David Robbins - Doomsday

Phoenix

Dr. Diana Trevor was wrapping up her last class of the day at Arizona State University.

“No one knows why this should be. Yet it’s been proven again and again. The Dominant Five is not just a human phenomenon. It has been documented in animals, as well.” Diana tegarded the notes she had made on the blackboard. “The first practical application was by the Chinese during the Korean War. They decided to separate the mote aggressive American prisoners from those who never gave them any trouble. They found that the ratio was one in twenty. One dominant for every twenty passive.” A student raised his hand. “Surely there were variables.”

“The Chinese thought there would be, too. But the number was precise. It was exactly one in twenty. Or 5 percent. Subsequent research has confirmed the statistic.”

Another student raised her hand. “What happened when the Chinese separated them?”

“The passives gave them no trouble whatsoever. It was the dominants who always stirred the passives up.”

Yet another hand. “Is there any way to tell who is dominant and who is passive?”

“Psychological profiles have been developed, but they’re not infallible, as yet.” Diana allowed herself a small smile. “I should know. I developed some of them.”

The buzzer brought an end to her lecture. Her students began gathering up notes and backpacks. Diana closed her book and reached under her desk for her briefcase. She went out the side door and down the hall to the teachers’ lounge. The TV in the far corner was on and nearly every instructor was glued to it. “What on earth?” Diana said.

“Shhh,” someone cautioned.

A newsman was intoning gravely into the camera. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and he kept licking his lips.

“This just in. The president will address the nation at the top of the hour, which is twenty-seven minutes from now. Some think he will announce a declaration of war. Others, that he will impose martial law. Stay tuned to this station for live coverage.”

“What’s going on?” Diana asked. No one answered. The announcer did more lip-licking.

“To recap, war has broken out in the Middle East. The Chinese have threatened to retaliate against anyone who attacks their allies in the region. The Russians are incensed and telling the Chinese to stay out. France has called for a referendum. The United States has vowed to stand by Israel, and there is word from the Pentagon that a task force is being rushed to the region.”

“It’s finally happened,” Diana said to herself, then backed out of the lounge. She hurried to her office. Once her door was shut, she opened her purse and took out her address book. From a plastic sleeve in the back she slid a folded piece of paper. Opening it, she dialed the number written there.

“Home Communications.”

“This is Diana Trevor. My personal password is Colin. I haven’t been contacted yet, but I just saw the news.”

“You were right to call. We tried to reach you, Dr. Trevor. The Endworld Protocol is active.”

“Dear God.”

“Do you anticipate any trouble reaching the compound?”

“No,” Diana said. “I have a pilot’s license and my own plane.”

“We advise you to hurry. If martial law is declared, all civilian flights will be grounded. If you are still in the air, the military might shoot you down.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Diana hung up and stepped to the window. Word was spreading. A mass exodus of the campus was underway. For the most part it was orderly, but a few people were pushing and shoving.

“And so it begins.” Diana shook her head in dismay at the stupidity, then turned and snatched up her briefcase. She gave her office a last look. Her framed diplomas, her keepsakes, her files—she must leave them behind. She felt no regrets. She had known this day would come and been one of the few to plan for it. Now her foresight was paying off.

The hallway was jammed. Diana stayed close to the wall until she emerged from double doors into the bright glare of the afternoon sun. The sky was clear save for a few pillowy clouds, and birds were warbling. It was hard to believe that on the other side of the world, a holocaust raged. Vehicles jammed the parking lot exits. Tempers were short, and curses were hurled back and forth. Diana went to her reserved parking space. She strapped her briefcase onto the back of her bike, donned her helmet, and straddled her rocket. The throb of power brought a grin. She didn’t bother with the exits. She went up over the curb and zipped across a knoll to a side street and from there wound her way to 101. She headed west, looping around downtown Phoenix until she came to 303. Here the traffic was lighter. She pushed it, weaving in and out between the cars and trucks as if they were standing still. Horns blared and fingers were thrust at her. All she did was grin.

Presently Diana arrived at a small airfield west of Wittmann. It had an equally small clientele, which was why she had picked it. The major airfields, she imagined, would be disasters. No one was in the front office. A cup of coffee had been spilled on the desk and several drawers were open.

Diana went to her locker. She took out the pack she always kept ready. Opening it, she rummaged inside, verifying its contents. Then she hastened to the side of the field where her Boena and several others were lined up in a row. She was about to climb up on the wing when someone said her name. Harry Pierce came walking around the tail of the plane next to hers. He held his jacket over his shoulder, and his tie was undone. Sweat stains moistened his white shirt. “Diana! Perfect timing. You’re just what I need.”

“How’s that, Harry?”

“I’d like to hitch a ride. I’ve been having engine trouble. They promised to get right on it, but now it’s too late.”

Diana patted her aircraft. “This isn’t a car, Harry. I can’t drop you off anywhere you like.”

“I know, I know.” Harry grinned and regarded her aircraft as if admiring it. “This little hummingbird of yours is a real beaut.”

“That’s not what you said the last time I ran into you. As I recall, you called it a girlie plane.”

“Well, you are a girl. And the pink stripes are a bit much.” Harry patted the wing. “All fueled, are you?”

“I always keep it fueled, Harry.” Diana raised her leg to climb on.

“So you won’t give me a lift? Say, to Kansas City? If it’s out of your way, I’ll gladly pay you.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t. I have somewhere to be.”

Overhead, an Air Force jet thundered across the heavens, streaking to the east.

“What I wouldn’t give to have one of those babies,” Harry said with a grin, then turned serious. “Look. No more beating around the bush. War is about to break out, and we both know what that means. I need to get to Kansas City, either with your help or without it.”

“You’ll have to find someone else to take you.”

“Or I can fly myself,” Harry Pierce said, and attacked her.

Deepak Kapur stared at the image on his computer screen and blurted the first thing that came into his head: “Shiva is unleashed.” He pushed his chair back and bowed his head. “So many lives,” he said softly. His cell beeped and he answered without looking at the caller’s number. “Yes?”

“Mr. Kapur, this is Becca Levy, Home Communications. Your password, please.”

“Those silly passwords,” Deepak said.

“If you have a complaint, sir, you may take it up with Mr. Carpenter. But right now, please, I need your password.”

“I’ve seen the news. I know I need to get there.”

“Please, Mr. Kapur.”

Deepak sighed. “My password is Yama. Appropriate, don’t you think?”