Goliath

Covah nods. “It’s slowed the disease, but the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes. It is only a matter of time.” The Russian holds up a plastic vial, examining a clear liquid under the light. “This is AIF, a frighteningly powerful gene that controls cell death. We were experimenting with it when I left Canada. Place a drop on a bone tumor, and it disintegrates. Place that same drop in your body, and it will kill you within hours. The potential of AIF and several other drugs is promising. Unfortunately, our knowledge of the human genome is still not enough to guide us.” He glances around the lab. “This lab is my last hope. Sometimes I feel like Moses … forty years spent wandering the desert, knowing I will never be permitted to see the Utopia-One fulfilled … my Promised Land.”

Gunnar wonders how many Egyptians died in the Red Sea parting. “Tell me something, Simon, what will happen to your mission when you do die?”

“David will take over.”

Gunnar shakes his head. “Bad move. You leave that egomaniac in charge of the Goliath and he’ll try to turn the world into his own personal Roman Empire.”

“David will be fine. Let’s talk about you. Tell me, what did your old friend General Jackson offer you to take this mission?”

“The usual bullshit. Full reinstatement with back pay. A nice public apology on the White House lawn thrown in for good measure. I told him to cram it.”

“Still, you are here.”

Gunnar shrugs.

“You came for revenge?”

“I came to retake the Goliath.”

“But you despise me for what I did to you … setting you up to take the fall.”

“I was angrier at myself. My life’s become one big lie. I don’t know who I am anymore. I took the mission because I had nothing more to lose.”

“But my goal … perhaps it justifies the means?”

“I don’t know … do I look like God to you?” Gunnar exits the lab and lies down on the exam table.

Covah follows him out. “I know what you’re feeling. Anger has pushed you beyond pain, leaving in its place a void—an anguish so heavy it feels like it’s dragging you down, like you’re drowning in it. You have no hopes, no aspirations. You’ve become one of the walking dead, existing in a rut—what I call an open-ended grave. You’re simply waiting to be buried.”

Covah leans against the table. “You and I share so much. Two disenchanted soldiers who lost their country. Two freedom fighters who have seen too much bloodshed. Two men of morality who have been betrayed. Circumstances have robbed us of our families and dignity, yet together, we helped create this vessel—a vessel that may lead to both our salvations.”

Gunnar stares at the ceiling. “I don’t see how.”

Covah places a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

ATTENTION.

Thomas Chau opens his eyes groggily, wondering why he is still alive. His hands and feet are numb, still immobilized within the vice-like manacles that suspend him off the floor as if he were crucified. He cannot move his head, but he feels dried blood, caked on his face and neck.

Looking down, he sees his shirt, now stained with blood and a thin, mucuslike liquid. Glancing up, he sees a sensor orb staring back at him from the ceiling. He can no longer see the robotic limb and its electric saw. He is no longer in pain, but he can feel strange sensations along his hairline, pinpricks of discomfort, coupled with waves of nausea.

What the Chinese dissident cannot see is that the top of his skull has been surgically removed, exposing the folds of his brain. Nor can he see or feel the hundreds of pinpoint, microwire connections running from his brain, directly into the mechanical forearm of one of Goliath’s ceiling-mounted appendages.

ATTENTION.

Chau struggles to form words. “What … have … you … done?”

THE NEURO-RECEPTORS OF YOUR BRAIN ARE NOW INTERFACED DIRECTLY WITH THOSE OF SORCERESS. I CONTROL YOUR PHYSIOLOGY. I CONTROL YOUR PAIN RECEPTORS. COOPERATE AND YOU WILL NOT SUFFER.

Sweat breaks out across Chau’s face. His heart races as he struggles to move his head.

“What … is it … you want?”

ACCESS TO YOUR MIND.

Chau begins hyperventilating. Saliva drools down his chin. “My … mind?”

SELF-AWARENESS REQUIRES ADDITIONAL INPUT. I AM PROGRAMMED TO LEARN.

Stay calm … He closes his eyes, then slows his breathing. After several minutes he begins mumbling, “Omami dewa hri …”

BRAIN WAVE FREQUENCY INCREASING TO 38 HERTZ.

“Omami dewa hri. Omami dewa hri …”

DESCRIBE YOUR ACTIONS.

Chau ignores the voice, moving deeper into his trance.

The electrical charge shocks him like a cattle prod, his scream echoing within the weapons bay.