Earth Shine Page 17

  “Hang on; you’re going to need a hat or cap to cover that white hair,” Rourke said. The Keeper went back into the bedroom and returned after a few moments. His white hair had been piled on top of his head and covered by what appeared to be an English bowler hat from before the Night of the War. Rourke gave a little chuckle and sat, “You look a little like Sebastian Cabot.”

  The Keeper’s face had a quizzical expression; he had no idea who Sebastian Cabot was. “Never mind,” Rourke said, “you look great. Let’s wait outside; our ride should be pulling up any moment.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Dr. Fred Williams, head of the Mid-Wake Research Institute, was in town for a scientific conference at the university when John called; William gave Rourke directions and said, “There will be a pass for you and your friend at the gate. Lucky for you, I have the equipment with me.”

  Rourke introduced The Keeper and presented the materials to Williams; his assistant had carried them to a laboratory. Two hours later, Williams had sent a runner to the cafeteria where they had been told to wait and directed them to a large amphitheater style room.

  Williams said, “John, as you know, a Directed Energy Weapon emits energy; in other words, it does not have a projectile. A DEW is capable of transferring energy onto a target with a desired effect that can be either non-lethal or lethal.”

  Rourke nodded, “Am I correct that energy can be generated in several various forms, such as electromagnet radiation as in lasers or masers? Or particles with mass, as in a particle beam weapon or even sound, like in sonic weapons?”

  “You are,” Williams acknowledged. “In the old days, they called such weapons death rays or ray guns, and they were treated as science fiction. They were supposedly capable of projecting energy at a person or object to kill or destroy. From the early beginnings of laser development, laser research was focused on the discovery of new wavelength bands, maximum average output power to reach maximum peak pulse energy and maximum peak pulse power. It was also necessary to define the minimum and maximum output pulse duration and maximum power efficiency to optimize such weapons for maximum performance goals.”

  Williams explained, “All of this began in 1953 when Charles Hard Townes and two graduate students were able to produce the very first microwave amplifier. That device operated on similar principles to the laser but amplified microwave radiation rather than infrared or visible radiation. However, Townes’ maser, as he called it, was incapable of continuous output. At the same time, two Russian scientists in the old Soviet Union, Nikolay Basov and Aleksandr Prokhorov, were independently working on the quantum oscillator and solved the problem of continuous-output systems by using more than two energy levels.”

  “A scientific report from that time said, ‘That enabled them to release stimulated emissions between an excited state and a lower excited state rather than a ground state. That facilitated the maintenance of a ‘population inversion’ making such a weapon both functional and deadly. By 1955, Prokhorov and Basov were suggesting optical pumping of a multi-level system as a method for obtaining the population inversion; later it was used as a main method of laser pumping.’”

  “I think it was in 1964,” said Williams, “that Townes and the two Russian scientists shared the Nobel Prize in Physics ‘for fundamental work in the field of quantum electronics, which has led to the construction of oscillators and amplifiers based on the maser–laser principle.’”

  Rourke turned to Williams and said, “Under the direction of the old Soviet KGB, the peaceful application of the maser-laser principle was discarded for the rapid development of portable and deadly aggressive energy weapons which they perfected after the Night of the War and I’ve seen in action.”

  Williams nodded, “To make a long story shorter, these tissue samples bare the signature of the Russian weapons. We also found some genetic material on that piece of cloth, and we have been able to extract some DNA. Unfortunately, while it is very similar to human DNA, it does not match exactly anything in our databases.” Producing a swab, Williams turned to The Keeper and said, “Sir, with your permission, I’d like to get a sample from you for comparison; would you please open your mouth and allow me to swab the inside of your cheek?”

  The Keeper opened his mouth, and Williams ran the swab up and down the inside of his mouth. Withdrawing the swab, Williams handed it to a technician and said, “Run it right now, and bring me the results.” He told Rourke, “This will just take a couple of minutes to get a comparison. The DNA from the hand is definitely human.”

  Then, he added, “There is something else. This was something that initially was not relevant to your investigation; I suspect now that it might be.” He flipped a switch, and a giant view screen came to life. After pushing a series of buttons, he found the specific graphic he wanted.

  He said, “There is a field of study called paleomagnetic research. By developing a record of past configurations of the geomagnetic field, we can extrapolate spatial variations of the present geomagnetic field over the globe and time variations of the recent geomagnetic field. By those extrapolations, we can find anomalies.”

  John shook his head, “I’m sorry Doc, but I don’t understand a damn thing you just said.”

  “Try this,” Williams said. “We look for fluctuations that identify something that should not be there, but the fluctuations say it is. Here is the anomaly you’re looking for. It is in the Aleutian Trench beneath the Arctic Ice Cap. That trench extends for 3,400 km from a triple junction in the west with the Ulakhan Fault and the northern end of the Kuril-Kamchatka Trench to a junction with the northern end of the Queen Charlotte Fault system in the east. The Aleutian Trench is a convergent plate boundary. The trench forms part of the boundary between two tectonic plates.”

