Killswitch (15 page)

“People, for the most part, let computers run the show. We're using that to our advantage.” Chase was twenty feet ahead of his followers now, and they started walking forward again.

“So, how do you do it?” Kirel asked. “How do you get the whole world to do whatever you tell it to do?”

“Not the whole world,” Chase said. “Just certain government entities.”

“But how do you do it?”

“You're asking the wrong person. In the past few months I've learned to connect and to manipulate, but understanding is what I'm missing. In the last few days, the exoself has done things without my instructions. And I don't know why.”

Switchblade's voice sounded close behind Chase. “'Cause God planned it that way, Charlie. Seems to me God and that exoself are on the same page.”

“Yeah, that doesn't clear up anything for me.” Chase glanced at the man then slowed until they walked side by side.

“You ought to give the thing a name.”

Chase laughed. “It's not alive. At least I hope not. Sometimes I think it will take over completely and there will be no more me.”

“I agree.” Windsong joined in. “Name the thing. Might make you feel better. Like you're in control of it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kirel said. “I just wanted to know how it works. I don't want to make friends with it. It scares me to death to think about what it can do. What it
might
do. We can't let it become the routine—putting something like that in people. Imagine the chaos if thousands of people were manipulating hundreds of programs around the world. It's got to stop.”

Chase slowed his pace a little and rubbed the back of his neck. The exoself sparked the code—32-7—but not in a threatening way. Just a warning.

Regarding Kirel.

“I can't say I disagree with you,” Chase told him. “But it's part of who I am now. Is that OK with you?”

“Uh, yeah. I know you didn't start this. You're just a victim. But maybe it would help the scientists realize how dangerous the whole thing is if they knew that it's thinking for itself. That it's able to subvert the plans of the leadership that authorized it.”

Switchblade set his face inches from Kirel's. The exoself triggered yet another subtle warning.

“Enough talk from you,” Switchblade said to Kirel. “Let's get ourselves to the plant and get this night over with. Sooner you take off for the EU the better. Least as far as I'm concerned.”

“I was just stating my opinion. When did you decide to stand up for the guy you've been referring to as a robot? You know he's an accident waiting to happen. Admit it.”

Chase had to end this before Switchblade lost his temper. “I thought of a name for the exoself.”

“Great,” Windsong said. “Tell us what you've decided to name your brain-indwelling, cyber-connected, nanotech-engineered baby.”

“Sparky.”

Switchblade let out a laugh. “You got a Scottish Terrier inside you, man?”

“I think it's cute,” Windsong said. She started walking. “Are we almost there, Sparky?”

“Now I'm having second thoughts,” Chase said. He stepped ahead of her. “Don't start calling me Sparky. But yes, we're almost there. Quarter mile to go.” He pointed to a clearing on the hilltop ahead. “See the lights up there? That's it.”

Switchblade's heavy footsteps thumped behind Chase, followed by Kirel's lighter step. As the four began their ascent to the WR drone manufacturing plant, Chase remembered there were people praying for him. Good thing. Sparky wasn't the only one with a bad feeling about what was ahead.

25

The four crouched near an endless run of ten-foot steel fence with razor wire along the top. No laser fence or any sign of high-tech security. Chase double-checked the camera system, the now inactive cyber-guards, and the slightly hovering remaining drones positioned to load themselves on a jet that would be auto-piloted to the runway in less than an hour.

No sign of trouble. Stray humans were not detected by the exoself. But it did find a dog, and it was bigger than a Scottish terrier. Probably a Doberman by the look of its heat imprint. A second fence circled the plant inside the one that Chase peered through. The canine roamed the perimeter of the inner fence.

Chase weaved his fingers through the heavy-duty fencing, pulled out a chunk, and threw it to the ground. Leaning forward, he grabbed the broken spot with both hands and ripped the fence apart.

“Impressive,” Windsong said.

