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    Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector
    Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector
    Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector
    Ebook572 pages8 hours

    Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector

    By Philip Bosshardt

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    About this ebook

    Something-- probably man-made and probably started by the Red Hammer cartel—is altering the Earth’s atmosphere, accelerating climate change with a vengeance. The air is becoming toxic, unbreathable. And it’s spreading. People have died, and more might die if the changes aren’t stopped. Looks like Quantum Corps has its hands full again. Lieutenant John Winger leads his beleaguered nanotroopers into combat, on battlefields across the globe and inside the world of atoms and molecules. Second episode in the Tales of the Quantum Corps.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhilip Bosshardt
    Release dateJun 13, 2014
    ISBN9781310905728
    Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector
    Author

    Philip Bosshardt

    Philip Bosshardt is a native of Atlanta, Georgia. He works for a large company that makes products everyone uses...just check out the drinks aisle at your grocery store. He’s been happily married for over 20 years. He’s also a Georgia Tech graduate in Industrial Engineering. He loves water sports in any form and swims 3-4 miles a week in anything resembling water. He and his wife have no children. They do, however, have one terribly spoiled Keeshond dog named Kelsey.For details on his series Tales of the Quantum Corps, visit his blog at qcorpstimes.blogspot.com or his website at http://philbosshardt.wix.com/philip-bosshardt.

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      Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector - Philip Bosshardt

      Johnny Winger and the Amazon Vector

      Published by Philip Bosshardt at Smashwords

      Copyright 2014 Philip Bosshardt

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      The role of the infinitely small is infinitely large.

      Louis Pasteur

      Prologue

      Village of Via Verde

      Republic of Valencia, South America

      Fall, 2068

      For Dr. Hector del Compo, the trip up the Yemanha River came at a particularly bad time. Work was piling up at the Ministry, his eldest daughter was set to be married in less than two weeks, and the Deputy Minister had just rejected his choice to head up the public health lab, the dolt. So when U.N. BioShield advised the Ministry of some kind of ‘disturbance’ in the vicinity of Via Verde, unusually high nanobotic activity was the way the report had phrased it, del Compo gritted his teeth and organized a quick expedition to see what BioShield had detected. Maybe it would be a distraction from all the politics back at the Ministry. After all, it wasn’t everyday you got a message from BioShield that some kind of mass casualties had occurred way upriver in the black heart of la selva, the rain forest that covered the western two thirds of Valencia.

      Esta aqui? came a voice from the back of the boat. It was Montoya, sergeant of the Guardia Nacional detail that was accompanying the scientists from the Ministry upriver. The village is nearby, no?

      Del Compo watched the coffee-colored waters of the Yemanha River slide by. The two-boat fleet had chugged nearly forty kilometers upriver from Afalamos, heading for the last known encampment of Xotetli Indians, a place called Via Verde, the locus of the ‘disturbance’ according to BioShield. The sun was high in the sky—it was just after noon locally—but the light had fallen off in the dense canopy of wiry pandanus and tapang trees, now forming a cathedral arch over the sluggish river.

      Just around the bend, Sergeant, Del Compo called out. Let’s maneuver closer to shore.

      Montoya waved acknowledgement, then barked, Watch for logs and shoals! De reche…steer toward the shore!

      The two boats slowed and shifted course, their props thrumming and churning water as the helmsmen turned them to starboard. The prow of the lead boat nosed around the curve of the shoreline, through swarms of buzzing insects and the first crude thatch lean-to’s of the Xotetli village came into view, perched on a shelf of cleared ground. Smoke issued from a smoldering fire in the center of the circle of huts.

      Montoya snapped off more orders and the boats were poled to the river banks, their engines turned off. The Guardia detail climbed out and quickly secured a perimeter around the village, nosing briefly into the forest, poking bayonets and mag weapons into the huts, looking for anyone.

      One soldier, Corporal Quinones, gave a shout.

      Aqui…aqui! Pronto!... The corporal waved the others over.

      Del Compo scrambled over the makeshift gangway and clawed his way up the bank. The village of Via Verde was little more than a collection of crude thatch huts and log lean-to’s, gathered in a circle around a firepit that was still smoldering.

      Even as del Compo and his fellow scientists approached, they could see the legs of prostrate humans, sticking out of the huts.

