Part 17 (1/2)
Possibilities of viral origin: 90.3% Possibilities of other origin: 9.7% **Error of +/- 2.4%** lack of data input.
Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N - INPUT US population: 320,520,068 INPUT infection Rate: 100% OUTPUT based on infrastructure conditions, national supply inventories and archived weather data.
Possibility of undead majority within thirty days: 100% Possibility of undead majority within fifteen days: 94.3% Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N - INPUT US population by city
top fifty INPUT interrogative: How many cities in order of high population will need to be destroyed to hold undead minority at day thirty?
OUTPUT based on 55.2% conversion day twenty.
Cities destroyed to maintain undead minority at day thirty: 276 OUTPUT based on undead density in vicinity of city center and accurate deployment of thermonuclear weapon(s).
Would you like another a.n.a.lysis? Y/N G.o.d had his calculations-the quantums were never wrong. Every time they went against the automated output, it bit them in the a.s.s, hard. Even in situations when dissenting against the quantums seemed the only viable choice, time eventually proved the computer's AI prescience. At the first decade of the twenty-first century, the quantums advised against going to war with Iraq, and later, warned against any stimulus injection into the collapsing economy.
The twin b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were tied into the Internet, SIPr, JWICS, VORTEX, NSAnet, and every foreign network on Earth, even if brute force decryption on the fly was required. They crawled information in real time and could make frightening a.s.sessments on problems that no one knew existed. The quantums even tied into the RF spectrum, a.n.a.lyzing cellular and other radio traffic. They were designed to understand human speech and output based on normal speaking syntax. It was rumored by some inside Remote Six that the two quantums working in tandem might accurately predict the future out to six months by crawling the various nodes, connecting key subconscious phrases in high numbers of Internet user text input.
Another report would soon arrive on G.o.d's desk, subject line Horizon. Oh, yes, G.o.d knew everything about this little skeleton. His directorate had been in contact with the Mingyong scientists via encrypted correspondence. All Horizon Program intelligence would later be a.n.a.lyzed and a.s.similated into the quantums despite the best efforts of Chinese Central Military Commission cyber-defense agents. Not now, though. He had cities to destroy, by proxy.
One klick off Hawaii It's go time. The special operations team just departed. The Scan Eagle UAVs are airborne, and Saien and I are monitoring the IR feed. Although gyro stabilized, the picture isn't even close to the quality of Predator. The upside is that these little UAVs can be launched from the deck of a submarine with little maintenance and fuel required to keep them running.
I received a relay from Tara earlier today with some updates regarding the goings-on onboard the s.h.i.+p. She was also nice enough to send John's chess moves along with her message.
I love her, and I realize it now more than ever. I wish I could get over whatever it is that keeps me from expressing it more outwardly, even on this piece of paper.
Being away this long only magnifies my feelings, as there is a gaping hole in my chest where I left a piece of myself back on the carrier. I will be doing everything I can to make it back in one uninfected piece so that I may hold her again.
Although I'm not typically the emotional type, seeing those men leave for the mainland made me feel for them. They might not be as lucky as I've been. I almost feel guilty, as if there is a finite amount of luck in the world, and I used it all up. To clear my mind, I'm going to sneak back to my quarters and enter John's chess move and strategize my next move until I'm needed. His most recent chess move looks strange. I'll have to try and figure out what John meant. In his other moves he would send something like: John to Kil: K to 3C His latest move was a series of combinations that looked like: John to Kil: W&I p34 w34 BT p34 w55-and the combination goes on for quite some length.
I'll need to spend some time looking at the board to see what he meant. He sent too many combinations to be only one chess move. Maybe something was garbled.
Maximum pull-ups: 10 Push-ups: 90 1.5 mile treadmill run: 10:58 Ninety thousand feet over Chinese airs.p.a.ce High above the Earth, a triangle-shaped aircraft was moving at Mach 6, its sensors tuned to the situation on the ground in the People's Republic of China.
