Chapter 9

Washington, D.C. – February 2042

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” exploded President Ellis. “Why do we need the fucking Washington Post and the New York Times? They haven’t done anything but carp at the changes I’ve had to enact. HAD TO! The goddam Kafiri bastards would have overrun the country by now, if I hadn’t cut them off at the knees.”

General Patton was now the National Security Director – at least if the Senate did what it was supposed to do and confirmed him. It was the first time anyone held a dual NatSec / Chairman of the Joint Chiefs position. Patton shrugged at Ellis’ explosion. He exploded at least several times per day. And his ‘enemies’ didn’t stop with the press. He was making a list of members of Congress. And foreign leaders. And let’s not mention the greatly to be damned scientists in Canada who are hiding on an Indian Reservation – they ruined several major corporations. Okay, one didn’t say ‘Indian Reservation’ any more: they’re ‘AmerInd Nations’ now.

Ellis pushed a switch under his desk, turning off the recording equipment. “Somebody ought to take out that bastard Edgar Sorenson. And while we’re at it, that fuckin’ Mary MacDowell ought to be taken out, too.”

“Seriously, boss?” asked Patton. Sorenson was The Times’ senior investigative reporter who had just run the first – of many, he hinted – articles about Ellis’ tactics, which he referred to as ‘storm trooper tactics.’ Mary MacDowell was the senior senator from California! Although she was talking about starting a Congressional investigation, Patton could not quite believe that Ellis was serious about ‘taking out’ those people.

“You’re damn right, I’m serious. Get started on it. Take them down ... I’m gonna start the recording again. I don’t want no big gap, like that fuckin’ Nixon had.”

Patton was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

Boston

Shortly thereafter, Io comm’d Chris Simpson.

“Chris,” she said, “we’ve got to go active sooner than we expected. Ellis is going to start executing investigative reporters and even Senators.”

“Huh? He can’t do that!”

“Says who? With enough money, anybody can hire an assassin. A President doesn’t even have to try hard to find one.”

“Well, of course, I know that,” Chris backtracked. “I don’t mean that he physically can’t do it. I mean: ‘O.M.G. How could he do it? How could he plan something like that?’ It’s un-fucking-believable ... Okay. Can we do anything about it?”

“Well, I certainly hope so. That’s why I contacted you.”

“Me? Wha ... err ... what do you expect me to do?”

“Tell Senator MacDowell what we’ve learned. And don’t let her get on that plane. She’s planning on flying back to San Francisco tomorrow morning. There’s going to be a bomb in the luggage compartment. General Patton has told his hired assassin to do the job.”

“Um ... I’m in Boston. The Senator is in Washington, D.C.”

“I can get you there in about four minutes and twenty seconds. Approximately. At least, I think I can. All the tests have been positive.”

“What? ‘Beam me up, Scotty.’ ... Like that?” Chris was incredulous.

“Exactly like that, Chris. But the jump radius is limited to the area that the satellite can see.”

“Satellite? What kind of resources do you have, ummm ... Io?”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I control everything that has any kind of computer. I control the chip in your neck. The one thing I can’t control is humans. I don’t want to either. And I’ve made some ... uhm ... minor scientific discoveries. They are – or were – all theoretical. You may have heard of the Albert Particle and the new way of generating power? That’s in the process of being ramped up to run everything that’s electric. It needs hundreds of thousands of megawatts but can generate millions of megawatts ... That was one of my theoretical projects. I needed a team of scientists to work out the details and accomplish it. And, of course, to take the credit. I can’t let anyone know about me.

“There is a device called a replicator. You’ve probably heard of one; there’s been one in every sci fi movie. In their version, you push a button and something nifty pops out – like a microwave. We’re on version 3 of our replicator now. The trick is to make it work on bigger quantities, and of course to make it safe from being taken over by megalomaniac individuals. It takes free atoms and can make anything. Same thing there as with the power thing: I needed a team of humans to actually make it work. That’s going to cure hunger, I’m pretty sure.

“And now the transporter. I’m using Star Trek language, since it applies. I’ve made the device – using robotics – and installed it on many of the geosynchronous satellites. It’s a really simple device, once you’ve got the replicator discovered. Anyway ... tests on animals have shown it to be extremely reliable: no failures of any kind. Even the chimps seem to have retained all their faculties.”

“But,” said Chris, “no tests on a human ... yet. Right?”

“That is true.”

“And if I get scram’d, there’s no coming back from it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Before I say yes, I’d like to have some idea of what we ... or actually I ... am going to say to the Senator to convince her. I am a young teenager from M.I.T., and I’m going to sell her on the idea ... the crazy idea that the President of the United States is trying to kill her.”

“That’s the other thing...”

“There’s more?!” Chris blurted.

“I can erase ‘Chris Simpson’ from the records. You’re going to be an alien. As in ... from outer space. I’ve tried several thousand scenarios. Nothing else comes close to working. You’re going to have unearthly powers and know unearthly things.”

“Okay. This is nutso. Whoever is running this thing is K.R.A.Z.E.E. I’m out. No transporter beams. No alien powers. No supercomputer intelligences. K.R.A.Z.E.E.” She clicked off the comm unit.

Io continued to speak over it. Chris looked at it. Yep, it was off. And Io continued to use it as if it wasn’t. Chris thought it could be worse: Io could probably talk directly to her brain through the chip in her neck.

She carefully put the comm on the table, lifted her backpack, and opened the door. There was a package on the floor outside the door, addressed to her.

Io was still talking through the turned off comm unit. “Chris, stop and listen for a moment. Just open the package that is waiting for you at the door,” said Io, impossibly.

Or maybe not impossibly, thought Chris. She’s got to have a visual tracking of this apartment. How creepy is that?

She looked at the small box in her hand. It was only about three inches in every direction.

Well, hell. If it’s a bomb she could have killed me earlier than this, she thought, and she opened the box.

Inside was a jewelry box. Inside the jewelry box was a small starburst-like design of ... some sort of ceramic. No chain. No place to attach a chain.

“Chris?” came from the comm unit.

“What?” Chris replied, distractedly. She was turning over the ... what was it? An amulet, she decided.

“Please shut the door and come back. I’d like to explain.”

“Huh?” She was still examining the starburst amulet.

“Please shut the door. Affix the device to somewhere on your body. Please.”

“What? Device? Affix it ... How? Where?” But she shut the door slowly, letting the packing and jewelry box drift out of her hands. She noticed that there was a small crystal in the center of the amulet. She turned it over and noticed that the device had attached itself to her hand. She couldn’t remove it. Suddenly she could.