      Texeira bent to examine the nearest body. Quinones shone a flashlight on the face of the Xotetli Indian….it appeared to be a young male, otherwise healthy and uninjured, but indisputably dead. He had died with his eyes open. The young male was covered with painted tattoos and his lips and nose were pierced with tiny bone ornaments.

      What happened? asked del Compo, noting at least four other males lying nearby.

      I’m not sure, but— Texeira turned the body over, looking for lividity and other signs of external trauma. No open wounds…poison, maybe. They both knew the Xotetli fashioned curare for their darts and arrows from the leaves and stems of chondrodendron vines.

      Gonzalez! del Compo called back to the boat. Bring the equipment…we need to do an autopsy.

      Gonzalez waved back, then hoisted up a crate and lugged it on shore, carrying the crate up to the village.

      As the scientists set up, Montoya and his detail did a quick reconnaissance of the village and surrounding jungle. He came back after a few minutes, his face grim and pale.

      Profesor…the whole village…they’re all dead—

      "What?’

      Montoya unholstered his own pulser and pointed it toward the huts opposite the firepit. Come…see for yourself—

      Del Compo went with Montoya around the village, where the rest of the Guardia detail…Herrera, Uruguin, Fuentes and Goncalves…were systematically probing every hut and bush, turning up bodies by the dozen, slumped, sprawled and folded in every conceivable position.

      Del Compo bent to examine an older man, maybe the curaca, or chief. He was adorned with a complex cape of vines and strips of tree bark. His face was hidden behind a mask of feathers—when del Compo peeled the mask back, he saw a middle-aged face staring up at him, eyes open. His lips and cheeks were noticeably blue.

      The exam was interrupted by the sound of a heavy thud. Del Compo and Montoya both turned, and saw two of the soldiers had dropped to their knees, and were having trouble breathing…both were heaving deeply, gasping for air.

      Del Compo got up and went to Herrera and Uruguin. What is it? What’s wrong—what is it?

      Uruguin was young, his eyes wide. His hands fluttered about his chest. I don’t know…I can’t breathe…my lungs…no air… He gurgled and throttled, then pitched onto his side, his mouth working up and down like a fish out of water.

      Del Compo bent down to examine the soldier’s face. It was turning pale, somehow he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He started to probe around the soldier’s mouth, but stopped, feeling light-headed himself. Startled, he stood up abruptly.

      Texeira—

      The chemist had already uncrated the autopsy-bot and had set it to work on the dead man by the firepit. The bot attached itself to the man’s chest and neck with programmed efficiency and extended forceps and probes as it deftly sliced into the corpse.

      Texeira…the air…it’s bad! There may be an underground leak, toxic gases venting—

      Texeira nodded, quickly reading results from the bot. Asphyxiation, senor Profesor…I thought so…blue lips and cheeks. The CO2 level’s way too high in his bloodstream….if this thing is right, it reads better than twenty kilopascals.

      Del Compo was now coughing as he came over. Others too…Montoya was already tending to Uruguin, even as two more Guardia soldiers collapsed.

      Hypercapnia…there’s too much carbon dioxide around here, del Compo croaked.

      That’s…that’s not all, said Gonzalez from the shoreline. He was struggling with more instruments, taking measurements from the riverbank. He swayed dizzily, then clung to a vine of strangler fig for support. The air…she’s crazy…look at this! Not just the carbon dioxide is loco…it’s everything. Chlorine…fluorine…methane…this isn’t normal air, profesor! It’s crazy—

      Poisoned-- Del Compo breathed out. His own lungs were on fire. Something’s in the air…we’ve got to get out of here!

      Montoya signaled for the detail to return to the boats. The soldiers stumbled, coughing, clawing at their faces and chests, as they fell down the riverbanks and into the boats.

      Del Compo sucked, coughed and wheezed as he helped Gonzalez get his gear back aboard. Montoya helped his own men and the boats were started up, their engines chugging against the water. Moments later, the craft eased out against the current, heading further upriver. Against Sergeant Montoya’s wishes. del Compo wanted to track the boundaries of this ‘bubble’ of bad air.

      If I’m right, he wheezed, panting for breath, it’s some kind of rogue nanobotic action, altering the air right here.

      Or maybe toxic gases, suggested Texeira. His face was still pale and beaded with sweat and he sat heavily in the stern, still gasping for breath. ---venting from an underground reservoir.

