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The ten men lay strapped to hospital beds in the large surgical theatre, arranged in a circle with their feet together in the middle. Medical technicians hooked up IV bags to the hep-locks already inserted in their veins. Others stood by with an array of drugs and machinery, all aimed at keeping them alive in the face of any reaction.
Above them an array of cameras and sensors recorded every move, and many of the project heads sat in the balcony. General Tyler stood, looking down through the glass at the test being readied.
“I still think we should slow this down, test one by one,” grumped Carlos “Chico” Fernandez, Tyler’s chief of administration.
“We don’t have time. Demon Plague Two falls in one week and we can’t be sure what it will do. The test subjects have been given Markis’ vaccine and are healthy. Now we need to know how the bots will react.”
“But you’ve added the self-replicating feature this time. You won’t be able to filter them out.”
“Of course we will, we just turn them off to stop them replicating. Don’t you read your own staff’s reports?”
The little man slumped. “Sorry, General, I’m so damned tired anymore. I wish I had your permission to take the Eden Plague.”
General Tyler looked at the man – really looked, this time, and saw what he hadn’t wanted to see before. Fernandez was on the edge of cracking from the pressure, and he was almost sixty. He made a decision quickly, as he always did. “Have it done. Right away. We need you too much to risk your health.”
Fernandez looked up at the general in gratitude. “Oh, thank you, sir.” He brightened up immediately.
That’s the problem with the damned Eden Plague; it’s so attractive. Immortality. I’ve been tempted myself. The nanobots have to work, or we’re all going to end up helpless pacifists in the face of these murderous aliens.
The two looked down at the ten men, now ready to go. Tyler reached for the microphone. “All right, start the test.”
Ten technicians stepped forward, injecting liquid from ten syringes into the Y-set of each man’s IV line. The liquid mingled with the IV drip, carrying the self-replicating nanobots into each man’s body.
Skull stared up at the glass, meeting General Tyler’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows in bravado.
Tyler nodded back, unsmiling.
Skull felt a familiar burning sensation, faint but annoying. This was the fifth time he had been injected with nanobots of some kind. Each type before had been just a light dose of non-replicating machines, doomed to mayfly lives, performing specific experimental tasks. This was a test of the Full Monty, the prototype self-replicating wide-spectrum physical booster: the real Tiny Fortress.
The sensation grew, and soon he itched all over from the inside, a horrible distraction. He reported this to his assigned tech, who administered a drug cocktail to combat the sensation. It receded, replaced with a floating feeling. Must have added in some Versed or something.
The itching finally went away, to be replaced by warmth and well-being. The nanobots weren’t supposed to make it across the blood-brain barrier but something was feeling good. He was just trying to figure out what it was when he heard a hoarse scream. It sounded like McCarthy.
From above, the supervisors saw medics converge on one of the subjects, who thrashed in his restraints. They jammed needles into his flesh and into the Y-set in vain, as he broke one arm loose and pummeled the nearest tech with his fist. The woman dropped to the ground as if poleaxed.
The technicians pulled back, hoping the drugs would work in time, and two strapping MPs tried to get the man’s arm back in the padded cuff. Two snapping motions of that arm later the men lay broken on the floor, and the test subject freed his other arm by the simple expedient of ripping the nylon strap in half.
Those straps are thousand-pound test, Tyler thought. He grabbed the microphone. “Shut him down!”
One of the controllers slammed his hand onto a large button and a visible flash of electricity surged through the man’s metal-framed hospital bed. This only served to enrage him, as he tore his legs loose and lunged for the nearest door.
“Protocol Zulu, now!” yelled Tyler over the PA.
As soon as the escapee ripped open the door, several shots rang out. The man staggered forward into a storm of gunfire from the military police. He reached out to one of them, grasping the guard’s arm. The MP screamed as his radius and ulna snapped under the pressure of the maniac’s grip. Another MP put his pistol against the attacker’s head and ended it with a sickening blast of brains.
“Jesus,” muttered Tyler as Fernandez vomited onto the floor beside him.
“Dad, did you see that?” JT stepped up beside his father, excited. “Did you see how much it took to put him down?”
“Son, we just lost a good man because we’re in a hurry. I can accept the casualty, but have some respect.”
JT eyed his shiny boots. “Sure, dad,” he whispered, barely containing himself. “I’m sorry, but if all the rest are okay, and they are all like that...”
“I get it. We may just have our super-soldier.”
Below, Skull held himself in check through the chaos. Once it was calm, he cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, you. Med-tech. I think I got hit.”
His assigned tech let out a gasp. “Crap, you’re right.” The medic grabbed a pair of surgical scissors and cut a hole in the scrubs Skull wore. “Looks like a pistol round.”