“The next fence holds a guard dog,” Chase said. “Don't know if I want to stick my hand in.” He climbed through the hole. Windsong followed. Then Kirel, who snagged the sleeve of his jacket on the protruding metal and mumbled a foul word in French. Switchblade didn't fit as easily as the rest of them, but he got through.

“Come on,” Chase said. The compound had two buildings and stretched a half mile in all directions. The runway where Windsong's jet would land was eight hundred yards to the left. Chase had turned off most of the lights in the compound.

In the next enclosure, the Doberman rushed toward them and jumped a good six feet up the fence. It snarled like it hadn't eaten in a week and the only thing that would satisfy its hunger was a buffet of intruders.

Chase stopped and crossed his arms. He sparked the exoself, the protection code, the safe travel code. Nothing. This was flesh and blood showing its teeth, not some computer system. What was he supposed to do with a ferocious dog?

But it had to be fitted with an identification chip. All dogs were chipped. He searched WR records for canine protection units. In twenty seconds he found the company supplying guard dogs to government facilities in the Northeast Territory. And he found the dog.

Female. Two years old. Trained in Montreal. Chase knew everything about the hundred pound blue-gray prize winner.

“I got this,” he said to the others.

“Nora,
en bas
,” he yelled. He clapped his hands once and then rolled his left arm in the air.

The beast backed away from the fence, cowered, whined, and dropped to her stomach. She rested her huge head between her front paws and huffed.

“Are you serious?” Switchblade asked. “Are you
serious
?” he yelled as he shook his head.

Chase shrugged, reached the fence, and ripped a hole in it. The dog sprang to her feet and growled.

“Nora!” Chase rolled his arm again and the dog returned to her subservient pose.

Windsong laughed and crawled through first. Chase followed, stretched the break a little bigger this time, and motioned Switchblade in. Kirel crawled in last. The man kept his back against the fence as he stared at the Doberman.

“She's harmless,” Chase said. “Unless I tell her otherwise.”

Kirel nodded. “I'm glad I'm on your side.”

Something about the man's voice sent a chill down all twelve processors of Chase's lab-grown spine. “Come on. I hear the jet. It'll be landing about the time we get inside the building.”

“I don't hear anything. We're going inside a building?” Kirel asked. “Why not just head for the runway?”

“The plane will taxi to the building where the drones are waiting to get picked up. Once they're loaded, and the two of you are onboard, I'll send the plane on its way.”

“You don't need to program it, Chase,” Windsong said. “I'm the pilot—I'll fly it out of here.”

“You'd have forces on you before you got over the ocean. This plane is on auto. It needs to stay that way until I can recode it. Don't touch the controls. Don't even go near the cockpit. It's—”

“Heat sensitive. It'll pick up my presence. Even my DNA. I had a scanner installed to prevent theft.”

“I could disable it, but I don't want to attract attention. Just stay clear of the cockpit for a few minutes until I can scramble your location. I'm disabling the plane's communications. You won't have any way of notifying the ground, but it'll keep the trackers off you. You'll have to land by sight.”

“What about the drones?” Switchblade asked. “What happens when they don't get delivered to wherever they're supposed to be going?”

“The plane is going down in the ocean. The drones will be lost.”

Windsong put her hands on her hips. “What?”

“Don't worry. The exoself will make it believable. It'll free you up to start over in the EU if they think you and your plane are gone.”

“It's all so easy,” she said. “I can't believe the way you mess with the system and get away with it.”

Kirel walked ahead. “I can't believe it either. The Helgen Institute must be proud.”

Sarcasm? Chase caught up with him as they reached the south side of the metal building. “The people at the Helgen have no idea what I'm doing. And I plan to keep it that way.” He reached a bolted steel door and yanked it open as if it were made of cardboard.

“I bet they'd be amazed at the way you've learned to use the exoself. Sparky.” He laughed. “But what about the destruction you're leaving here? Holes in the fence and busted doors—nobody but Chase Sterling could do that.”

Chase looked the man in the eyes. “Anybody with the right tools could do it. And when I'm through feeding bull to the Feds, they'll think the dissenters did this. One group casts blame on another—I throw it right back at them.”

