Some kind of post-apocalyptic “fortress,” or maybe an army base from the future, lay on a peninsula with a long harbor. The peninsula jutted at least five kilometers into the sea and narrowed to perhaps only a hundred meters where it met the landmass—the perfect chokepoint to defend the base from ground attacks. A large wall rose there, towering above a burned-out wasteland beyond it. Waves of soldiers on horseback charged toward the wall, shooting and shouting. It looked almost like a medieval raid on a castle—a castle from far in the future. David stepped closer to the edge, marveling, trying to get a better view. The lead riders unleashed something.
A massive explosion erupted and a mushroom of fire rose from the wall, sending David staggering back and illuminating the area around the fortress. On the other side of the narrow sea, David caught a glimpse of a massive rock cliff jutting high above the water. The Rock of Gibraltar. He was in Northern Morocco, across the Straits of Gibraltar. The peninsula was home to Ceuta, an autonomous Spanish city. Or had been, before someone turned it into a fortress. There were still traces of the city, but—
Behind him, David heard trucks cranking. He turned just in time to see a spotlight snap on, blinding him. The light from the explosion had revealed him to someone in the mountains.
A man’s voice called down to him from above. “Don’t move!”
He jumped off the ridge as bullets raked the cliff. He stumbled back to the rock face where he had emerged and felt around desperately for the entrance. It wasn’t there. Whatever he had passed through was a one-way door, some kind of forcefield that looked and felt like rock out here.
He heard boots pounding rock behind him. He turned just as Immari soldiers poured onto the ledge and surrounded him.
CHAPTER 32
Immari Training Camp Camelot
Cape Town, South Africa
Dorian stood at the tall window. The Immari troops that spread out below were breaking down their camps and making their way to the harbor and the ships waiting there for them.
A woman was directing a group of soldiers. She had… poise, Dorian thought, and something else; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Kosta,” he said to his new assistant, who was working at the desk behind him.
The short, fat man scurried over to join Dorian at the window. “Sir?”
“Who’s that woman?”
Kosta peered down. “Which…”
Dorian pointed. “There, with the blond hair, and… striking features.”
Kosta hesitated. “I… I don’t know, sir. Is she underperforming? I can have her reassigned—”
“No, no. Just, find out who she is.”
“Yes, sir.” Kosta lingered. “The rest of the ships are almost here. We’re still trying to round up more cold weather gear—”
“We won’t need it.”
“Sir?”
“We’re not going to Antarctica. We’re sailing north. Our fight is in Europe.”
PART II:
TRUTH, LIES & TRAITORS
CHAPTER 33
Immari Fleet
Off the coast of Angola
Dorian ran his finger down the length of Johanna’s bare back, across her behind, and down her leg. Beautiful. Sublime.
When he lifted his finger from her, she rustled, then lifted her head and brushed her golden hair out of her eyes. “Was I snoring?” she asked sheepishly.
Dorian loved her accent. Dutch, he thought. Had her parents been first-generation South African settlers? Asking her would show personal interest. Weakness. He had tried to tell himself that she was dull and shallow, that she didn’t warrant his interest, that she was one of any number of girls on this ship or another in his fleet. But… there was something about her. It wasn’t the conversation. She had spent most of her time in his cabin lying there naked, flipping through old gossip magazines, sleeping, or pleasuring him.
He rolled away from her. “You wouldn’t be here if you had snored.”
Her tone changed. “You want to…”
“When I want sex, you’ll know it.”
As if on cue, a soft knock echoed from the iron door to his cabin.
“Enter,” Dorian called loudly.
The door cracked open, and Kosta stepped in. Upon seeing Dorian and the woman on the bed, he spun and made for the door.
“For God’s sake, Kosta, haven’t you ever seen two naked humans? Stop. What the hell do you want?”
“They’ll be ready for the broadcast to the Spanish captives in an hour, sir,” Kosta said, still facing away from Dorian. “The communications teams would like to review some talking points.”
Dorian stood and pulled his pants on, not bothering with underwear. The girl hopped up and found his sweater. She smiled and handed it to him, like a wife handing her husband his lunch as she saw him off to work. Dorian didn’t make eye contact with her. He threw the sweater over the chair in front of the desk.
“I write my own talking points, Kosta. Come get me when it’s time.”
Dorian could hear Johanna rolling around in the bed, trying to get his attention. He ignored her. He had to focus, had to find the right message. This address was important—it would set the tone for the subsequent push into Europe, for everything that came after.
He needed to make their cause about more than survival, more than self-interest. He needed to sell the choice to join the Immari as something more—the choice to join a movement. A declaration of independence, a new beginning. Freedom—from Orchid… and what? What is the Spanish zeitgeist? The issues? What was their “plague” before the Atlantis Plague? What would the world respond to?
He scribbled on the page:
Plague = Global Capitalism: a Darwinian force that cannot be stopped; it seeps into every nation, discarding the weak, selecting the strong.
Orchid = Central Bank stimulus: easy money, a false cure that never solves the root causes, only suppresses symptoms, prolonging the agony.