The technicians gathered and stared at the torn flesh. “What’s it doing?” There came a faint thud, then a rattle as something fell from the bed. “Expelling the bullet, looks like,” one said.
“Let me see,” Skull ground out. “It’s all right, I’m in control of myself.”
The technician looked up at Tyler, who nodded. He loosed Skull’s head restraint first, then his arms.
Skull sat up, probing at his own leg. “It’s healing up fast. Just like the Eden Plague. And I feel fantastic. Do I look any different?”
The technicians shook their heads, backing out of arm’s reach.
“Calm down, people. I’m fine. What about the rest? And who was that?”
“It was McCarthy, sir. He’s dead.”
The other subjects started speaking, asking to be let go as well. Tyler gave the thumbs-up and soon nine men in hospital scrubs stood around, slapping each other’s backs, doing one-armed pushups and handstands, looking like a bunch of steroid-pumped circus acrobats.
“All right, Fortress team, calm down and let the techs process you. Then we’ll see what you can do.”
***
The forensics team leader turned his tablet around and around in his hands. “Sir, I have the results of the analysis of the one who, uh, didn’t work. McCarthy.”
“Yes?” Captain JT Tyler sat straighter up behind his desk. “Let’s have it.”
“Well, sir...he was a Plague carrier.”
“We knew that. He got the vaccine.”
“No, sir, I’m sorry.” The team leader wilted under the head of security’s glare. “He was an Eden Plague carrier. That’s why he went berserk. The nanobots and the Plague...he was in agony. It would feel like being ripped apart from the inside.” The man looked like he wanted to throw up.
“Why didn’t the shutdown protocol work?”
“We’re not sure. The electrical field should have turned to bots off and then we could have saved him, I assume.”
“You assume? Did you get a line on what Eden strain it was? Could it be from any one of our Edens? Could it be from Forman?”
“Uh...no sir. It doesn’t exactly match any of ours.”
JT expelled a sound of frustration, then stood up and stalked over to seize the swaying man. “Pull yourself together. Now, you tell anyone who worked on this to keep their mouths shut. Compartmentalize it. It’s my job to find out how and why this happened, not yours. I don’t want people worried about it, you understand me?”
“Uh, yes sir. Fine by me, sir.”
“I didn’t ask you your God-damned opinion, you useless geek, now get the hell out of my office and just do what I told you!” JT shoved the shaking scientist out the door to stumble down the hall while he stood, quivering with rage. Can’t anyone do anything right around here? First that fiasco in Geneva, now this. Much more and people will suspect I can’t do my job, and there’s no way I’m going to let Dad see me fail.
He took several deep breaths to calm himself, then went to report the news to the general.
“We must have some kind of spy or mole in here,” General Tyler mused.
“The forensics says it wasn’t Forman or any of the other Eden test subjects.”
“Right. Have everyone in the program retested. Everyone! I want to know if any of the staff is a new Eden carrier and if so, compare the strains. You know the drill.”
“Yes, sir.” JT did an about-face and got out of his father’s office before the old man could think of anything else.
***
Christine unlocked her door and went in to see Jill with a grim expression on her face. “We just had a test of the prototype super-soldier nano. Your boyfriend is dead.”
Jill toweled off wet hair. “My what? Who’s dead?”
“That guy you walked home the night you got here. You said he kissed you, right?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“The nanobots worked on everyone but him. He died in agony.”
Jill sat down, slamming a palm on the chair arm. “Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!” She grasped her short brown hair with both fists and pulled, as if to drag it out by the roots, making a strangled, inarticulate sound in her throat.
Forman soothed, “Not your fault. You’re still a Marine and you’re still at war, remember that.”
“Who am I at war with?” she screamed. “Dumb lunks of SEALs that I lead on with my feminine wiles? Or millions of innocent civilians that I burn to ash with the push of a button? One minute I feel like I should be eating a shotgun and the next I know I can’t do it. How am I supposed to deal with this guilt, and oh by the way, thanks for bringing me more.” She wiped tears with the backs of her hands.
Christine sighed. “We’ve talked about that a lot. This kind of burden is unbearable for any one person, even any two people. You have to turn to God.”
“Nice formula! You’re supposed to say that, you’re a chaplain.”
Christine’s voice softened as she enfolded the younger woman in her arms. “I don’t believe because I’m a chaplain. I’m a chaplain because I believe. I’m not just trying to help you out of duty. I’ve told you I’m ready to pray with you whenever you are ready to unload your soul onto the only person who can bear all that guilt – because He already bore it and more on the Cross.”
Jill gasped, failing to hold back sobs. “I think I’m ready.”
Christine sat down and held Jill’s hands. “Then let’s pray.”
