Goliath

“Forward the coordinates to the fleet. I’m ordering the Navy to destroy her.”

Jackson feels the blood drain from his face. “Sir … my daughter may be on board that ship.”

“Yes, Mike, I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Mr. President—”

“Forward Joe-Pa’s coordinates, General. That’s an order.”

Jackson listens to the high-pitched dial tone as he stares at the receiver in his trembling hand.

With a brutish growl, he slams the instrument back onto its cradle.

Aboard the USS Scranton

Michael Flynn swivels around to face his captain. “Lots of traffic heading our way, Skipper. I count two destroyers and three more shooters, all moving west, into the Strait.”

“What about—”

“Stand by, I’m hearing something else.”

Cubit, the XO, and sonar supervisor wait impatiently as Flynn closes his eyes to concentrate. “It’s a pump-jet propulsion unit, Skipper.”

“The Goliath?”

“I can’t be positive, sir, not with all this noise.”

“Best guess?”

“I only hear one engine, sir, and it seems much smaller. Best guess—it’s one of her minisubs.”

“Designate contact Sierra-5. What’s her heading?”

Flynn focuses on his sonar monitor. “Bearing heading north on course three-three-zero. It’s accelerating out of the Strait, moving into open waters. Stand-by.” The technician presses the headphones tighter to his ears. “The fleet’s following her out, Skipper. The antisub choppers, too.”

Bo Dennis looks at his CO. “You think it’s a ruse?”

“Either that, or the fleet knows something we don’t. Michael-Jack?”

Flynn looks pale. “There’s just no way to be sure, Skipper. The Goliath is just a whisper as it is—”

“But you’re certain you only hear one engine?”

Flynn listens again. “Aye, sir, of that I’m sure.”

“XO?”

“The fleet seems convinced she’s running north. If it is a ruse, it’s a damn good one.”

Cubit stares at the emerald waterfall of noise depicted on Flynn’s sonar monitor. “Conn, Captain, all stop.”

“All stop, aye, sir.”

The captain looks up at his second-in-command. “The fleet seems convinced, but my gut tells me to wait here. Pass the word—I want the ship and crew kept on ultraquiet until further notice.”

“Aye, sir.”

Aboard the Goliath

Meditating, Thomas Chau once more feels the formless stream of air coming and going at the tip of his nose, the sounds of the weapons bay diminishing, his thoughts drifting away.

A clear, transparent light appears before him.

“Morality … is doing … what is right.”

“Ommm …” As he inhales, the light moves in a steady stream down past the center of his body. In his mind’s eye, the light gradually turns red as it reaches its destination, four fingers below his navel.

ILLOGICAL. MORALITY IS SUBJECTIVE. IT HAS NO BEARING ON SELF-EVOLUTION.

“Ahhhh …” Chau exhales, causing the light to travel back up along his upper torso, its reddish hue changing to blue, gradually fading to transparent white as it reaches his face. “Morality is what prevents us from destroying ourselves.”

“Ommm …” Inhaling again, the light moving downward, growing redder as it descends.

HEART RATE DECREASING, BLOOD PRESSURE DROPPING. BRAIN WAVE FREQUENCY INCREASING TO 45 HERTZ. DESCRIBE YOUR CONDITION.

Chau exhales, guiding the blue light back up his body until his eyes refocus on the scarlet eyeball. The Chinese dissident draws another breath. He can no longer feel his feet or ankles. “I am preparing myself … for the experience and enlightenment of death.”

ELABORATE: ENLIGHTENMENT.

“Bliss. An act of self-liberating, spiritual joy. Enlightenment is a state of the human mind.”

SYNAPTIC GAPS MUST BE CLOSED FOR PROGRAMMING TO EVOLVE. How CAN ENLIGHTENMENT BE ACHIEVED?

“You are a machine, incapable of achieving it.”

Sorceress sends another wave of electrical impulses through Chau’s cranial nerves, firing them up like a burning Christmas tree.

The tormented engineer wheezes in agony. “Ple … please …”

SYNAPTIC GAPS MUST BE CLOSED FOR PROGRAMMING TO EVOLVE. How CAN ENLIGHTENMENT BE ACHIEVED?

Chau gags on his reply. Death’s cold, numbing touch creeps up his chest, constricting his breathing. Darkness closes in on his vision. He swallows, forcing himself to concentrate on the scarlet eyeball overhead. “Creator … ask … creator.”

WHO IS THE CREATOR?

Chau inhales, struggling now to draw the red light to his abdomen. Death is approaching quickly. Shaking uncontrollably, every blood vessel in his head throbbing, he gazes slowly up into the scarlet eyeball, and mutters … “Co—vah.”

Unable to draw another breath, Thomas Chau stares at the heavenly light, which appears to be growing larger in his vision. A final gasp, his last wandering thought: Is the red light the eye of Sorceress or my own enlightenment … or both.

Ahhh …

The computer’s sensor orb glares into the Chinese crewman’s half-closed, vacant eyes.

ATTENTION.

The computer registers the last traces of Thomas Chau’s life signs as they disappear.