Current outbreak = Like another Global Financial Crisis: uncontainable, incurable, irreversible. Inevitable.
It could work. He decided he would tone it down a bit though.
Ares is right, Dorian thought. The plague was the ultimate opportunity to remake humanity. A single human society with no classes, no friction. An army, working as one toward a common goal: safety.
Johanna threw the sheet off, exposing her spectacular body to him. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Changed your mind? Dorian thought. He was surprised that she had made it up about something in the first place. And now she had reconsidered this “thought.” He imagined what was next. Perhaps another comment about a potential breakup of “stars” Dorian had never heard of, or “do you think this dress would look good on me?” As if that dress were on sale down in the ship’s commissary.
“Fascinating…” Dorian mumbled as he turned back to his work.
“I’ve realized that I liked you better when all you did was sleep, drink, and screw me.”
Dorian exhaled and set the pen down.
He rolled her over on the bed, exposing her backside. When she glanced back at him, Dorian drew his hand back in the air. “I’m not going to lie to you, Johanna. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.”
CHAPTER 34
Immari Sorting Camp
Marbella, Spain
Kate stood in the line, surveying the camp, thinking, trying to figure a way out. The Orchid District lay in ruin, a burned-out wreck that barely resembled the five-star seaside resort it had been before the plague, or even the shelter Martin had shown her yesterday. Fires at the guard towers and motor pool still smoldered, sending thin columns of black smoke into the sky, like a snake crawling up the white hotel towers. The setting sun burned red and orange above the Mediterranean. Kate’s column of people marched silently toward the sea like sheep to the slaughter.
The Immari soldiers were doing what Martin had predicted: sorting everyone. The sick were routed to the closest tower, where guards with guns
and cattle prods herded them through the doors. Kate wondered what they would do with them. Leave them there to die? Without Orchid, those people would be dead within three days. Martin was in the group somewhere. Kate hadn’t seen him since they were captured—they had been placed on different trucks. She searched the crowd for him.
“Step forward!” a soldier called.
Maybe they had already taken Martin inside the tower, or perhaps he was behind her, Kate thought. She couldn’t take her eyes off the tower that held the sick. What would they do in a few days, when it was filled with the dead? What about when they evacuated Marbella? In her mind’s eye, Kate saw explosions rocking the bottom of the building and it collapsing to the ground. She had to get Martin out somehow. She—
“Move forward!”
Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. Another man grabbed her neck, feeling her lymph nodes. He tossed her to the left and yet another man—not a soldier, a doctor, perhaps—ran a long swab inside her mouth, along the inside of her cheek. He placed the swab inside a plastic tube with a barcode. The tube was one of many lined up on a conveyor belt that flowed to a larger machine. DNA samples. They were sequencing the survivors’ genomes. Looking for what? Kate’s dyed hair and generally grimy appearance from the tunnels had given her some reassurance that the soldiers wouldn’t recognize her—she looked nothing like she had twenty-four hours ago. But if they had a DNA sample from her and could match it, they would know exactly who she was.
At that moment, a guard on the other side of her grabbed her wrist and slammed it into a small round opening in another machine. A sharp pain erupted at her wrist, but before she could cry out, it was over. The guard shoved her hard in the back, and she was face to face with another guard who took her backpack, set it on a conveyor belt that ran it through a machine, and spun her around to another guard. He ran a wand up and down her, the way an airport security guard might check someone who set the metal detector off.
“Negative,” he said.
The first guard handed Kate the backpack, and she was in a crowd again, on the other side of the technicians and machines. Kate stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. The crowd parted slightly, and she saw two familiar faces: the man and woman who had herded them in the tunnels—the Immari loyalists who had helped capture her and Martin.
Another person in the crowd, a pudgy middle-aged white man without even the hint of a tan stepped closer to her. “It’s okay. It’s over!” he said, his tone somewhere between nervousness and excitement. “You’re a survivor. We’re saved.”
Kate looked back at the technicians, then at her wrist and the burning red welt that surrounded the black bar code.
“How did you know—”
“That you’re a survivor? You didn’t have an Orchid ID—an implant.”
Implant? Martin had said nothing about an implant.
The nervous man seemed to read Kate’s confusion. “You don’t know about the implants?”
“I’ve been… out of the loop.”
“Oh my God. Let me guess, you were here on vacation and went into hiding after the plague? Me too!”
Kate nodded slowly. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Holy smokes! Where to start? I mean, let’s see. Well, you didn’t have an implant, so it means of course you were never captured, never made to endure the forced treatment.” He paused. “Oh, you wouldn’t know. You’re not going to believe it. After the outbreak, the Spanish government declared martial law. They took over everything and herded everyone—everyone left alive—into massive concentration camps. They made everyone take a drug, Orchid, that delayed the plague, but didn’t cure it. They gave everyone an implant, some kind of biotech device that could synthesize a cure from the body’s own amino acids or something. Or that’s what they said. Who knows what it does. But you didn’t have one, you’re definitely a survivor. We’re going to be okay now. The Immari have liberated Marbella. There are rumors this is happening all over southern Spain. They’re going to clean this place up and get the world back to normal.”
