David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

“I understand you haven’t been briefed on this mission yet, Doc,” Wilson stated.

“That’s right,” Craig replied, his eyes on the extraordinarily advanced gear that the team members were assembling. “Everything’s top secret. I got a one-page order to join your team for the mission. I don’t know anything else about it.”

Wilson put his hand on Craig’s shoulder and walked him a few paces away from the team as he lowered his voice. “I’ve got orders to brief you en route, Doc. And let me just say that when you hear the details, I don’t think you’re gonna be so confident about the whole R.I.P. thing.”

SpaceShip3 wobbled slightly in the turbulence as the 148-foot wingspan of WhiteKnight3 endured the stresses on its carbon composite wing. WhiteKnight3 appeared delicate from afar, but its carbon composite was three times the strength of steel, and the frame made it capable of not only nestling SpaceShip3 underneath it, but also executing six-g turns. As SpaceShip3 made the journey up to the 50,000-foot detachment point, there was an air of quiet contemplation amongst the crew.

Commander Wilson broke it as a computer-generated map of the Earth, complete with WhiteKnight3’s current position and its trajectory, flashed onto the front screen. “Doc, when we reach 50,000-feet, SpaceShip3 will detach, and we’ll start dropping in a hurry.” He grinned. “It’s a hell of a rush. There’s even more of a rush afterward. The hybrid rocket will kick in, and, in a matter of seconds, we’ll accelerate to 4,000 kilometers per hour. You’re gonna love it.”

Craig smiled broadly, the notion that he was on a spaceship finally beginning to sink in. Millionaires had been able to travel into space in the years before the war broke out, but regular people like him could only dream of such an experience. As serious as the moment was, the idea of traveling into space temporarily made the danger disappear from his mind.

“The distance from New Mexico to Shenzhen,” Wilson continued, “is approximately 12,300 kilometers, so even at three times the speed of sound, the flight’s still gonna take us three hours—plenty of time for me to brief you on the mission.”

“Sounds good, Commander,” Craig replied.

“For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Lieutenant Commander Weddell added.

Craig turned to the other members of his team, each one smiling. The shared look on their faces was childlike ebullience, thinly veiled behind adult professionalism. It was clear that, despite their personal sacrifices, their loved ones left behind at home, and the mortal danger of the mission, it was all worth it in that moment. These were men slipping the surly bonds of Earth.

“Detach in one minute,” said the calm, even tone of WhiteKnight3’s pilot over the address system.

“Roger that,” replied the equally calm tone of SpaceShip3’s pilot.

“Roger that,” echoed Commander Wilson. He turned to his team. “Okay, boys, helmets on and hold on to your butts.”

Craig and the others slipped their helmets on and locked them into position, lowering the golden sun-reflective visors.

“Detach in thirty seconds,” the WhiteKnight3 pilot said.

“Roger that,” SpaceShip3’s pilot repeated.

“Crap your pants in thirty-one seconds,” Lieutenant Cheng said in a low voice.

“Radio silence,” Wilson said calmly.

WhiteKnight3’s pilot began the final countdown. “Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… ONE! We are a go for detachment.”

“Roger that,” SpaceShip3’s pilot confirmed.

There was a thump against the hull of SpaceShip3’s roof as the mechanized claws detached themselves, and the vehicle began to drop away from its mothership. Craig’s posterior immediately came out of his bucket seat, only his harness keeping him from hitting the ceiling. The seconds ticked by, painfully slowly as the ship continued to drop a safe distance from WhiteKnight3 .

Next, the hybrid rocket came to life. To Craig, it felt as though the hand of God had taken hold of the ship and thrust it forward, the nearly unimaginable power seemingly too much to be manmade. Barely controlled technology blistered its way up a steep incline, and the ship throttled through the upper edges of the atmosphere. Craig could hardly move his neck in his suit and helmet, but he managed to turn his head just enough to catch the spectacular view from the closest window. The blue of the sky began to recede, first becoming an indigo before finally giving way to black.

Suddenly, the engines stopped. It took Craig a moment to accept that the silence wasn’t simply the result of the engines having been switched off; it was the silence of space that was so unsettling. There was no more shimmering and shuddering of the fuselage through turbulence, no more sounds of wind drag stressing the wings. SpaceShip3 was now living up to its name, a ship in space, the truly endless ocean of blackness enveloping Craig for the first time in his life.

“You’re an astronaut now, Doc,” Commander Wilson observed, his tone cheerful. Craig looked up to see his commander unstrapping from his seat at the front of the cabin and floating free in the microgravity of sub-orbit. “Congratulations.”

Craig wanted to reply, but there were no sufficient words. Instead, his breath caught in his mouth. He hurriedly unbuckled his own seatbelt and stepped up quickly, amazed that the floor didn’t welcome him as it had every other moment of his life. Instead, it let him go, his body floating freely through the cabin. “My God,” he whispered.

“Boys, remove the seats,” Wilson ordered the rest of the team. Each of them, already unharnessed and floating through the cabin, began detaching the seats from the floor of the ship. “Doc, you’re with me. It’s time you got briefed.”

“Twenty-three hours, twelve minutes, and…” Wilson checked the time readout on his aug glasses. “…and thirty seconds ago, the USS Independence fired a Trident 2 missile toward Shenzhen, which is, as you now know, our drop point.”

Craig swallowed hard when he heard his fears confirmed. “Holy hell. Trident 2s are equipped with sixteen separate warheads.” Sam was right , he thought. They’re going to drop me right into nuclear fallout.

“That’s right,” Wilson replied. The screen at the front of the ship showed a top view map of the missile’s trajectory. “It split into sixteen, with one warhead hitting its true target and the other fifteen forming a perimeter 200 miles in diameter—basically, the manmade gates of Hell.”

“What was the true target?”

“Hopefully, the Chinese A.I. mainframe.”

Craig was silent for a moment. “Holy hell.”

“You said that already,” Wilson replied with a grin as he slapped Craig hard on the back. “This is the big one, Doc, but with all the secrecy beforehand, I’m sure you already had your suspicions.”

“I did. It’s something else to have it confirmed, however.”

Wilson nodded, though the muscles near his eyes tightened ever so slightly, making Craig suspect he was being read. “Intelligence believes the A.I. mainframe was located in a bunker about one kilometer below the surface. Our mission is to get in, get boots on the ground, and assess whether or not the strike was effective or ineffective. Basically, to provide ocular proof that the Chinese A.I. threat has been eliminated.”

“Why can’t that be confirmed with satellites?”

Wilson turned to the screen and swiped it, bringing up a live satellite image of the east coast of mainland China.