Each one had either a spear like Ts’ang, or a sword lying next to their right hands. Lexina wondered about the archaic weapons, but she assumed they had another purpose just as the Spear of Destiny and Ts’ang’s spear had served as keys.
“They will be conscious and able to move in an hour,” Ts’ang said. “Until then, we wait.”
“We have waited for many generations,” Lexina said. “Another hour is bearable for us, but I hope it is not too late with regard to Aspasia’s Shadow’s forces.”
The thousands brought by the Jahre Viking had been assimilated by the nanovirus. Food on the relatively desolate island was a major problem at the moment, and the guardian solved that by “shutting down” a large number of the currently unneeded troops. The nanovirus put them into a coma, reducing their bodily functions to bare minimums.
The Viking floated offshore, its modifications complete. The massive bow doors slowly swung open, water flooding into the special front compartment built by the nano-techs. Once the water line inside equaled that outside, the submarine Springfield slowly made its way inside the huge tanker and was secured in metal brackets specifically designed for it. The doors swung shut, then the water was pumped out.
On board the Washington, the modified air wing was in place, and planes lined the deck, wingtip to wingtip.
All was ready. The huge tanker and the aircraft carrier began moving. From the deck of the Washington, a single, modified Hawkeye took off.
Captain Robinette stared at the imagery that had just been downloaded from the KH-14 spy satellite monitoring his area of operations. Two large ships had just appeared from under the protection of the Easter Island shield: the George Washington and the Jahre Viking. They were moving at flank speed, directly for his Task Force.
Robinette sat down in his command chair and accessed the com-link to the captains of all the ships in his battle group. “Gentlemen. We have contact with the enemy. Prepare your ships for battle. We will advance on the enemy at flank speed. I am launching aircraft for a emptive strike.”
He shut the com-link, then turned to his Commander Air Group. “CAG, I want you to start launching immediately. Everything we’ve got.”
If there was one lesson that had been beaten into Robinette from his first year at the Naval Academy, it is that in modern naval warfare the side that struck first held the advantage.
“What about our CAP?” the CAG asked, referring to s covering air patrol that guarded the Task Force.
“Keep minimum force above us. Everything else gets launched. I want those two ships sunk.”
“Sink the Washington, sir?”
“Yes. I want you to lead the strike force personally.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as CAG left, one of the radar operators called out a report. “Sir, there’s been an aircraft launched from the Washington.”
“Identification?”
“A Hawkeye.”
That made sense, Robinette knew. The Hawkeye was a surveillance aircraft. “Keep an eye on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The body was ready. It had been grown with the utmost care and now floated in a vat of green fluid, a black hose running air into the mouth. The top of the shaved head was covered with a skullcap from which several dozen wires ran to a main line that came out of the tube and snaked over to the command console.
The eyes were open but stared blankly, no spark of intelligence behind them. It was in one of the lowermost chambers of The Mission, surrounded by a bank of alien machinery, the most prominent piece a long black tube built of b’ja, the alien metal.
Aspasia’s Shadow coughed, pain shooting through lungs riddled with cancer. This was a very bad time to pass on. There was so much that needed to be done, and Duncan still lay in the room next to the Grail, twitching in agony.
But he didn’t want to cut it too close. If this body died, he would lose all he had experienced in the past several days and then even more time would be lost trying to catch up. It was a disorienting feeling, awakening in a new body and having lost time that one had in reality lived.
Aspasia’s Shadow went to the control console, hands over the lit hexagonal display. He tapped out a sequence, just as he had done hundreds of times in the past. The lid to the black tube swung up easily, revealing a contoured interior designed to fit his body.
He removed the ka from around his neck and slid it, arms forward, into the two small holes on the right side of the console. It fit snugly, and a small six-sided section next to it glowed orange, indicating it was in place.
Aspasia’s Shadow went to the black tube. He stripped off the priest’s garments and crown, carefully laying them on the small stand next to it, and lay inside. The lid lowered onto him, trapping him in utter darkness.
Nano-probes slid out of the lining into his brain, tapping into the needed sections. The pain was intense, but there wasn’t time to go through the normal preparations which would have alleviated that. His memories and experiences since the last download were quickly tapped and transferred to the ka. Aspasia’s Shadow took a shallow breath, never prepared for what came next, because he didn’t know what it was going to be like.
Out of small pockets in the lining of the tube, black particles, the size of grains of sand, were expelled onto his naked skin.
He screamed helplessly into the darkness of the tube as the particles dissolved his flesh, muscle, and bone from the outside inward, triggering every pain response the body had. The only positive aspect was that it lasted for barely five seconds before the body was gone.
The console hummed as the data in the ka was integrated with the basic profile of Aspasia, then shunted to the figure in the glass tube through the line, into the wires into its brain. The imprinting lasted over a minute.
The eyes blinked, awareness filling them with cunning and malice. The green fluid drained, leaving the figure kneeling in the tube’s floor, trying to get oriented. The tube slid up and the figure tentatively stepped out. It wiped itself with a towel, then slid on the garments that had been left.
Aspasia’s Shadow, the latest version, turned to leave the room, but paused. It went over to the black tube and lifted the lid. Inside there was nothing. A line furrowed the unmarked brow of the cloned body, as if struggling to remember something.
Aspasia’s Shadow felt the pressure of time and left the regeneration room.
He went deep in the base, to the lowermost room. A large multifaceted crystal, about four feet high, was in the center of the chamber. He walked up to it and laid his hand on the top, ring facing down.
The crystal glowed brightly from an inner light. In a complex maneuver that even Aspasia’s Shadow couldn’t follow, the outside of the crystal folded on itself in tiny portions along the top, revealing an opening. He reached in. His hand came out holding a sword.
CAG flew above and slightly behind the strike force. Spread out below was an impressive sight — twelve F-14s, twenty-four F-18s, an EA-2C Early Warning plane, and four EA-6B Prowler electronic attack jets leading the way. More than enough firepower to take out both ships. The issue, of course, was who was crewing the ships. CAG could hear the chatter on the inter-flight net as his pilots discussed this. He keyed his radio.
“Men. Listen up. You will press home against the Washington. I want no one backing off. You’ve seen the video showing what happened to those people on the rafts heading in toward Easter Island off that trawler. The SEAL team sent in to do a recon hasn’t been heard from. If our people are on board the Washington, they’re not our people anymore. Those ships are carrying a virus deadly to all of mankind. You will press home the attack.”