“I do not think we have seen the last of him,” Yakov said.
Turcotte had expected the Russian to say something like that. “If we cross paths again, only one of us is walking away.”
“He is immortal—” Yakov began, but Turcotte cut him off.
“If we meet again, only one of us will walk away, and it will be me.”
CHAPTER 9: THE PRESENT
The floor of the chamber was covered with a fine sheen of blood, but Garlin didn’t appear to notice as he stared down at the body on the gurney. He had already killed Duncan two dozen times by pushing the probe farther into her brain.
The Swarm, by nature a patient creature, was becoming impatient. Intercepted messages from the human intelligence network indicated one of the surviving Airlia had a Talon and was heading toward Mars, where the communications array was being built. The cycle of probing, dying, coming back to life was growing tiresome.
The Swarm tentacle directed Garlin to take a new approach. He went to the escape pod and retrieved a flat black metal case about two feet in width and height and six inches in depth. He brought it back to the chamber and opened the front, revealing advanced surgical equipment carefully slotted in pockets inside.
He turned back to the Ark and input new commands, directing it to have the crown scan her brain and give him a map to work with. Within seconds, a display of Duncan’s brain appeared. The artery that was failing was highlighted, but Garlin noticed something else. A small round object near the back of her head. Something solid and metal.
Garlin removed a drill, fitted the proper adapter to the end, and turned to Duncan. He put the tip against her skull, above the artery where the aneurysms were occurring. Just as Duncan once more came back to life he activated the drill and pressed down.
The sickening sound of metal cutting into bone was matched by Duncan’s scream.
Turcotte had been on Oahu several times in his military career and the only place he could think of to bring the mothership in to off-load all the people from Easter Island was the international airport. He maneuvered the mothership in low over the ocean toward the island, with Diamond Head off to his right and Pearl Harbor to the left.
There was no activity at the airport that he could see and the radio reports were very confused as the people on the island tried to recover from the aftereffects of the nanovirus. It was strange to see not a single naval vessel in the harbor.
Turcotte brought the massive ship to a halt over the main runway, got it down as low as it would go without its belly hitting the tarmac, then turned to Yakov. “Open all the cargo bays.”
The doors on the side of the ship slid open and gangways extended to the ground. Thousands poured off the ship, but Turcotte didn’t leave the control room.
“What now, my friend?” Yakov asked, his eyes on the monitors, watching the people. “Mars?” “Not yet. We’re not ready.”
“And how can we become ready?”
Turcotte rubbed his face, feeling the stubble and the torn skin where the cold had ravaged the flesh. “Aspasia’s Shadow did say some things that made sense.”
“For instance?”
“Artad has a Talon. As far as we can determine Talons are warships. He knows how to use it and its weapons. We don’t even know how to work the weapon on this ship that Aspasia’s Shadow used on Easter Island. I watched him as he did it, but I’m not sure I could duplicate what he did and I knew he wasn’t going to give us lessons. I’m pretty sure I can fly this thing to Mars, but what then?” “Nuclear bombs?” Yakov suggested. “We drop them manually?”
“Doctor Strangelove?” “What?”
Turcotte dropped the reference. “And if they shield the hansmitter?” Yakov shrugged. “I do not know what to tell you, my friend.”
Turcotte tapped the side of his head. “Think of what we’ve learned, bits and pieces. Something shot down the Swarm scout ship over Tunguska. And it wasn’t directed by the Airlia, the Mission, or the Ones Who Wait.”
“A human?”
“Who else is left?” “But how?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Turcotte said.
“Perhaps Major Quinn has some more information for us,” Yakov said.
Turcotte glanced at the displays, checking the off-load. “We’re heading there as soon as the holds are empty. After a side trip to an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.”
Garlin worked quickly, ignoring the blood that was splattering everywhere. He’d removed a section of Duncan’s skull three inches in diameter, exposing the interior. He’d then made a slit through the three protective membranes surrounding the brain. He didn’t even blink as he sliced through the pia mater — the innermost layer — and a spurt of cerebrospinal fluid hit him in the face.
He continued into the cerebrum so he could get to the artery that was continually rupturing. He couldn’t stop the conditioning impressed into the very cells there, so he did the next best thing. He put a shunt into the artery that bypassed that section.
Even as he did this, new flesh was regenerating, beginning to reseal the protective membrane. He got the shunt in place, then quickly exited the hole. He watched as the damage was repaired internally and bone began to grow around the opening in the skull. As soon as the wound was closed he picked up the drill again and turned her head so he had access to the rear. He drilled in, repeating the process of entering her brain. He found the metal sphere, less than a half inch in diameter. Using a magnifying glass, he could see that several small filaments ran from the sphere into Duncan’s brain.
He grabbed a set of long, narrow pincers and slid them into the hole, seizing the sphere. With no concern for pain he yanked it out, the thin wires ripping free.
Turcotte staggered and only kept from falling by putting his hands on the large display at the front of the pilot’s compartment.
“Are you all right?” Yakov jumped up from his seat.
Turcotte leaned over, feeling as if an arrow had been driven into the back of his head. It hurt so badly he didn’t dare shake it to answer Yakov’s question. It was so intense he felt physically ill, his last meal threatening to come up as he tasted bile.
“What is wrong, my friend?” Yakov hovered over Turcotte, uncertain what to do.
Turcotte removed his hand from behind his head and looked at it, expecting to see blood, but there was none. “Felt like I got shot,” he said in a whisper.
The pain was receding slowly, and he straightened, touching the back of his head once more, searching for a wound. Nothing. “Damn,” he muttered. “What happened?” Yakov asked.
“I don’t know,” Turcotte said, “but I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
Garlin looked at the metal sphere, turning it this way and that. Four extremely thin wires dangled from it, coated in blood. He carefully placed the sphere in a small cup, then turned back to the table. Certain Duncan was once more alive, he went back to the Ark and put his bloodstained hands on the controls. The second hole hadn’t even finished healing as he began to probe once more.
Duncan didn’t regain consciousness immediately, the trauma too great and overwhelming, even to her subconscious. The gift of immortality could keep her alive, but it couldn’t help her deal with the pain and horror of what was being done to her. In a most primitive way, her mind was trying to protect her consciousness from what was happening.
The mental probe from the Ark of the Covenant went into Duncan’s mind, traveling along the pathways of the nervous system, searching for images of her ship. The shunt kept blood flowing even as the conditioned flesh gave way once more.