”This is Deep Sea checking on station, Bohai, over.”
The transmission sounded mechanical and m.u.f.fled as the pilot spoke into his oxygen mask.
”Say angels, Deep Sea.”
”Deep Sea is angels ninety, Mach six point one.”
”Roger that, Deep Sea, moving a little slow today. How's the view?”
”Cameras are slewed, no changes since last mission. About twenty percent of Beijing is still on fire, no sign of unconventional detonation in sensor range. She's still intact, Home Base.”
”Roger that, think you'll have time to make a Moscow run today, Deep Sea?”
”Home Base, that's thirty-two hundred nautical miles as the crow flies. I can be there in thirty-eight minutes. Priority one?”
”No, Deep Sea, not pri one at this time.”
”Roger Home Base, I'll stay on COG pri one tasking here.”
”Understood, Deep Sea, just seeing if you had the time.”
The black aircraft continued its hypersonic patrol of the Bohai regions of China. The pilot pointed the multispectral camera at Tiananmen Square for optic calibration and began to switch from electro optic to thermal. The hundreds of thousands of moving and walking undead registered cold. The pilot then began to enter the pa.s.skey on his multi-function display to access the coordinates of the facility-a place known by the pilot to hold something deep in its bowels so cla.s.sified that the mere unauthorized knowledge could get him killed-even pre-anomaly.
Soon, perhaps in a week, Task Force Hourgla.s.s would be entering the Bohai, and subsequently Chinese waters. The pilot would be tasked with one final priority, one mission in this area during the incursion, in support of Hourgla.s.s. After that it wouldn't be safe, considering what he knew might be planned for their exfiltration.
Continuing on its reconnaissance track, the bird took thousands of digital photographs and high-resolution video that would be a.n.a.lyzed and transferred to the remaining COG. That in turn would be trickled down through military leaders.h.i.+p to Joint Task Force Hourgla.s.s for mission planning. Knowledge of this aircraft's existence and even its capabilities was buried away inside its multi-trillion-dollar black-budgeted special-access program, from a time when government acronyms and codenames mattered.
34.
USS George Was.h.i.+ngton Dr. Dennis Bricker wiped the sweat from his face with his smock, adding another st.i.tch to the child's elbow. Jan a.s.sisted, as she knew the patient well.
”Danny, you need to be more careful. The s.h.i.+p is a dangerous place. You could have just as easily split your head open.”
Danny wouldn't meet Jan's eyes. Jan had become an aunt to him during their months of survival together at Hotel 23. ”I'm sorry, Ms. Jan. I was just havin' fun and playin' zombie.”
”Playing what? Why would you do that?” Jan asked as Dr. Bricker looped another st.i.tch, causing Danny to wince in pain.
”Ouch!” Danny jerked a little. ”Well, we play it because it's fun. Makes my friends not as scared at night.” Bricker listened, a.n.a.lyzing Danny's words and mannerisms.
”Scared of what, Danny?”
”Scared of the zombies on the s.h.i.+p.”
”Danny, honey . . . look, they're not here. They're far away, on sh.o.r.e.”
Bricker looped the last st.i.tch and said, ”Okay, young man, we're all done. I don't want to see you down here for st.i.tches again; we're almost out of thread and I'll be using staples on you next time. Got it?”
Danny's eyes widened at the thought.
”Thanks, Dr. Bricker. Thanks, Ms. Jan. Can I leave now?”
”Yes, honey, we're all done,” Jan said rea.s.suringly.
Danny hopped off the table and pulled his T-s.h.i.+rt back over his head before walking out the door. The rhythm of his feet indicated he was running as soon as the door closed.
”He'll be back,” Bricker predicted.
Jan sighed. ”Yes, I know.”
”You know, Jan, that's not the first talk I've heard of those things aboard. This s.h.i.+p is over a thousand feet long, over two hundred and fifty feet wide, and goes nearly seven stories underwater. Lots of room. There are places I've never even seen.”