“Understood,” Sondra Schneider said. The fifth screen blanked. Jennifer’s eyes flickered regularly among the other four.
Livers on the Pacific beach, huddled in fear against donkey reporters…
The UBN newsgrid and Net-grid flagging programs, both ignorant of the inhibiting neuropharm…
Streams of data from Kelvin-Castner—data accumulating too slowly to unravel the tangled skeins of Strukov’s molecules…
Frustrated investigative reports from the FBI on the nuclear explosion at La Solana…
Miranda’s cold face on screen five…
Jennifer’s body jerked in shock. There was nothing on screen five. There had been nothing since Sondra Schneider blanked. Miranda was dead. Her image had never existed.
“There you are,” Will Sandaleros said. “Jenny, look at this.”
She looked at Will instead. His face was flushed with excitement. He held out to her a portable terminal, with a CAD model of a ’bot on it.
“The Peruvian delivery drone. The bastards finally released the detailed design to us, which contractually they were supposed to do weeks ago. It’s somewhat interesting. It—”
“I’ve already seen it,” Jennifer said. “Weeks ago.”
“They showed it to you? The detailed version? And you didn’t tell me?”
Jennifer merely stared at him. Now his face, moments ago flushed from what he considered his triumph over the Peruvian contractors, paled at what he considered his betrayal by her. More and more, Will was absorbed by these petty power struggles. He got upset over them, he compromised his objectivity and his effectiveness. He lost sight of the project’s overwhelming, sacred mission.
“Excuse me, Will, I have things to attend to. Strukov launches in less than an hour.”
“You knew I wanted the drone design, that I’ve been badgering those sons of bitches—”
“A Sleepless does not ‘badger,’ Will.” Jennifer saw Eric Hulden, across the room, watching them.
“But you knew—”
“Please excuse me.”
Will’s hand tightened on his terminal. “All right, Jenny. But after today’s tests, you and I are going to have some personal discussion.”
“Yes, Will. We are. But after the tests.” She walked gracefully away from him.
The rest of the team arrived in the conference room in ones or twos. The mood was quiet, subdued. This was too important for hilarity, or for the kind of irresponsible heat that Will showed. This was the culmination of Jennifer’s life.
She was finally going to make Sanctuary truly safe for Sleepless.
They had been despised, persecuted, resented, harassed, and even killed (always, always, she remembered Tony Indivino) for over a hundred years. The Sleepers hated her people because Sleepless were smarter, calmer, more successful. Better. The next step in human evolution. So the losing species had tried to render the Sleepless impotent in the world. Only Jennifer Sharifi and Tony Indivino had seen coming that inevitable long-term warfare. Now only Jennifer was left to make her people safe against the enemy’s so much greater numbers.
When all members of the project team had gathered, Jennifer moved among them, murmuring words of thanks, praise, encouragement. Strong, competent, cold people. The most effective and loyal in the solar system.
Jennifer had chosen not to make any sort of speech. Let the event speak, eloquently, for itself. Evidently Strukov had made the same choice. Without preamble, the main wall screen brightened as the cam mounted on the Peruvians’ drone activated itself.
Below their feet, through Sanctuary’s clear floor panel, Earth drifted into view.
The drone flew low and leisurely over Long Island, New York. Slowly the dome of Brookhaven Enclave grew in the distance, dominating the new spring grass, abandoned roads, and wrecked Liver towns of Long Island. The drone angled upward and now Jennifer could see inside the enclave dome. Simple, gracefully proportioned buildings. Houses. Shopping complexes. Entertainment areas. Government buildings. And Brookhaven National Laboratories.
Brookhaven was the ideal site for the first high-security test of Strukov’s virus. Small enough (as Taylor Air Force Base would not have been), isolated enough (as the Pentagon would not have been), secretive enough (as the Washington Mall Enclave would not have been). And because of the Brookhaven National Laboratories, shielded as completely as any government installation anywhere. If Strukov’s drone could penetrate Brookhaven’s Y-shields, it could penetrate anyone’s.
Except the one that had shielded La Solana… Jennifer destroyed the thought.
The drone flew through Brookhaven’s triple Y-shield as if it weren’t there. The drone burst into speed and zoomed to just under the top of the inner dome, and the picture disappeared.
“It’s in,” Chad Manning breathed. “We’re in.”
“Drone disintegrated,” Caroline Renleigh said. “Brookhaven is of course equipped for biological warfare. There have to be security systems signaling, tracking, aiming… How did the Peruvians even—”
“Response signals might have been electronically delayed at their sources,” David O’Donnell reported from his security console.
The screen brightened again. This time the picture was jumpy, distorted; Jennifer realized it represented microsecond intrusions into the Brookhaven security computers themselves, time-sharing the Brookhaven monitors in non-continuous bursts to better evade detection. There was no sound. The screen split. The top showed grim security specialists at banks of machinery. The bottom displayed data taken from the enclave computer.
“They know they’ve been penetrated,” Will said, standing behind her. “They know there might be a biological agent… they’re sealing the labs…”
“Too late,” Jennifer said, studying the data on the bottom half of the screen. “At least, for everybody not sealed in when it struck.”
Will exulted, “We can afford to have a few escape infection. It isn’t like they’re going to be able to detect what hit them.” His mood had changed. If she turned around, she’d see Will excited, arms twitching and eyes shining. She didn’t turn around.
The printed data on the bottom half of the screen said:
STATUS SUMMARY: OUTSIDE PENETRATION TYPE 7C
BROOKHAVEN MECHANICALLY SEALED RF-765
AIR SAMPLES TAKEN FOR ANALYSIS—PROGRAM 5B
MEDICAL ALERT RECOMMENDED
“Won’t do them any good,” Will said, chuckling.
Jennifer kept her face immobile. Will tended to underestimate the enemy. There were some quite good people at Brookhaven, for Sleepers. Not as good as the Peruvians, but still competent. Sydney Goldsmith, Marianne Hansten, Ching Chung Wang, John Becker. Unlike the pathetic Liver test sites, the Brookhaven team would easily locate the unbreathed virus in their automatic air samples, even with its low concentration and short half-life. They would bond it with a radioactive marker and have lab animals breathe it in. The gas would enter the bloodstream and circulate for a few minutes before being both lost in the breath and destroyed by the Cell Cleaner.
Before that happened, the parts of the brain most active at that particular time would receive the greatest blood supply. The marker would clearly pinpoint the amygdalae. Then the researchers would switch to both brain scans and cellular tests. They would launch a dogged examination of Strukov’s long and twisted skein of cerebral events.
But long before the Brookhaven researchers could unravel that skein, they would no longer want to. The newness of the research would make them vaguely uneasy. It wasn’t familiar enough. Anxiety would fill them whenever they thought about the novelty of the situation. For a while they might fight the anxiety, but then it would grow. The Brookhaven researchers—and, eventually, all of the domed enclaves in the United States—would choose the known over the unknown. It would just feel too unsettling to mobilize for any new research effort.