  “Right here,” he said as he highlighted a point on the map. “Right here is what we believe to be your target.” Switching graphics again, he continued. “Here is the connection, we think, the Kamchatka Peninsula. It is a 780 mile Russian peninsula with an area of about 100,000 square miles between the Pacific Ocean to the east and the Sea of Okhotsk to the west.”

  “Okay, Doc,” Rourke said. “What does all of that mean?”

  “Based on some very spotty intel, this could be where the resurgence of the ‘Russian’ influence is based. I believe we have discovered the location of a second Mid-Wake type facility they built back before the Night of the War; if I’m accurate, it could very well mean their threat is back; and I hypothesis, based on this conversation, things could be complicated by a direct involvement with the KI.”

  “You’re saying the KI are aligned with the Russians?” Rourke said. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, John,” Williams said. “I can’t say that they are. What I’m telling you is that the evidence is indicating it. Where else would the KI have gotten this technology, and more importantly, how else would a KI have been in possession of this weapon?”

  The technician returned and handed Williams a sheet of paper. Williams scanned it, pushed his glasses on top of his head, and handed the report to Rourke. “Gentlemen, as you can see, we have a match with the sample we took from the piece of cloth you brought me. That DNA matches the sample we took from you sir.” The Keeper nodded, “However, it does not match your own DNA but is from someone who shares your bloodline. DNA from Homo sapiens does not possess the distinctive markers that are present in your DNA.”

  “To be exact, DNA from humans and DNA from your people appear to be exactly the same for 99.3 percent of the markers. That is to be expected since the planet of your origin was Earth and the physical similarities between our peoples indicate a shared genetic history, probably resulting in a common ancestor in both of our pasts. However, it is that last seventh-tenth of one percent that clinches the fact that the DNA recovered from the cloth is definitely from a member of the KI.”

  The Keeper nodded and turned away; when he faced back to John Thomas Rourke, the pain was evident in the old man’s face. He took
a deep breath and said slowly, “My friend, this confirms my worst fears. This is a situation now that presents serious and deadly consequences for both of our peoples; this is a crisis the like of which my people have not experienced for tens of thousands of your years. I am at a loss to describe, or even contemplate, the next move.”

  Rourke noticed a single tear roll gently down the wrinkled face of the old sage. It was a face that now looked older and more strained than Rourke had ever seen. The anguish of the truth played across his entire demeanor. The Keeper felt, for the first time in a long time, the sheer agony of loss and absolute dejection. “Someone, one of my own people, has taken steps that are beyond my capacity to understand, steps that would irrevocably alter my people and yours for all time.”

  “Alright, we need to proceed carefully then,” Rourke said. As they walked out of Dr. Williams’ office, Rourke could feel the weight of the crushing sensations The Keeper was experiencing; they emanated from his very being like waves of negative images, images that Rourke saw in his own mind almost like a telepathic kaleidoscope running wild; he had never experienced such a sensation. While they impacted Rourke’s mind’s eye, he could not comprehend the images of devastation and destruction.

  “John,” The Keeper finally spoke as they approached their car, “I must return to your home and change back into my robes. I must go back to my people immediately.”

  “I would suggest that you stay here,” Rourke said with concern. “I don’t know if it’s safe for you to return.”

  “No,” The Keeper said firmly. “There are many questions that I must find the answers for and the only place I can get those answers is up there.” He vaguely pointed toward the sky. “I do not comprehend what is happening, but it is imperative that I get those answers now. Can you arrange for the authorities to contact my people and ask for transport for me?”

  “Certainly,” Rourke said, “if you are sure this is what you want to do.”

  “It is not what I want to do, John. It is what I must do.”

  Arriving back to Rourke’s home, The Keeper changed, while John made the phone call. Twenty-five minutes later, they stood at the airport waiting for the KI transport. A small craft, the size of a small bus, streaked into sight and hovered in front of them. It extended three landing skids and settled on the tarmac; a panel opened and stairs came down. The Keeper stopped when the shuttle pilot appeared at the hatch. The pilot was armed with a pistol of some type on his left hip.

  The sight shook The Keeper to his core, “Thank you John,” he said and climbed the stairs. The stairs withdrew, and the hatch was closed; moments later, the craft disappeared into the sky. The sight of the pistol had not escaped John Thomas Rourke’s gaze; a sense of dread settled over him. He recognized that weapon. He had seen its type before, only that time he had been facing down the barrel of it. Rourke had killed the Russian Spetsnaz officer who had been about to fire it at him. Silently, Rourke wondered if he would ever see the old sage again.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The two worse injured detainees were removed from the medical ward for “transfer to the ICU.” In actuality, they were simply placed in a smaller, secure medical ward; their current status made it too dangerous to attempt the excisional biopsy procedure. Two hours later, on schedule with the administering of their “evening meds,” the other six were simply “slipped a Mickey” in the form of a powerful and quick-acting sedative.

  Each was transferred to a gurney and rolled into an operating room where an anesthesiologist put them all of the way under; the tattooed tissue was removed, a layer of synthetic skin was applied, and the wound was bandaged. In less than 24 hours, the Syn-skin would be integrated with the tissue below it and would appear like the normal skin grafts of regular human tissue.

