz is inside. If it is, then signal us and we’ll send in the marines.”

  Jett knew Woolman meant that literally, and that they would attempt to retake the Nimitz and clean out Pot of Gold one Special at a time.

  “If the Nimitz is not in Pot of Gold, destroy the generators before exiting. Rainbow will then collapse Pot of Gold. Under no circumstances destroy the generators in Pot of Gold with the Nimitz inside.”

  “I understand,” Jett said.

  Dr. Lee had explained that they were uncertain of what would happen when Pot of Gold collapsed; the most likely scenario was that anything inside would be crushed, including the two nuclear reactors in the belly of the Nimitz and the carrier’s complement of nuclear warheads. While crushing was unlikely to detonate the warheads, it would release weaponsgrade plutonium, which was the most toxic substance known. Even then, the release of the radioactive material wouldn’t concern them if it remained inside Pot of Gold, but no one was sure what would happen to the contents of Pot of Gold once that little side pocket of the universe was eliminated.

  “We insert you in one hour,” Woolman said. “The rest of the team is here and ready.”

  Woolman dismissed them by nodding to the door, but Jett held his ground. Compton took a step, then stopped when Jett didn’t follow.

  “We should leave Ralph here,” Jett said. “He won’t be any help.”

  Woolman’s gray eyes came up to stare at him again, his fingers pausing mid-cadence.

  “How do you figure that?” Woolman asked.

  “He’s got the intelligence of a ten-year-old. At the first sign of trouble he’ll panic.”

  Woolman held Jett’s gaze for a few seconds, then shuffled through the papers on his desk, picking out a sheaf stapled at the corner. Turning several pages, he paused as if reading before saying, “Dr. Martin’s report says Ralph remained cool even when under attack. He saw his friends hurt in front of him yet remained calm and walked right up to the Special that was attacking them. It doesn’t sound to me like he panics.”

  Jett noticed that Woolman referred to the psychokinetic that had attacked Dr. Martin’s group as a Special. Had there been an escape from Pot of Gold in which the Special had not been found? Or did Woolman refer to everyone with psi power as a Special?

  “Do you think he’ll panic, Compton?” Woolman said. His eyes were still on Jett, even as he spoke to Compton.

  “He’s too stupid to panic.”

  Jett knew Compton meant that Ralph wasn’t smart enough to know he should be afraid, but Jett doubted that was true. Intelligence overrode instinct; the lower the IQ, the more instinctual the person. Ralph’s willingness to risk his own life to protect his friends might be the most intelligent thing about him.

  “If he gets in your way, kill him,” Woolman said.

  “Yes, sir,” Compton said.

  Jett said nothing and followed Compton out the door. Ralph was coming down the corridor, a can of orange pop in each hand.

  “I gots you one, Nate. I didn’t get you one, Karla, cause I didn’t know what you liked. They got grape and they got Mountain Dew. You don’t have to put money in the machine or nothing. I already drank three cans.”

  Ralph burped long and loud. Jett smiled briefly, then remembered where they were going with Ralph. He held the smile on the outside, but inside he was remembering Agent Steele. His face had been blackened by the flames and the roasted skin pulled away from the meat underneath. Even when Steele writhed on the ground, screaming, Jett hadn’t felt a thing for him. Now he hoped that Ralph wouldn’t end up like Steele.

  LINKED

  The dreamers were gathered in Wes’s lab, ready for the integration. The team had integrated five minds in the original experiment, but when that experiment ended tragically, Wes had dismantled the equipment. Fortunately, most of the equipment was still functional, and since they would only integrate four minds this time, they could piece together the necessary components. Fiber optic cabling, electroencephalographic transducer helmets, couplings to join the fiber optics to the supercooled computer, and miscellaneous pieces of cooling and power equipment were put together by Len, who did the engineering using Shamita’s designs.

