It was Zack’s job to find them. He had already stayed too long beside Caity. Now he had to leave her with Susan and resume work. There had to be a way to fight this. If the cause was the virophage, which Zack suspected it was, then maniacal work must find a way to defeat the microbe. Humanity had defeated microbes before: with antibiotics, with antivirals, with widespread eradication programs like those that had eliminated malaria from the United States and smallpox from the entire world. There was a way to cure Caitlin of whatever pernicious microbe had seized her brain.
There was.
There must be.
CHAPTER 13
Jason strode into the armory with two members of J Squad; more met him there. All wore full armor. They were going to meet the Return when it landed. Li had sent precise instructions to the ship where and when to set down in order to minimize the time it was vulnerable. The chosen rendezvous was far enough away to avoid the snipers and missile launchers undoubtedly hidden in the woods around Monterey Base.
The armory motor pool always seemed to Jason a pathetic remnant for an Army that had once had transport capabilities to deploy a brigade anywhere in the world within ninety-six hours and a full division in a hundred and twenty. It consisted of six FiVees—five here now—three quadcopters, and two Bradleys. Ten years ago, as the world fell apart, Jason had taken considerable risks to get the Bradleys to Monterey. Army research bases did not ordinarily stock armored fighting vehicles, not even older ones. Jason had also secured modification kits for the Bradleys, which were now as good as Bradleys got, although he still regretted that he hadn’t been able to secure any Strykers. Neither Bradley had as yet left base, and the enemy didn’t know they were here.
One was now prepared to roll. Jason was doing everything possible to neutralize possible attack by New America.
It wasn’t enough.
The Bradley roared out of the airlock and accelerated to its top speed, which was not very impressive, across the perimeter. Even before it reached the road, it was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. The vehicle jerked violently, throwing Jason against Corporal Wharton. The reactive armor installed between the armor plates exploded as it was supposed to, neutralizing the incoming fire.
“Direct hit, sir,” Private Kandiss shouted, unnecessarily. The Bradley bulldozed through the cloud of dust thrown up by the hit and kept going. The gunner was kept busy. Noise like falling mountains assaulted eardrums. Two more RPGs, and the Bradley turned off-road toward the river.
Immediately the ride became even rougher. The soldiers crammed into the small space bounced and clutched. Jason kept his eyes on the video display. New America had FiVees much faster than the Bradley, but no FiVee could go against the Bradley’s chain gun. He saw no FiVees. The armored vehicle crunched over saplings and rocks, keeping to open country.
The river finally came in sight, a dull ribbon under the low sky. The rain, which had stopped, began again.
“Okay, river ahead,” Jason said. “We turn north along it and—”
A Stryker tore toward them from a grove of trees.
No—New America did not have Strykers! Except, they did now.
The Stryker had slat armor; it could withstand any ordnance that the Bradley could fire without stopping. Nor could the Bradley outrun the Stryker; tracked vehicles were just not as fast as wheeled ones. But they were more stable, with better mobility over rough terrain. And—
“Make directly for the river, Sergeant. Gunner, if anything moves, shoot it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Stryker gained on the Bradley, firing constantly. Jason lost track of the hits. The river, when they reached it, ran a few feet below a rocky bank. “Go! Go!”
The Bradley plunged over the bank, swaying wildly. Jason held his breath. Then they were in the river, powering across at maximum water speed of eight miles per hour. A Bradley was not an amphibious assault vehicle. Please don’t let the water level be too high….
It wasn’t. The Bradley lumbered across the light rapids and emerged, climbing the bank as it shed water, on the other side.
Jason had hoped that the Stryker, wheeled, would flip when it dived over riverbank. It didn’t, but it hit a rock, bounced, and came down mired in mud.
On the video display, the Return descended from orbit. If the Stryker had a lucky warhead shot…
“Go! Go!”
They raced toward the ship. It set down silently, rain sliding off its silvery hull. Jason and his troops were already out of the Bradley and running. They were barely inside the airlock when the Return lifted, soaring high above the rainy land beneath and the missile from the Stryker that just missed the hull.
Jason gazed down at the dwindling Bradley. New America would claim it, of course. But not for long.
Information Tech Specialist Ruby Martin waited just beyond the airlock. “Sir, welcome aboard. Lieutenant Allen instructed me to tell you that something has happened aboard.”
“What?” On the wall screen, Earth fell away. Now the sky was black above a band of deep violet shading into grayish-white below them and blue on the horizon, which curved away in every direction. Already they were well into the stratosphere.
Martin said, “Major Farouk has passed out and can’t be revived. We don’t know what drugs he might have taken or if this is a suicide attempt or—”
“It’s not.” Christ, another one. “Did Major Farouk learn anything useful about the ship before he went comatose?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Did he leave notes?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you learned anything more about the ship’s communications capability?”
“A little more, yes, by experimenting.”
“Do you think you can contact HQ at Fort Hood, if we fly there?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, with noticeable pride. “I think I can.”
“Good. Take me to the bridge. Sergeant, keep the squad here.”
The ship seemed vaster inside than out, although Jason knew that was impossible. Jane had explained to him that the insides had been built for Worlders to found a colony, with animal pens and seed stores and food supplies, none of which remained. The inside of the Return had been scoured and stripped before she launched for Earth. All that remained were wooden partitions—no metal ones—that Worlders had erected to divide the space into rooms and corridors, with far fewer of each than in the two domes at Monterey Base. In that respect, the inside of the Return resembled Colin’s Settlement.
But only in that respect. Jason walked past the FiVee that he had ordered, along with a lot of ordnance, loaded onto the ship during its previous landing. He said abruptly, “Specialist, did Major Farouk mention having headaches before he went unconscious?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you had headaches or sleepiness? Has Lieutenant Allen, or Corporal Michaelson?”
She looked startled. “No. Sir?”
“Never mind.”
The bridge was a surprisingly small and unpretentious space ringed with strange machinery and three wall screens, only one active. It showed Earth, now the blue-and-white globe familiar from a million pictures and holos. Seth Allen sat on a wooden bench that looked as if it had once been a low table, topped with a cushion woven of rough cloth. More cushions were heaped in the corner. He and Michaelson stood and saluted.