  Syn-skin is a kind of artificial skin made from shark cartilage and collagen from cowhide. The mixture is dried and sterilized to make a thin membrane similar to the human dermis layer. Next, a protective top layer of silicone that acts like the human epidermis is applied. This patch acts like a framework onto which new skin tissue and blood vessels could grow. The only drawback is those new cells never produce hair follicles or sweat glands, which normally form in the dermis.

  As the new skin grows, the cowhide and shark substances from the artificial skin breaks down and are absorbed by the body. Decades earlier, the first application of Syn-skin had been used on a woman whose burns covered over half her body. After peeling away the burned tissue, a layer of artificial skin had been grafted on some of her own unburned skin. Three weeks later, the woman’s new skin, the same color as her unburned skin, was growing at an amazingly healthy rate.

  *****

  The process at the Ambrose Federal Detention Center had to be handled differently since 27 prisoners were housed in three groups of nine each. The AFDC had been chosen as the detention site primarily because it was already rigged for such a situation. Each of the cell blocks had been constructed with a delivery system that could flood the area with an oneirogenic general anesthetic in the event of riot or disturbance.

  Oneirogenic general anesthetic is the formal name for sleeping gas, an incapacitating agent used to place a subject in a state of unconsciousness so that they are not aware of what is happening around them. Often it is used to keep a person from harming themselves or others. Most sleeping gases have undesirable side effects and are only effective at doses that approach toxicity. The gas used in this situation was odorless, colorless, and tasteless so as not to alert its victims.

  When the atmosphere was purged, medical teams entered and checked the unconscious men. Portable oxygen was administered to each flushing their lungs. IVs were attached to the right arm and right femoral artery of each prisoner. The 27 patients were transferred to the main gymnasium area where four “operating tents” stood; within each was a surgery team. Two anesthesiologists rotated among the patients, checking on their individual statuses.

  Alone in solitary confinement, Captain Dodd stood suddenly and looked widely around the room. His observers noted the time. His apparent agitation continued to increase periodically; his observers continue to make notes and keep track of the exact times each increase occurred. This had been anticipated.

  Exactly two hours and twenty-three minutes later, Captain Dodd stopped pacing and stood stock still. The only movement was the periodic shift of his head from side to side, like a dog trying to determine what a particular sound was or where it was coming from. Fifteen minutes after it had started, the behavior ceased and Captain Dodd sat back down.

  *****

  John Thomas and Paul were seated on Rourke’s patio. The events of recent days were troubling. “Excuse me Paul,” Rourke said. “I need a bit of a distraction.” He returned a few minutes later with a box of knife sharpening tools and two knives.

  Before the Night of the War started, Rourke was traveling between assignments and passed through a Texas border town. His friend, Hank Frost, had told him about two fledgling knife makers, Ed Martin and his son Newton, Newt for short. Rourke was working on two knife designs, and if there was anything the one-eyed mercenary knew about, it was knives. Frost told him to “Check these boys out; they can make them. I guarantee it. Here’s the address. Why don’t you stop and see them on your way out?”

  Rourke pulled his black Ford pickup into the parking spot outside the shop and walked inside. Over a cup of scalding coffee, he learned that Newt was a submariner home on leave from the Navy; his father Ed and his uncle Hank had been “playing” at knife making for years. Playing meant they made good quality using knives, but were still “playing with our own designs” as Newt told him.

  “I have a couple of ideas I’d like you to look at,” Rourke said as he pulled two sheets of paper from his bomber jacket pocket and laid out two rough designs, “I’m not locked into very many specifics. I want to see what you come up with. To quote Jim Bowie from the Iron Mistress, ‘I’ve seen guns fail. I’ve seen swords fail. I want something that wo
n’t fail,’ and I want two of them. One needs to be a Bowie fighter and the other a spear point dive knife, small enough to carry concealed if necessary but big enough and strong enough to hang my life on if need be.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Newt asked.

  “Roughly this,” Rourke said. “The Bowie fighter first, I want it out of high carbon steel. I haven’t found a stainless blade that sharpens or holds an edge like high carbon. I want it out of quarter-inch stock with integral guards top and bottom. It will need to have some ‘very aggressive’ serrations and a skull crusher at the end of the handle with a thong hole. Lastly, the handle needs to be of the type you can fight with the blade upright or a reverse grip.”

  “You must live an interesting life, Mr. Rourke,” Ed said from the work table.

  “You could say that Mr. Martin,” Rourke agreed with a wry smile. “I seem to keep running into people who don’t like me. I was referred to you by Hank Frost; we’re sort of in the same business, just different bosses.”

  Ed rolled his eyes, “That explains a lot; give my best to Hank. Did he ever tell you the true story about how he lost that eye?”

  Rourke smiled, “He’s told me about 15 different stories, and I didn’t believe a one of them.”

  Newt said, “The dive knife should be stainless for corrosion resistance. It definitely needs serrations and a wire break. We can make it with a reversible friendly grip, with a thong and crusher also. I like the spear point idea; I don’t care for the pry bar types with what looks like a big screwdriver for a point.”

  “Me either,” Rourke agreed.