Aldous stepped onto the escalator, keeping his hand over his mouth to confuse any facial recognition programs that might capture his image as he made his way up. It was still early in the morning, and the businesses within the complex weren’t likely to open for a couple more hours. When he reached the top floor, he walked toward the entrance to an optometrist’s office. He turned when he noticed something on the far wall, a rehabilitation clinic specializing in prosthetics for workers injured working in the oil fields. He sighed and put his back to the glass, letting his exhausted legs finally rest as he slid down to a seated position.
“Sam,” he said to his wife over his mind’s eye as she continued to be tortured, “hang on, darling. I’ll be there soon.”
20
Craig lifted off from the deck of the Titanic and flew forward to the bow of the ship. Almost immediately, the iceberg came into view. “A little help?”
“You’ll have to guide me, Craig,” the A.I. said. “I still have not established a link to your optics.”
“Titanic’s headed straight for the iceberg, not turning. Looks like it needs to turn to the port side to miss. Can we use our power to help with the turn?”
“I’d advise against it,” the A.I. replied calmly. “First officer William Murdoch will attempt a port-around maneuver, but because he will try to reverse the engines, there will be a delay of thirty seconds, and the deceleration will cause the ship rudder to be far less effective.”
“Isn’t that exactly why we should help push the bow to the port?” Craig asked, baffled as he flew to the starboard side of the ship and prepared to generate a field that would nudge the ship to the port side.
“It would almost certainly fail. Although you might get the ship to turn more quickly, sparing the front of the starboard side from the collision, the aft side would likely connect, causing the same level of damage.”
The iceberg was only seconds away now, with Titanic heading straight for it.
“Then I need an alternative!”
“I suggest preventing Titanic from turning to port,” the A.I. said coolly.
“What? Why?”
“Contrary to popular belief, the Titanic was actually an extraordinarily sturdy ship, as evidenced by her sister ship, the Olympic. She served for twenty-five years, surviving several major collisions. She even rammed and sank a U-boat, U-103, with her bow. The collision twisted the hull plates on the starboard side, but the hull’s integrity remained intact.”
“Okay!” Craig shouted as he flew over the deck, a small group of mesmerized crew members watching his uncanny aerial display as he did so. He positioned himself on the port side of the Titanic, near the bow. “I’m on the port side! What do I do?”
“Allow me,” the A.I. replied as he triggered the green energy, causing it to emanate once again from within Craig. The green aura became a wall of magnetic energy that cradled the side of the ship and shone so brightly that it bathed the expanse of the Titanic, as well as that of the iceberg, in a green glow.
Finally, the bow of the ship began to turn to the port side, but it almost immediately came into contact with the green wall that the A.I. had thrown up in opposition. The ship actually collided with the energy, bouncing off of it and angling to the starboard side, setting itself on a direct collision course with the iceberg.
“It’s working,” Craig said breathlessly. “I hope you’re right about this.”
“Me too,” the A.I. replied.
“What? You mean you’re not absolutely certain?”
“It’s only a theory,” the A.I. replied, a hint of indignation in his voice. “I calculate that this will have a seventy-nine percent chance of being successful. It has the best chance among all alternatives.”
“Oh Jesus,” Craig whispered as he watched the ship, now only meters from the collision.
21
Colonel Paine reentered the square concrete room that now served as an interrogation room. He had Sanha in tow. As he had earlier, he tossed Sanha roughly to the ground.
O’Brien saluted as soon as he saw his commanding officer.
Paine saluted in return before gesturing with his sharp, knife-like thumb for O’Brien to leave. O’Brien nodded and exited.
Samantha’s face remained covered by the sopping wet cloth. Her mouth was opened into a wide circle as she desperately struggled to steal as much oxygen through the suffocating membrane of the cloth as she could. With the spray of water now stopped, it was possible for trace amounts of air to pass through the barrier of the cloth, albeit not enough for her to survive.
Paine watched the cloth suck down into her mouth as she desperately tried to breathe. The spectacle reminded him of fishing as a child with his father—the slow suffocation of their impending dinner on the dry plats of their rowboat coming to mind. Paine had always watched suffocation with fascination. Watching a life end was something that he had witnessed countless times since—the fascination had not abated.
As Samantha began violently shaking her head back and forth in a vain attempt to shake the cloth off of her face, Paine reached out with his clawed hand and removed the obstruction. Just as before, Samantha inhaled painfully, taking almost half a minute to regain her ability to control her breathing.
“Hello again,” Paine finally said as he watched Samantha panting.
“Why…why are you torturing me?”
Paine contorted his face into an ugly expression. “Torture? This isn’t torture. You’ve never seen torture.”
Samantha’s heart suddenly chilled more than she could have ever previously imagined. “But…but, you’re not asking questions,” she protested as she struggled to speak through her gasps.
“That’s because you’re a zealot, Professor Emilson. Oh wait, I forgot. It’s Gibson now, isn’t it?” Paine slipped the cigar out of his mouth, the end of it nearly chewed to bits, and spat on the ground. “You ever wonder why we adopted water-boarding as an interrogation technique?”
“Semantics?” Samantha replied, a disgusted expression on her face as she concentrated on each breath, savoring every molecule of oxygen as she tried to calm herself.
“Heh,” Paine replied. “Typical liberal response. Nah, it’s not semantics. We did it because we found it was the best way to deprogram zealots like yourself.” He popped the cigar back between his lips and resumed his habit of chewing the end until it came apart in his mouth. “See, if we wanted, we could electro-shock their genitals or pull out some fingernails. Those are much more painful approaches when you think about it. On the surface, it seems like we’d get a better response from inflicting real and lasting wounds that leave nasty scars, but that strategy doesn’t work with zealots.”
“I’m not a zealot,” Samantha whispered.
“No?” Paine replied. “We started water-boarding as our preferred interrogation technique back when the biggest threat to America were radical Muslims. You see, once you’ve been indoctrinated into a belief system in which you think hijacking a plane and flying it into a building will lead to you being spat out into Heaven in the company of seventy virgins, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re not afraid of death. You’ve convinced yourself that if you can just get over this one, frightening moment—the moment the plane hits the building or the explosives strapped to your chest detonate—then you will be handsomely rewarded. You become convinced that you don’t need life.” Paine strolled to Samantha and leaned over her as she remained strapped to her board, her chest still heaving as her breathing continued to slowly return to normal. “Water-boarding reminds you that you want to live.”