Oblivion (12 page)

“What is?” a tinny voice said. Cross glanced at his wrist. He had an audio connection with Bradshaw.

“We hit the jackpot, Edwin,” Cross said.

“Jackpot?” Bradshaw sounded confused.

“We’ve found an entire stack of our little friends,” Cross said. “Have you had similar luck?”

“No,” Bradshaw said. “Although I keep thinking we should.” “Well, worry about it no longer,” Cross said. “Pack up the equipment and come home. Bring Portia. Tell her I’ll bring her some new toys to NanTech tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Bradshaw said.

“We’ve only got a few months,” Cross said. “We can’t afford to waste any time at all.”

Cross heard mumbling in the background, then Bradshaw said, “Portia wants to know if you can download any of this to us now?”

“Is this a secure line?” Cross asked Jamison.

He shook his head. “We’d have to go to the Army for that.” “Sorry,” Cross said to Bradshaw. “No can do. Just go back to D.C. I’ll meet you both there tomorrow.”

“Got it,” Bradshaw said. “And Leo, congrats.”

“Thanks,” Cross said. “But the congrats go to Jamison. It’s a good first step.”

Jamison smiled slightly as Cross severed the connection. “When I found these things I got completely overwhelmed.” He swept his hand toward them. “They’re so alien.”

“Funny,” Cross said. “I thought they seemed eerily familiar.” Jamison shook his head. “Not to me. They’re so unlike our nanomachines. It’s as if they’re based on a different thought process.”

Cross stared at the gray shapes on the screen. They weren’t much different than he had expected.

“It’s kind of like what we’d get if a dolphin invented a vehicle,” Jamison said.

“Why would a dolphin do that?”

“Rapid propulsion,” Jamison said.

“That’s a hell of an assumption,” Cross said.

“But make it for a moment,” Jamison said. “They’d start from the idea that the car would have to move quickly in water.”

“It wouldn’t be a car, then,” Cross said. “It would be a submarine.”

“Not for them,” Jamison said. “They can already be underwater for long periods of time. It’s as if these creatures had a similar principle in mind—something small that works quickly—but began from a different technology. The result is familiar enough that we can understand it, but not so familiar that we can make it work on the first try.”

“Got it,” Cross said. Jamison’s analogy was faulty, but Cross understood. It was like finding bits of pottery or ancient tools in a dig. Sometimes, if the culture was an unfamiliar one, the archaeologist could only hypothesize what the particular tool was used for.

Only here, they didn’t have to hypothesize. They knew. They just didn’t know how the thing worked.

Which reminded him. He had one more phone call to make. “Can I link into your system?” Cross asked. “I have one more call.”

“Just use it,” Jamison said. He removed the nanoharvesters from the computer, and deleted the image. The video link system showed on the screen. Cross dialed, and the numbers were blacked out. Efficient.

He got through to the Pentagon in one try. Apparently it was easy when you had the right numbers. The face that filled his screen belonged to Clarissa Maddox’s aide, Paul Ward.

“Leo Cross for General Maddox.”

“She’s in conference,” Ward said.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Cross said. “This shouldn’t wait.” Ward didn’t even ask him to hold. Instead, the screen went black, and then the United States Government seal filled the blankness.

“What?” Jamison asked. “No music?”

“Your tax dollars at work,” Cross said.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“It’s not necessary.”

Then the screen blanked again for a moment before Clarissa Maddox’s face appeared. She looked tired.

“Dr. Cross. I trust you have good news ”

“Excellent news, actually, General.” He leaned toward the computer. “I’m in California. We found what we were looking for.”

To his surprise, she smiled. It was a warm and joyful smile that made her look years younger. “You don’t know how I’ve needed to hear something good, Doctor. This is wonderful news, and it’ll be very helpful in our efforts.”

“I know,” Cross said.

“All right. I will order the Commander on-site to have you and the items flown back to Dulles. Then you bring all of the items directly to the Army lab. Is that clear?”

“General, I thought that NanTech would help with some of this. After all, they’re on top of the current research.”

“It’s a military problem now, Doctor. If our scientists need outside experts, I’m sure they’ll bring them in.” The smile had faded from her face. “You’re not going to give me another argument, are you, Leo?”

He made himself smile, even though he didn’t feel like it. He felt as if he’d been run over with a tank the last few times he’d talked to Maddox. “Of course not, General. I see your point.”

Her face softened. “Good. I look forward to seeing those little beasties.” She reached for the off button and then she paused. “Tell your team that it has done spectacular work.” And her image vanished.

“Spectacular work,” Cross said dryly.

“I heard,” Jamison said. “What a tight-ass.”

Cross shook his head. “She’s getting pressure from all sides. The only victory we had in that conflict came from her quick thinking. She’s just doing her job.”

“And now she expects you to give this to government scientists? No offense, Leo, but we turned down a number of their nanotech guys when they applied at NanTech. The government is very behind in this area. I can only think that the Army’s guys are even farther behind.”

“I know,” Cross said. “I’m not a member of the U.S. military.”

“Which means what?” Jamison asked.

“I’m going to look the other way as you divide these ‘beasties,’ as the general calls them, in thirds.”

“Thirds?”

“You’re taking a large pile to NanTech, and I’m taking a small pile to the Army.”

“And the third pile?”

“I think Edwin and I deserve just a few, too, don’t you?” “You guys aren’t that familiar with nanotechnology,” Jamison said.

“Nope, but we know fossils. And we might see something in the old ones that is missing from the new or vice versa. It might be something you guys miss.”

Jamison grinned. “I like how you think, Dr. Cross.”

Cross stood. “I’m glad someone does.”