Kate surveyed the crowd again. There were two divisions, she saw it now. Her group was much smaller—the known survivors. The other group was larger. They must have been Orchid district residents that showed no signs of infection. The DNA samples, the barcodes… comprehension dawned on Kate. The Immari were cataloging everyone, conducting their own trials, out in the open, trying to isolate the endogenous retroviruses that controlled the Atlantis Gene. That was their goal—increasing their sample size. Liberation was a side effect. A cover. Or was there another outcome?
Martin’s words echoed in her mind: Promise me you will pledge. Kate wouldn’t. Not after what they had done. Were doing. What could she do if she did pledge? They would find her sooner or later. She couldn’t delay it. And she couldn’t see how she could save Martin. Given the choice, she’d rather die knowing she’d never taken a false pledge, never bowed to her enemy.
Behind Kate, a massive screen lit up. The soldiers had hung a series of white sheets together, making an outdoor screen like a drive-in movie theater. The scene that lit the screen was a rough wooden desk in front of an iron wall. The captain’s desk of a ship? A man walked past the camera, turned, and sat at the desk, his back rigid, his face hard and emotionless.
Kate felt herself tense up. Her mouth went dry.
“My name is Dorian Sloane.”
Slowly, the words faded away and Kate was alone with a single thought: if Dorian is alive, David is dead. The proof was there on the screen, ten feet tall, twenty feet wide, staring down lifelessly at the frightened crowd. If Dorian is alive, David is dead. Knowing for certain revealed just how much hope she had held out. Tears welled in her eyes, but Kate blinked them away. She inhaled and fought the urge to wipe her eyes. Around her, others were wiping away tears, but for a wholly different reason. Throughout the crowd, people were clapping, embracing each other, and cheering. Some faces were hard, like Kate’s, and many simply looked down or away from the screen. Through the cheers and somber stares, Dorian droned on, completely unaware.
“I come to you not as a liberator, not as a savior, not as your leader. I am a human being, a man trying to survive, a person trying to save as many lives as he can. I’m simply in a unique position. As the chairman of Immari International, I control the resources to make a difference. Immari has a security division, a private intelligence service, natural resources, communications companies, transport organizations, and perhaps most importantly, one of the most advanced global scientific research and development groups in the world. In short, we are in a position to do something to help in these difficult times. But our resources are limited. In a sense, we can only fight the battles we can win. But we won’t turn away from that fight or our responsibilities as humans. We will save the lives we can. Look at your lot. Look at what the governments of the world have given you.
“We face an unprecedented threat in the course of human evolution. A turning point. A flood. We stand waist deep in the blood of those who cannot survive in this new world. Governments have chained you to these people who can’t swim in this flood. They’ve left you to drown. We offer a way forward, an outstretched hand from a life raft. We offer a choice. Immari International has the courage to do what must be done, to save the lives we can and offer peace and closure to those we can’t. That’s what I come to offer you today: life, a new world, built by survivors. We ask nothing in return, save for your loyalty and your help in creating this new world. We will need all the help, all the able-bodied individuals we can find. The true challenge lies ahead. We seek only the opportunity to play our role in the coming cataclysm, and I ask you now: join us or abstain. If you abstain, we will not harm you. We will deliver you to those that disagree with us so that you may seek your own solutions. We have no desire for bloodshed; the world has enough blood on its hands.
“Our adversaries call us an empire. They spread lies in a desperate attempt to cling to their own power. Conside
r what they’ve done with that power—built a world with two classes of nations: the third world and the first world. And they’ve let capitalism trample the citizens of every nation—first and third world—segregating us according to our economic value. A person’s place in society determined by how much the world is willing to pay for whatever they can produce each day. This plague is simply the biological equivalent of the same programs they’ve used to divide us for centuries.
“Immari International’s solution is simple: one world, with one people, all working together. If you prefer the old world, if you prefer Orchid, sitting in a concentration camp, waiting for a cure that will never come, waiting to live or die, you can. Or you can choose life, a fair world, a chance to build something new. Choose now. If you do not wish to be part of the Immari Solution, stand where you are. If you want to assist us, to help save the lives we can, step forward, toward the men holding the Immari International signs. The men at the desk will interview you, find out what skills you can offer, how you can help your fellow humans.”
The crowd around Kate began dispersing. Maybe one in ten stood their ground. Possibly less.
Kate hated to admit it, but Dorian had given a convincing speech for anyone that didn’t know what he was truly like. He was a smooth talker; she knew that all too well. As she stood there watching the people flock to the Immari soldiers, a procession of images flowed through her mind. Her father: died trying to prevent an Immari massacre. Her mother: dead at the hands of the plague they unleashed. David: dead at Dorian’s hands. Now Martin, her adoptive father, would soon be their latest victim. He had made so many hard choices and sacrifices—many of which had been all for her benefit, to keep her safe. He had tried to protect her for so long.
She couldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t, no matter what. And she would complete his research.
She felt the pack that hung on her back. Did it hold the keys to finding a cure?