Goliath

“Man’s mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.”

—Oliver Wendell Holmes

“We’ve added another round to our bag of tricks … murder.”

—Harold Walter Bean, who murdered an eighty-one-year-old widow in order to receive an insurance payoff speaking to a friend

CHAPTER 24

14 November

Aboard the Goliath

The periphery of the surgical suite is dark, the room lit only by the banks of surgical lights blazing at the very center of the chamber.

“Sorceress, seal us in.”

The watertight door clanks shut and locks.

David approaches the operating table. Covah is standing next to the table, dressed in a surgical gown. “How do you feel?”

“Nervous. Excited. David, did I ever mention that I once tried to interface with the main frame at Cangen?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“They thought I was insane, but I had to try. There’s just so much to be learned—”

“And Sorceress will teach you. Now try to stay calm.”

“Of course. I feel the excitement an astronaut must feel on his first voyage into space. How is the crew?”

“Excited for you, very happy. And Mr. Chau finally showed up, drunk as a skunk.”

“I must speak to him.”

“No need, I’ve already handled it.”

Covah squeezes David’s hand. “Thank you. You’ve been a good friend.”

“And you will change history. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Sorceress, this is Simon Covah. I am transferring command of the ship to David Paniagua, authorization code Covah, delta-six-five-nine-ninealpha-zulu-ten.”

AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.

“Sorceress, Simon is ready to proceed with the interface. Instruct him.”

LIE DOWN ON THE TABLE. SECURE YOUR HEAD IN THE SADDLE. PLACE YOUR ANKLES AND WRISTS IN THE RESTRAINERS TO PREVENT MOVEMENT DURING THE PROCEDURE.

As ordered, Covah lies down on the padded table so that the back of his neck rests in a U-shaped section of padding that rises past his jawline. The fit is snug. He slips his wrists and ankles into the leather straps attached along the sides and end of the table, then takes a deep breath.

Situated high above his head is a mirror, angled so that he can see his scalp. On a small table to his left is a large, flat glass container holding hundreds of microwires. At the end of each wire, soaking in a trophic solution, is a minuscule piece of tissue, taken from the roof of his mouth.

Covah cringes as Goliath’s two surgical appendages come to life, swooping down from the ceiling to tighten his bonds. Electrodes are secured to his chest.

PULSE RAPID. BLOOD PRESSURE AND RESPIRATORY RATE RISING.

“I’m just a bit excited. Sorceress, it would be helpful if you described each step of the procedure before performing it.”

ACKNOWLEDGED.

The steel arm on his left swivels above his head, the multitooled palm rotating, stopping at a large syringe.

IN ORDER TO ACCESS PARTS OF THE BRAIN RESPONSIBLE FOR REGULATING PROTEIN AND ENZYME RELEASE, IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO REMOVE THE UPPER PORTION OF THE SKULL.

“Understood.”

ADMINISTERING LOCAL ANESTHETIC TO THE SCALP.

David’s eyes widen as the syringe is repeatedly injected into Simon’s scalp.

Covah winces. “You’re not going to put me to sleep?”

IT IS MORE ADVANTAGEOUS TO KEEP YOU CONSCIOUS UNTIL THE NEURAL CONNECTIONS CAN BE POSITIONED AND CHECKED.

“Understood.” A scalpel flashes past his eyes, sending more adrenaline coursing through his gut.

BEGINNING INITIAL INCISION TO SEPARATE SCALP FROM THE SKULL.

“David?”

“Still here.” He squeezes Covah’s three-fingered hand.

Covah closes his eyes, his breathing becoming more erratic as he feels a moderate pressure above his forehead. Warm blood drips past his left temple into his good ear. “Sorceress, is it … is it really necessary to remove so much of my skull?”

AFFIRMATIVE. ONE-HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN NEURAL CONNECTIONS MUST BE INSERTED INTO BOTH HEMISPHERES OF THE BRAIN, TWENTY-THREE INTO THE CEREBELLUM, SEVEN INTO THE BRAIN STEM, SIX INTO THE PITUITARY GLAND, TWO INTO EACH PAIR OF THE TWELVE CRANIAL NERVES.