April 29, 2018
6:09 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time

168 Days Until Second Harvest

Britt Archer hadn’t put on a slinky dress in half a year. She’d spent all of her time at the office or at Cross’s house. Her cats barely knew her any longer. Poor babies. They didn’t know why she was so frazzled, and she was glad she couldn’t explain it to them. They, at least, weren’t panicked, like the rest of the world.

She adjusted the strap on her high heels, clutched her purse, and ran her tongue over her teeth, making sure she didn’t have any lipstick where none should be. A long time since she got dressed up, and Cross wasn’t even in town to see it. He had called as she was leaving her apartment. He would be back by morning.

She didn’t tell him how much she missed him. She had decided, in the middle of the bombing, that while personal feelings were nice and good, they didn’t help wage a war.

And that’s what they were in now. A war. With an enemy no one understood.

She shuddered, and got out of her car. The valet had been waiting for her to do just that. He looked about twenty-one, athletic, and impatient with everything. If he were living in Europe right now, he’d be in the military. The U.S. was delaying the draft for just a few more weeks while it put training programs in place. Maddox had said she wanted some of the new recruits to go into astronaut training, others into science work.

In a month, this kid wouldn’t be parking cars. No one would.

But Archer couldn’t tell him that. Instead, she handed him her keys and stepped onto the red carpet someone had laid over the concrete sidewalk. It led under a matching red awning with the restaurant’s name emblazoned in gold. Another young man held open the oak door for her, revealing a coat check area and stairs leading up to the main dining room.

She felt awkward being in a place like this, and somewhat amazed that fancy restaurants were open and doing business. But why wouldn’t they? Fancy restaurants were the mainstay of Washington society. They wouldn’t shut down unless the entire country were under continual bombardment.

Which it just might be in a few months.

She shuddered, removed her shawl, and handed it to the young woman behind the counter. Then Archer walked up the stairs, careful to hold the railing so that she wouldn’t trip in her stylishly uncomfortable shoes.

The maitre d’s station was at the top of the stairs. A dapper man in his midforties fussed behind an oak podium. When he saw her, he raised a single eyebrow as if inquiring what had possessed a woman like her to come into a restaurant like this.

“I’m here to meet General Maddox,” Archer said.

The maitre d’s face eased into a wide smile. “Ah, the general. We don’t see enough of her these days.” He made it sound as if it were Maddox’s fault for failing to patronize the restaurant in times of crisis. “Follow me, please.”

He grabbed a menu swathed in leather, and a smaller book that had to be the wine list. Archer wondered if she was the first to arrive. When they reached the table in the very center of the room, she realized she wasn’t.

Jesse Killius sat there, looking awkward, her chewed fingernails tapping on the wine list. She looked as uncomfortable in her black silk dress and pearls as Archer felt. When Killius saw Archer, she smiled in what seemed like relief.

“I was beginning to feel like my date stood me up in front of the entire school,” she said.

Archer laughed and sat down. With a flourish, the maitre d’ handed her the menu, and then disappeared before Archer could ask for a drink.

The restaurant was full, and Archer recognized a number of Washington power brokers as well as a few journalists scattered among the tables. Everything was done in heavy oak and linen, very traditional, very old-fashioned.

“Would madam like a drink?” a voice asked at her elbow.
Madam would like the whole damn bottle,
Archer was tempted to say, but didn’t. Instead, she said, “Yes, please. A glass of Chardonnay.”

She didn’t even get to see the voice’s owner before he was gone.

“After all that’s been going on,” Killius said, “I would have thought you would order something stronger.”

Archer shook her head. “For all its trappings, I suspect this is a business meeting.”

“You don’t think we have enough in common with the general to warrant a girls’ night out?” Killius asked.

Archer liked Killius’s fey sense of humor. They had spoken on the phone a number of times, but never enough for that humor to come out. Whenever they were on the phone it was either STScI business or NASA business, and they were talking in either scientist or administrator shorthand.

“I think we probably do,” Archer said, “but I don’t think we have the time to find out.”

Killius’s smile faded and she sighed. “When I was in college,” she said, “we had to interview people who had gone through a twentieth-century historical moment for a history term paper. I interviewed an old guy who had been a German POW in World War II.”

Yet another waiter set down Archer’s white wine. She picked up the glass and twirled the stem between her thumb and forefinger.

“He had a lot of stories, most of them about the harsh conditions, but the one thing that stuck with me is that they piled a bunch of sawdust into something shaped like a bread loaf and as they ate it, they talked about the best meals they had ever had.”

Archer sipped her wine. It was the best house Chardonnay she had ever had.

“So after that, at times when I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner or when I came to a fancy restaurant—” Killius swept her hand toward the door “—I would remember what he said and wonder if I would ever be in a situation where I would be starving and remembering that meal as one of the best meals I ever had.”

Archer shuddered. “I think if something happens to us this time, it’ll happen so fast we won’t have time to think about meals or our lives flashing before our eyes. We’ll just be gone.”

Killius’s gaze slipped away from hers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so glum.”

Archer shrugged. “I’m the one who brought it up. I mean, aren’t you a little uncomfortable being here, knowing that—”

“Ladies.” General Maddox approached the table, leading the maitre d’, who now looked like a whipped puppy. “I’m glad you could make it.”

If she hadn’t spoken first, Archer wouldn’t have recognized her. Maddox was dressed up, too, in a slinky blue dress, with a sassy set of sapphire earrings, and a matching sapphire bracelet that accented her strong arms. She wore her hair up and her makeup light, but she looked nothing like the tough general who had been running the Tenth Planet Project meetings all these months.