  Cots were placed in the center of the room, heads toward the computer that would intercept their brain waves, with the fiber optic lines kept as short as possible. Three computer stations were set up in a half circle outside the cots. Len monitored physiological functions from sensors taped to the dreamers’ chests, wrists, and the corners of their eyes, and sensors built into the EET helmets. Shamita controlled the intercept of brain waves, correlating brain function with brain region, and then intercepting selected functions and, on command, inhibiting others. From his station Wes monitored the integration using the software he had developed, directing Shamita in the creation of a synthesized consciousness. This time their goal was to bring the minds of Anita, Margi, Wanda, and Elizabeth together to share a dream. With his program up and running, Wes watched the final preparations of the dreamers. Len worked with Wanda; he was bothered by her smoking.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” Len said, fanning Wanda’s smoke from his face.

  “Says you,” Wanda replied, sucking long and hard on her cigarette, then blowing the smoke from her nose.

  Len was fitting her with an EET helmet, making sure the cap fit tight so the sensors could pick up the minute electrical activity of her brain waves. She blew more smoke in his face.

  “You see those gas tanks over there?” Len said. “We use liquid gas to cool the computers. You can’t smoke around that stuff. You could blow this whole place up.”

  “What kind of gas?” Wanda asked, flicking ash on the floor.

  “Liquid nitrogen,” Len said.

  “Who you trying to fool? Air is mostly nitrogen,” Wanda said, her cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth. The tip moved up and down as she spoke, dislodging small amounts of ash with each syllable. “This whole damn room is filled with nitrogen and you don’t see any flames do you? I’m not stupid, young man, and I would take it kindly if you wouldn’t treat me like a doddering old fool. If you’re bothered by my smoking, then just come out and tell me the truth. Don’t make up lies about setting the place on fire.”

  “You’re right, I should have been honest,” Len said. “I don’t like your cigarette smoke. Would you mind not smoking in here?”

  “Hell yes, I mind,” Wanda said. “They knew I was a smoker when they asked me here, and if you don’t like it then it’s just too damn bad.”

  Wanda stubbed out her cigarette and then shook another one from the Lucky Strike package, lighting it with a Bic lighter. Len finished fitting her with the helmet but lingered, watching her defiant smoking.

  “Wanda, you remind me of my mother.”

  “Is that so?” Wanda said.

  “She died last year, and when the funeral director asked how I wanted her body handled, I said ‘Embalm, cremate, and bury her. Take no chances.’”

  Wanda guffawed, then went into a fit that was half coughing and half laughing. When she recovered she looked at Len with a smile.

  “You’re all right, Lenny,” Wanda said.

  “Does that mean you’ll stop smok
ing?” Len asked.

  “No.”

  Monica was with Margi. Margi wore a flowered shirt over blue shorts, and her legs were so thin the shorts gaped around her thighs. She twitched occasionally, and her eyes were in constant motion, flicking from side to side at even slight movements. They were mapping Margi’s motor cortex; she moved her legs and arms as Monica directed, while Shamita recorded from her station.

  Margi had deteriorated noticeably since they had visited her in Tulsa. Her eyes were set in even deeper hollows, and her cheeks had become concave. Her lips were cracked as if she were dehydrated, and her short blonde hair was oily and tangled. Emaciated, tense, and often confused, she was dying in a balanced fashion; psychological death and physical death perfectly synchronized.

  Elizabeth entered with Anita, her mother letting go of her hand only when they reached the door to the laboratory. Anita had deteriorated, too, Wes realized; she looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was again fixed in two pigtails, and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt with Bugs Bunny on the front. She still needed new front teeth, but most noticeable was her lack of energy—a little more life had been drained from her. She shuffled her feet, hung her head morosely, and didn’t speak until spoken to. Elizabeth fussed over her like a mother, carefully fitting her EET helmet, talking to her constantly, reminding her of when she had worn it before. After placing the sensors at the corners of Anita’s eyes, Elizabeth took the cot next to hers, putting on her own helmet and adjusting it until Shamita signalled that she had good contact. Margi’s and Wanda’s cortexes were already mapped, and since they had used Elizabeth and Anita before, Wes called up their stored cognitive maps. They were ready.

  “It’s time to relax,” Wes said. “I know it will be difficult in a strange situation, but try to go to sleep.”