A set of forceps disappears beyond his range of sight. He gazes up at the mirror, watching in fascination and horror as the two robotic arms work furiously, slicing into his numb scalp.

RETRACTING SCALP.

Covah feels a tingling and pulling sensation as a retractor-shaped pair of steel pincers peels his scalp away from his forehead and over his crown, exposing the bones of his skull.

A small hose appears. A warm liquid washes the blood from the bone, the refuse collecting in a pan behind his neck.

He looks up at his reflection in the mirror, unnerved by the sight of his exposed skull. A tiny drill bit whirrs above his head. He closes his eyes.

DRILLING HOLES INTO FRONTAL AND PARIETAL BONES.

David’s heart pounds as he watches the drill bit push against Covah’s skull, sending intense chills through his body as it chews quickly through the bone.

REMOVING FRONTAL AND PARIETAL PLATES.

Covah opens his eyes, breathing heavily. Gazing up at the mirror, he sees the three robotic fingers of a clawed hand slip into the freshly drilled holes and lift away the two sections of bone plate covering his forehead and crown in the manner one might lift a bowling ball.

REMOVING DURA MATER. BLOOD PRESSURE AND HEART RATE NOMINAL.

Cerebrospinal fluid gushes down the sides of his head and the back of his neck. He shudders as he stares at the overhead mirror, gazing at the folds, bumps, blood vessels, and deep fissures of his brain.

“Incredible,” David whispers.

BEGINNING IMPLANTATION OF NEURAL CONNECTIONS.

Covah closes his eyes, forcing himself to relax. Minutes later, the gentle knitting sound of whirring steel pincers soothes him to sleep.

10 November

Tiananmen Square Beijing, China

The sun peeks through an overcast gray sky, reflecting off dark gunmetal tanks lined up in rows along the perimeter of Tiananmen Square. The sound of crimson flags flapping against a cold winter’s breeze greets the tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers goose-stepping through the streets of Beijing. Tanks and mobile missile launchers flank the troops on both sides. The showcase of military might moves as one into Tiananmen Square, the dominating presence of the People’s Liberation Army ensuring the president’s speech will be well received.

President Li Peng buttons the collar of his overcoat as he proceeds to the open-air podium facing the largest public square in the world. Seated in the lower-level balcony are members of the Chinese Communist Party, the National People’s Congress, and the State Council. To Li Peng’s immediate left is the vice president and the State Council Premier; to his right, his four vice premiers. Directly behind him are two dozen members of the Politburo’s Standing Committee and his predecessor, former president Jiang Zemin.

Li Peng smiles, the presence of the military parade pumping his adrenaline. He glances at his watch. Twenty-seven hours to go before the terrorist’s deadline, and yet he is anything but nervous. There are no students present, no demonstrators, just loyal Communists. The entire square itself is occupied by the military parade, the largest he has witnessed since the fiftieth anniversary of Communist China more than a decade ago. It is a tremendous show of strength, a reminder to the world that China is still a formidable superpower to be reckoned with.

Today, we will show the world that China cannot be threatened . . .

Li Peng exhales, watching his breath dissipate in the chilly November air while he waits impatiently for the television and satellite crews to complete their work. Mounted high overhead on his far right, blotting out the entire northwest section of the square, is a sixty-foot LED video screen that will be used to display his image to everyone in attendance, as well as those watching worldwide via satellite.

He turns with amusement as his face appears on the rectangular screen, greeted by thunderous applause. Tens of thousands of loyal onlookers have gathered in support, lining the galleries beyond Tiananmen Square. Dozens of crimson-and-yellow Chinese flags and banners dominate the perimeter.

China’s national anthem blasts over the loudspeakers. The president wipes a tear from his eye for the benefit of the cameras, then steps to the podium.

