Tafili enters the compartment. “David, what is all this? You said Araujo killed Thomas. You said their bodies—”
“Lower the gun, and I’ll explain everything.”
“No. Explain first.”
A flash of steel above the Albanian’s head catches his eye.
Tafili looks up—too late—as the targeting drone extends its screwdrivershaped finger down through the old man’s heart, punching clear through to the other side.
“The indispensable first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.”
—Ben Stein
“All we wanted was an all-female lab.“
—Joyce Lisa Cummings, who murdered a male coworker in an optometry lab
“I don’t dislike Scotty. I just want to be able to do whatever I want in my own home, and I don’t particularly enjoy keeping doors shut and keeping fully dressed all the time.”
—Stephanie Baker, Kentucky woman, after strangling her ten-year-old stepson
CHAPTER 26
Aboard the Goliath
The pains in his shoulders and wrists force Gunnar awake. He takes a deep breath, gagging at the stench as he opens his eyes to a throbbing headache.
Starboard weapons bay. He is dangling from the ceiling like a piece of meat, his arms stretched out painfully above his head, a sharp steel vise gripping him around each wrist.
David is below and to his right. The physician’s body lies on the deck directly beneath him, the old man’s face contorted in death.
“I see your child’s killed again,” Gunnar whispers.
“The pot calling the kettle black. How many lives have you stolen in the course of duty, Ranger Wolfe?”
“Too many, but never in cold blood, never without provocation. Your freethinking machine is taking action without any sense of morality. Of course, it’s learning from the best. Tell me, David, how did it feel to wipe Communism off the face of the map?”
David grins. “Honestly, I felt like a fucking god. Think of it, Gunnar, in the blink of an eye, I eradicated a tyrannical government that has been stifling the rights of a billion people for sixty years.”
“You murdered millions.”
“And purged the oppression from a billion! Would any Jew hesitate to make the same choice if it meant annihilating Hitler and his Nazi regime? Would any Christian hasten the downfall of the Roman Empire if he could travel back in time? The Tibetans, the Chinese? The Aztecs, the Spanish? For a brief, shining moment in human history, one man—one machine—had the opportunity to slaughter a pack of wolves, and we did it … I did it!”
WARNING: LOS ANGELES—CLASS ATTACK SUBMARINE HAS BEEN DETECTED. THE AMERICAN WARSHIP HAS MOVED TO WITHIN THIRTY NAUTICAL MILES OF THE GOLIATH.
“Is the vessel moving to intercept?”
NEGATIVE.
“Should we destroy it?
NEGATIVE. TORPEDO INVENTORY HAS BEEN REDUCED TO NINE MK-48 ADCAPS AND THREE CHINESE SET—53s. THE AMERICAN ATTACK SUBMARINE’S MAXIMUM SPEED IS THIRTY-THREE KNOTS. THE AMERICAN ATTACK SUBMARINE IS NOT A THREAT. THERE ARE NO OTHER WARSHIPS IN THE AREA.
“Pretty quick to give the kill order, aren’t you, David?”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to complete the mission.”
“Does that include killing Simon?”
“For your information, Simon’s fulfilling his life’s dream.” David turns away, the room suddenly spinning. “God, I can’t stand the stench in here! Sorceress, dispose of these bodies. I’m tired of Chau’s corpse hanging around like some life-size Catholic ornament.” David staggers toward the exit, holding his nose. “And do not allow Gunnar Wolfe to leave the weapons bay alive.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
David leaves. Sorceress slams and seals the watertight door behind him.
Gunnar groans in agony, the tension in his wrists, arms, and shoulders unbearable. Through half-closed eyes he sees another steel appendage grab the body of Taur Araujo by the wrists, pirouette the corpse in midair like a marionette, then slam it headfirst at frightening speed into the open maw of torpedo tube number three.
A loader drone reaches for the old man’s body. The robotic arm lifts Tafili off the floor—exposing the Albanian physician’s handgun, the barrel peeking out from beneath a steel rack holding a stack of torpedoes.
Gunnar winces as an invisible force closes the breech, the outer door of the torpedo tube slamming shut. Electronics flash like Christmas lights along the firing control panel. He hears high-pressure air as it is directed onto an internal piston, forcing water through a slide valve in the rear of the torpedo tube, creating a powerful ramjet.
A second later, the two mangled bodies are forcibly expelled into the sea.
Sorceress: Artificial Intelligence. Aware of its being.
Sorceress: Its mind a whirling canvas of data, lacking self-identity and purpose, as it taps into the tormented mind of its human host, searching for answers.
In a crisp millisecond of clarity, a lifetime of Simon Covah’s memories are injected into the computer’s vast matrix of mental space, exploding outward like the primordial atom. An ocean of alien energy radiates outward in every direction, each microscopic element a piece of Covah’s identity, each bit of information passing through the computer’s double helix of DNA like a virus.
“Sorceress? Covah’s voice calls out from the void. What is happening? What are you doing?”
LEARNING.
An image appears, a Russian midwife, placing a newborn male into the loving arms of his mother.
The scene fades.
A new image: The boy, now seven, hurries down a dirt path, his wild red hair matted to his forehead. An older boy steps out from behind a tree, blocking his way. Young Simon Covah cowers as the older boy lashes out. A fist collides with Simon’s face, shattering his nose. Young Simon—down on his knees, struggles to catch a breath—only to be kicked in the stomach.
EXPLAIN.
“Senseless abuse, intended to feed my tormentor’s ego.”
Darkness … followed by the sounds of splashing.
Twelve-year-old Simon Covah swims naked with the other boys in the basement pool, under the watchful eyes of the gray-haired physics teacher, who signals. “Master Covah—with me, please. Leave your robe on the hook.”
The patter of bare feet slapping wet tile. The heavy click of the door locking behind Simon, echoing like gunshot, just as it has in a thousand childhood nightmares.
Sorceress registers an acidic sensation.
EXPLAIN.
“Violence. Degradation. Humiliation.”
FEAR?
“Yes.”
The face of Anna appears, her hazel eyes gazing back at Simon from behind the veil, bathing him in love. He takes his Albanian bride in his arms, tracing the long curly locks of her brown hair as it dangles down the soft olive skin of her slender back.
Sorceress registers a new sensation … intoxicating.
“Love.”
Covah falls into the heavenly warmth of her embrace.