James Knapp - The Silent Army

Cal opened her JZI and I used the package the MSST gave me with to try to connect to the bomb. After a few seconds, it managed to establish a link.

I’m pulling the stats from the device. Hold on.

Information came streaming in. It was true; the payload was nuclear. It was wired to her, but the trigger itself was on a timer that started when she passed a certain distance from shore.

Hold on.

The corridor ahead was filled with debris, and soot had formed on the walls. The hatch at the end had been blown from its hinges and pushed out of the way. I squeezed through into a room where several bodies lay, dead from thirst.

I pulled the information for the timer from the device. She didn’t have much time. Once the virus was injected, it could take up to several minutes for it to break through and disarm the device. That was assuming it could do it at all.

Cal, do you see a bed there?

Yeah.

The med facility has auxiliary power. Find a bed near a power source and get in it. We won’t have much time.

Roger that.

I ran through the hatch on the opposite side of the room, down a hallway filled with human remains. She was close. There wasn’t time to take in the bones and the bloated revivors lying among them. There was only time to run, and I could feel my strength fading.

Give me something …Give me anything …anything to buy me some time.

I planted the virus and it began to drill into the bomb’s systems. As I ran, I saw warning lights flash up red as it tried one deactivation failsafe after the next, and failed.

Nico, it’s not working….

I ran through a set of quarters where the crew had slept, through the door on the other side and down the corridor. The medical ward was through the hatch just up ahead. I saw movement down the hall to my right, where at least twenty revivors were thundering toward us, their eyes bobbing in the dark as they ran.

Cal, hold on …

More warning lights turned red. The virus had nearly exhausted its options and still hadn’t gotten through. Countermeasures added to the device had detected it and were shutting it out. It wasn’t going to work.

There were less than ten minutes left on the timer. The virus was being dismantled and the bomb was still active. It would take hours to get her back to shore and to a facility where they might be able to shut it down. I wasn’t going to make it. I needed more time.

Wachalowski.

Cal.

It’s getting hot. I can feel it.

I shoved the door open and staggered inside. Calliope was lying on one of the hospital beds, waiting. When she looked up at me, her eyes were full of tears and her face was red. Veins stood out in her face and neck. I was too late. She knew it.

I need more time….

“Nico,” she said.

“I’m here. Hold on. We’re about to get company. Do you have an Eckles Transponder? Can you spoof a revivor signature?”

She shook her head, but I’d already scanned her systems. She didn’t; the transponder wasn’t standard issue. I might sneak through that many revivors undetected, but she wouldn’t. They’d tear her apart.

“It didn’t work,” she said.

“I know.”

“You did what you could. Get the fuck—”

“Shut up.”

There was only one thing I could think to do. I hauled the stasis emitter on its track until it was right over the bed. I turned it on and guided it down over her torso. I pointed the lens at the middle of her chest.

“We’re going to die,” she said.

I flipped the switch. The stasis field was focused in a six-inch beam. It radiated through her breastbone and engulfed her heart, stopping it instantly.

The timer ticked down as her muscles relaxed, then went still. The pulsing under her jaw stopped. The light went out of her eyes.

I heard movement behind me and glanced back to see many eyes staring back from the shadows. They’d lost the vitals they’d been tracking, and were scanning around the room, trying to relocate them.

I turned back to Cal and drew my field knife. Looking through the muscle wall of her abdomen, I could see the device nestled in there.

Wachalowski, there are too many of them. We have to sink it. Report for immediate extraction.

I was no surgeon, but it was the only chance she had. I eased the tip of the knife through the skin beneath her belly button and the hard muscle underneath.

Wachalowski, do you copy?

Blood was running out of the wound. I focused, keeping the knife clear of the dark artery that showed up on the backscatter. I felt the tip touch the shell of the device, and saw it move inside of her.

The virus failed , I said. I can’t stop the bomb. I’m coming up.

How long before detonation?

Eight minutes.

Understood. We’ll wait as long as we can.

The revivors had begun moving through the room, not sure what to do. Several focused on me, trying to resolve the signature with the body heat they detected. If one of them grabbed me, that might be all it would take to set them off.

How many to be extracted, Wachalowski?

I grabbed a set of glorified pliers from a rack of surgical tools and held the tip above the wound. As soon as I pulled the knife free, more blood pumped out, and I jammed the pliers into the hole. As the warmth rushed over my fist, I found the edge of the device and grabbed it.

It didn’t want to come. I winced as I pulled it free anyway and dropped the small, sticky brick and its trailing wires into a bedside pan. I injected blood clotter into the wound and watched it harden. Calliope’s face was gray, the color fading from her lips.

Wachalowski, come back. What about your civilian?

I cut the connection.

“We’ve got him,” a voice shouted. Revivors carrying backscatter scanners walked atop the stacks of crates. One of them waved to the others down below. A loud snap from above echoed through the hold, followed by the whine of electric motors. One of the winches moved to retrieve the crate.

“Probability?”

“Near one hundred percent.”

The cable lowered, and they attached the hooks. Ice flaked away with a crunch as the crate was pulled from the rest of the stack. They began lowering it down toward the deck.

An explosion thudded from somewhere above, and the lights overhead swayed, throwing shadows. A metal groan came from the remaining stacks, and something clanged to the floor. The men below used poles to steady the crate as the cable brought it in.

Someone has boarded the ship. The words flashed in front of me. It was a broadcast from Fawkes. The thousands of eyes in the hold stopped moving, all at once becoming fixed.

The scout teams were unsuccessful. Find them and stop them.

The sound of a thousand weapons readying cracked through the hold like thunder. The figures began to move.

Above them, the winch lowered the stasis crate. It met the deck with a thud as the revival team moved in. The metal surface was dull and spotted with corrosion. There was lettering stenciled on its surface in both English and Hebrew.

“Open it,” one of them said.

Two revivors stepped closer. One released the magnetic restraining bolts while the other broke the seal. Air rushed in with a loud hiss as they pulled the cover free. Mist trailed from the door as it was thrown aside.

Secure the nukes, Fawkes broadcast. Those responsible for carrying them, retreat to the engine room. The power core there will mask the radiation. Once they are confirmed below, seal off the engine room and keep it secure. A second team will secure the bridge and keep it locked down at any cost.