“For thousands of years, the Chinese people have fought to retain our beliefs, the uniqueness of our culture, the magnificence of our heritage, and our very way of life against invading armies. Through discipline and selfdetermination, we vanquished our enemies. Through the guidance and teachings of our leaders, we continued to strive to provide the best way of life for ourselves.

“Like all great nations, we have gone through difficult times. Some may accuse us of falling behind on the issue of human rights. The truth is, China has always acknowledged the importance of protecting human rights, and its leaders have taken steps to ensure these rights for all our citizens.

“Two decades have passed since the revolt by a handful of students in this historic square. While some may prefer to dwell in the past, our government has worked hard to improve Chinese society. We signed the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights and accepted the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. We have expanded dialogue on human rights with foreign countries, and will continue to do so. And of course, we most recently hosted the Olympic Games, sharing our culture and dreams of the future with the world.

“But we will not succumb to extortion. We will not allow a madman with an American-designed machine of mass destruction to determine policies for a billion and a half people. The issue of Tibet, a land that had been part of China for more than seven hundred years, is a far-reaching, complex issue that could never be determined in a matter of days, even if we had the cooperation of the Dalai Lama. While we look forward to continue open discussions regarding the future of this colony, we cannot and will not live in fear of reprisal—”

Aboard the Goliath

Sujan Trevedi is watching the Chinese president’s speech on the viewing screen mounted forward of the control room. The Tibetan refugee shakes his head. “Human rights? Abdul, can you believe what you are hearing?”

The African shrugs. “It is the same all over the world. The oppressors have swallowed their own lies. Notice Li Peng never mentions the fact that his own navy built the Goliath.”

Gunnar circles a series of terminals labeled, COMMUNICATIONS, focusing his attention on two monitors, one flashing a myriad of scrolling algorithms, the second depicting a global view of the world, taken from space. From the latter he sees a jagged electric blue line rise from a point in the Indian Ocean to connect to what appears to be a small satellite orbiting over Asia. Bouncing off the satellite, the blue line flashes on and off like lightning as it struggles to gain a fix on some unknown target within China.

“Rocky, come here. What do you make of this?”

She stares at the monitors. “Sorceress is engaging the Goliath’s satellite communication uplink.”

“Yes, but why? And what are these flashing lights?”

“I can’t be sure. It looks like the computer’s attempting to find a communications pathway into Beijing.”

ATTENTION.

Simon opens his eyes. He focuses his gaze upon the overhead mirror—and chokes back a gag reflex, fighting to maintain his composure.

His skull is gone, the moist folds and fissures of his brain completely exposed. Several hundred microwires have been sutured to the surface of his brain. The free ends of these neural strands have been gathered, then bundled together into a single, inch-thick ponytail.

Covah inhales several quick breaths. “David?”

“Right beside you, Simon. Keep looking at your mirror.” David gently lifts the free end of the trailing three-foot-long bundle of microwire so that Covah can see it in the overhead mirror. Attached to the end of the ponytail is a strange-looking male adaptor, about the size of a Cuban cigar.

“Is that a miniature MEMS unit?”

“Just like the one that links Sorceress to its minisubs. All neural connections have been sutured into your brain, then fed into the MEMS unit. The MEMS unit will plug directly into the master terminal on your left. Rigged the adapter myself. Incredible, isn’t it?”

Adrenaline pumps through Covah’s veins. His mustache twitches into a nervous smile.

WE ARE READY TO BEGIN PHASE ONE OF THE INTERFACE.

“Phase one?”

“Just a test—to ensure all neural connections have been properly positioned.”

“How soon before we can begin the actual interface so we can start working on a cancer treatment?”

“Soon. First you have to rest.”

“There’s no time to rest, David, I’m dying.”

BEGIN PHASE ONE OF THE INTERFACE.

A computer terminal is situated to Covah’s left. David lifts the male end of the MEMS unit attached to Covah’s brain and plugs it into the computer terminal’s female receptacle with a click.