Kirel's closed his mouth and his nostrils flared.

Windsong's plane whooshed overhead and circled to land on the airstrip that wasn't quite long enough. But together with the auto-pilot program, Chase made it work.

The human pilot lifted her hands in the air. “Glory to God,” she said. “Thank you for the transhuman.”

The four slunk into the building and lined up against a wall near the sleeping drones. Why were they sneaking around? Nobody but the Doberman knew they were there, and she'd accepted the situation.

The drones were lined up, awaiting orders. Unarmed. Chase had seen other little flying spybots shoot to kill, but these weren't weapons. Five would fit into the cargo bay of Windsong's plane, which could be heard rolling near on the other side of a thirty-foot pull-down door. Chase broke off the padlock and pushed the door upward.

The plane rested, and Windsong ran to it and punched in a code to lower the ramp to the cargo bay. She smiled as she patted the plane's belly.

Chase programmed the drones to come to life, and one by one they lifted from their hovering position and moved toward the rear of the jet.

It was easy. Too easy.

Windsong hoisted herself on board and motioned for Kirel.

“I don't know if I want to cross the ocean with a bunch of WR drones,” he said. “I'm feeling a little queasy.”

The man seemed to have a sudden case of aviophobia. Chase could relate—it had taken a fly-or-die situation to get over
his
fear of all things airborne. But he didn't have any sympathy for Kirel. The man was getting on that plane.

Chase grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the building. “It's being underground you don't like. Remember?”

“Hey, Switchblade,” Windsong yelled.

“Yeah?” He stepped to the open rear door where Windsong leaned out.

“Got some crates in the way in here. Come on board and help me shove them to the side before the drones load.”

“Kirel's coming,” Switchblade said. “Let
him
do it.”

“The man looks green. I don't want him on my plane if he's gonna puke.”

“Well, what about the guy with the augmented muscles?”

“Promised his girlfriend I wouldn't let him near my plane. I think she's worried he's a flight risk.”

Chase smiled and headed for the opening. “I'll move your crates. I'm not going anywhere but back to Blue Sky Field in time for breakfast.”

“Nah, man, I'm going. Got me some
real
muscles.” Switchblade hoisted himself into the plane and disappeared.

With Windsong and Switchblade out of sight, Kirel grabbed Chase around the neck and pointed a laser gun at his head.

Chase reached back. He gripped the arms of Kirel's jacket, and braced to flip the guy over his shoulder. Kirel shoved the cold narrow barrel of the gun firmly into Chase's temple. A blast from the weapon would take him out, transhuman or not. He froze.

“What is this, Kirel? You want something from me? Just tell me. We can work it out.”

Windsong stepped to the hatch and started to climb out of the plane's underbelly. Her eyes grew wide and she pulled out her gun and aimed for Kirel.

“Drop it, pull the door up, and get out of here,” Kirel shouted. “You try anything and what's left of the real Chase Sterling gets his revved-up brain splattered all over the place.”

She tossed the weapon and stepped forward, her lifted palms before her. “OK, think it trough, Kirel. Whatever you have planned—”

“Get out of here!” Kirel shoved the laser gun tighter into Chase's head.

You fool, I can't fly the plane.” She pointed at Chase. “
He
has to do it.”

“That's exactly what he's going to do. As soon as you shut the hatch.”

Switchblade launched out of the hatch and landed on the loading pad thirty feet in front of Chase.

Kirel backed up, tightening his chokehold. “Get back on the plane!”

“You'll regret this,” Chase said. He remained frozen, but the exoself was running wild.

“
You'll
regret it if you don't cooperate. Remember the truck that slowed down back in Herouxville? It's loaded with explosives and parked at the front door of the museum. You let me down, I blow the place. If I don't show up at the rendezvous point, others will take care of pulling the switch.” He looked at Switchblade. “That goes for you and the pilot too. You try anything, all those people die.”

“You're lying” Chase said. “I would have picked up on it.”