James Knapp - Element Zero

He stepped closer, and I could see the bands of orange heat that ran up either side of his neck beneath the skin. The core in his chest pulsed. He believed it too.

“Fawkes will strike another target, probably soon, and I think you know that,” he said. “You’ve been dead a long time, but I don’t think you’re ready to write off the world you knew as an acceptable loss, not yet. Please. Help your friend.”

Orange flickered behind MacReady’s pupils. Shortly after, he forwarded a link to my communications node. It was him. It was Nico.

“I’m putting him through,” MacReady said.

The channel opened, and Nico was there.

Faye, he said. It’s me.

Hello, Nico.

It’s been a long time.

Yes.

I know a lot has happened, but I need you now, Faye. Will you help me?

Do I have a choice?

You know me well enough to know the answer to that. There’s too much at stake.

Fawkes could be the only chance we ever have to stop them, I told him.

I know. And they might be the only chance we have to stop Fawkes. That’s what I’m left with. That’s what we’re all left with.

So you’ve chosen them?

I’m not looking out for either side. I’m trying to look out for the people stuck in the middle of all this. No matter what you think of his motives, Fawkes set something in motion today. He killed thousands of people who aren’t even part of the thing he’s trying to stop, and he’s used Heinlein to alter the revivor technology inside them.

That stopped me. He was referring to Fawkes’ transmission.

Alter it? Alter it how?

It’s spreading on its own. Jumping from host to host.

That’s impossible, I said, but even as I said it I began to wonder. It would explain why he needed to occupy Heinlein Industries. It would explain how he intended to keep up his resistance, even after he was gone.

It’s happening, Faye. It’s already out of his control.

A virus. An engineered virus. Was this what the woman, Noelle Hyde, feared all those years ago when she’d sat across from me in the interrogation room? Had her abilities allowed her to see what Fawkes would someday unleash on the world?

If it was true, and she had, then had she witnessed the end of humankind? Or only the end of her kind?

Faye?

I’m here.

Something has to be done. I’ve made my choice. You have to make yours. Who will you trust? Me, or Fawkes?

In my mind, I could almost picture Nico’s eyes. I could almost see the ruthlessness in them, and that certainty in his soul that he was right. I remembered the way he was, long ago, when he put everything he knew on the line because of that certainty. I had envied him that, but in some ways, to truly see in terms of pure right and wrong—Fawkes’s way—was what he railed against hardest.

I’m reactivating your command spoke, he said. I felt him intrude into my systems, and begin some kind of transfer.

When you do, he’ll track me down, I said.

I know. This is going to be close. You know Fawkes better than me at this point. You could make the difference.

Nico—

I know you don’t love me, he said. I know you can’t, not anymore, but you can still trust me. You can still do that.

The locks I’d placed on the command connection began to break down, and fall away. Immediately I could feel Fawkes there, finding footholds in those new openings, and forcing his way in.

We’re out of time, Nico said. Make your choice.

Stillwell soldiers flanked us, escorting us down the hall after an armed garrison unit met us on the helipad. The northern section of the base, where we were, was still secure, but the numbers outside were rising.

The connection to Faye flashed on the HUD. Through her, I would be able to direct a team of five revivors to move a payload of Leichenesser from the processing plant into the atmosphere control center for the Pratsky Building. It was a total distance of roughly a quarter mile, and the clock would begin ticking the second I reactivated her command spoke.

“It’s down!” someone shouted in a room as we passed. “The entire structure is down. Communications are out all over the city—”

Military channels were still functioning, though, and the footage coming in from the street was devastating. Smoke drifted between the buildings below like a gray fog. The Central Media Communications Tower, the second-tallest structure in the city, had been razed in less than a minute. A hollow pit formed in my gut. Not even anger had filled it yet.

“I need to talk to Osterhagen,” I said to one of the guards. “Is he here?”

“He’d just arrived back at the UTTC when the attack began,” he said. “We can put you in touch with him.”

As we walked, I cycled through the data Cal had sent just moments before the explosion—the only lead I had on Fawkes. In it I found lot numbers and stats for the units under his control, circuit information for the revivor network …even override codes for the sixth-genand-up revivors on his command spokes.

Good work, Cal.

He’d flushed his visual data regularly, but the last segment was still in there. In the playback window, I watched as he addressed an Asian man and a dark-skinned woman that I recognized from the FBI records as Chen and Shaddrah.

There was no audio, but after a minute Shaddrah nodded and left the room. Chen began to follow her, then turned back as what must have been a private message to him flashed on the screen.

Watch her.

Chen nodded.

The next strike will come soon. If she becomes a problem, you know what to do.

The soldiers led me into a war room where engineers were hunched over terminals in rows. Mounted on one wall was a screen that lit up as we entered, and I recognized the face that appeared as Osterhagen’s.

“You’re on,” the soldier said.

“General, my name is Agent Wachalowski,” I said.

His face was calm, but fury brewed behind his eyes. “I know who you are,” he said. “I’m told you’re recommending we leave Heinlein’s transmitter intact.”

“Yes, sir. Hear me out. I think I know what’s going on.”

“Motoko puts a lot of faith in you,” he said, “but there are millions of lives at stake here, and a preliminary analysis of the data you recovered from Palos Verdes doesn’t prove your suspicions that we’re dealing with some kind of outbreak. The threat of the nukes is real and immediate.”

“With respect, sir, we’ll never be able to analyze that data in the time frame we have.”

Osterhagen thought for a minute, then turned to the men in the room.

“Mr. Vaggot?” One of the engineers glanced up at the screen. His eyes were wide but focused. His fingers moved over a keypad like they acted on their own. “Can you retake control of the satellites or not?”

“I can, sir.”

“In the time frame we discussed?”

Vaggot hesitated. “I can, but not in that time frame.”

“And if we destroy the transmitter?” he asked.

“If Mr. Fawkes had rigged the satellite to launch already,” he said, “meaning, if it was set to launch at a preset time, then the launch sequence would be, in effect, already active. If that were true and we destroyed the transmitter currently controlling it, then it would assume an enemy infiltration, and the launch sequence would be locked down; we wouldn’t be able to stop it. If the launch sequence was not active, then the satellite will be receptive to our control, as long as the proper security codes are presented. At this point, we are confident that the launch code is not currently active.”