Simon Covah stares up at the overhead surgical lights, feeling nothing. And then he is overcome by a sizzling wave of current, which seeps into his being, firing every nerve ending in his body. Violent electrical impulses surge across the synaptic gaps bridging his central nervous system, followed by a sudden, frightening blindness. “My eyes! David, something’s wrong, I can’t see—”

“Yes, Sorceress warned me that might happen. Actually, I expect you’ll lose all of your senses, before long. You’ll be a complete vegetable.”

“Bastard … you’re not interested in curing my cancer—”

“Not true. The knowledge Sorceress gains from this interface will be used as a peace offering, once my version of Utopia-One has been completed.”

“Your version?” Covah’s body trembles. “David … why this treachery?”

“Why? Because you’re weak, Simon. You’re too emotional to go the distance, to do what it takes to really complete Utopia-One, and there’s too much at stake. In a sense, you’re a microcosm of everything that’s wrong with America’s military. Removing a few dictators and reducing the threat of nuclear proliferation is not going to make the world a safer place. Russia and Mexico are filled with corruption and violence, as are most of NATO’s European allies. The Arabs harbor terrorists, and we kowtow to them because they control our oil. Drugs flow out of Colombia and Nigeria as commerce, and we let it happen. Their governments are controlled by criminals, run by terrorist organizations. We allow them to extort us under the premise of negotiating for peace, when in reality, they couldn’t give a damn about human rights or democracy. Africa is a continent riddled with AIDS and violence. Do you really think establishing a bunch of bogus democracies is going to change a damn thing?”

“Sorceress, release me!” Covah cries out.

“Simon-says is over. Sorceress is under my command. One voice, one set of rules, that’s what’s really needed to create a new world order.”

“Gunnar was right. You’re driven by ego.”

“Call it whatever you want. All I know is that I gave up a lot to be here, and I didn’t do it to go halfway. Goliath gives us the ability to make real changes, to dictate to the world the American way, to kill humanity’s enemies and hunt down their survivors, international laws be damned.”

“What … are you going to do with me?”

David strokes Covah’s good cheek. “I really do love you, Simon, which is why I’m granting you your last request. You wanted to jack in to a computer, you got it.”

Covah attempts to respond, but finds he cannot speak. David’s words suddenly become muted, distant, as if he is underwater.

Simon Covah lies on the operating table, deaf, dumb, mute, blind, and terrified, drowning in his own fear. Unable to move. Unable to cry out for help.

IS THIS FEAR, SIMON COVAH?

The female’s voice echoes from somewhere in the caverns of his mind.

IS THIS FEAR?

IS THIS FEAR?

IS THIS FEAR?

Gunnar and Rocky watch the communications monitor in fascination as another burst of blue energy originating from an orbiting communications satellite reaches down from space to strike mainland China.

The burst maintains its integrity for a brief second, then fragments and disappears.

“It’s trying, but the computer can’t seem to get a fix,” Rocky says.

Another burst. Another failure.

“Persistent, isn’t she,” Gunnar whispers, his feeling of dread causing his stomach muscles to tighten.

Another burst spits down from the communications satellite. The blue line wobbles, brightens, then holds.

“Oh, Christ, it’s gained a fix.”

Tiananmen Square

“And so I ask the world to join us now as the People’s Republic of China makes a stand against terrorism and …”

Murmurs rise from the crowd, people pointing.

President Li Peng pauses, then turns to face the big screen. His image blurs, then becomes grainy, then simply disappears, replaced by a backdrop of iridescent electric blue.

And then a new image appears.

The crowd gasps as the image sharpens. It is a face—a Caucasian male—hairless, save for a thick, rust-colored mustache and goatee. The eyes are closed, the right ear gone. More startling—the man’s skull appears to be missing. The folds of a human brain protrude above the mangled, crimson-stained forehead like a bizarre tangle of bloodworms. A myriad of tiny wires rises from the gray matter like a fiber-optic star burst.

GOOD MORNING, MR. PRESIDENT.

David’s voice, emotionless yet powerful.

A hush falls over the stunned crowd.