      The fresh breezes helped and by the time the detail had rounded the next bend, the worst of the toxic air seemed to have fallen behind. Del Compo and Gonzalez studied their instruments, increasingly uneasy at what they were finding.

      A zone of death, Gonzalez said. All around Via Verde…maybe that’s what killed the Xotetli.

      Del Compo nodded, studying the low hanging clouds that were scudding over the tree tops. A protected tribe…gone. Maybe it was loggers…or ranchers. There had been incidents before.

      Or worse, added Texeira, mopping his forehead with a wet handkerchief.

      Gonzalez tuned the detectors. It doesn’t make any sense. Look, profesor…at the riverbank, the air quality is poor…even the basic percentages are all wrong. See—? he pointed to several displays on the instrument face. Ozone levels practically at zero, partial pressure of oxygen falling, CO2 rising…

      The small fleet rounded the bend and Montoya shouted aft. Del Compo followed his pointing arm.

      On the riverbank, were more Xotetli, apparently dead, draped over fallen tree stumps and sprawled at the foot of trees. Ten or more bodies. Animals too. The decaying carcass of a sloth lay half buried in the muck.

      …but here in the middle of the river…the air improves. Del Compo saw he was right. The instruments reflected it…oxygen and nitrogen levels approaching normal, the further they got from the banks.

      Del Compo signaled to Montoya. Pull up to that grotto! he yelled over the wind noise. A dank cavern of limestone overhung the river ahead of them and to the left, covered with boughs of moss and fallen branches of screw pine. To Gonzalez: Watch the instruments as we approach.

      The boats eased landward, bouncing through a small hydraulic foaming around a tree stump and nosed toward the cavern. Bats screeched inside, fluttering the air, with the drone of a thousand wings.

      Del Compo felt light-headed as they bumped against the limestone outcropping. The instruments didn’t lie…even as he watched, the oxygen levels had begun falling off. Carbon dioxide had already risen well beyond fifteen kilopascals, high enough to impair judgment. Trace constituents were all wrong, like some kind of pall of pollution had fallen over the grotto…it was crazy.

      Ashore, when their eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom of the lighting, animal carcasses by the dozen littered the bare rock sides of the limestone cliffs.

      Something was altering the air and, in his imagination, del Compo thought he heard the faint keening whine of nanoscale robots above the screech of the bats. Gonzalez was right…a bubble of noxious, deadly air was swelling up from this grotto and around the village of Via Verde, killing every living thing as it expanded outward.

      A gas vent underground, perhaps? It had happened before, and killed thousands in Africa last century. A new strain of virus, mutated or genetically altered to affect air molecules themselves….was that what BioShield had detected?

      Or perhaps a baby reservoir of nanobots sown by unscrupulous ranchers and loggers, trying to clear another swath of the upper Amazon basin for production.

      The soldiers were already coughing and gagging and del Compo realized with a start that they’d have to vacate the area and come back with the right protective gear…and the Guardia Nacional as well. They didn’t have the equipment to fight this.

      Let’s go back! del Compo decided, rubbing the temples of his head. He had a fierce headache splitting the back of his head, like needles being driven into his skull. Downriver…head back to Afalamos!

      Montoya gave the order gratefully but before the two boats could turn about, the river water began foaming and bubbling between them, sending huge waves washing over the gunwales. Something thrashed just below the surface and as Corporal Fuentes bent over the rail to investigate, a pair of mottled green arms breached the surface and wrapped themselves around the soldier’s neck.

      Instantly, Fuentes was pulled from the boat and into the midst of the foaming water!

      Fuentes! Uruguin! Montoya stumbled as the creature bumped against the boat, rocking them sideways. The sergeant scrambled across the deck, fumbling for a weapon, a machete, a pulser, anything—

      At the same time, more creatures breached the surface, snagging the second boat with their arms—tentacles—trunks…it was hard to see in all the foaming, thrashing water.

      Watch out! yelled Texeira, as del Compo lost his balance, thudding heavily to the deck. He slid to the railing, as the boat tilted, just as a third creature reared up in a spray of water, and for a second, the profesor was face to face with the black button eyes of a demon from the depths of Hell itself.

      It was taller than a man, but thinner, vaguely human in general shape, with a leathery head bristling with black fuzzy hair. Tiny slit eyes dripped or oozed black silt from the riverbed and below what passed for a neck, five or six arms or appendages flailed against the side of the boat with the ferocity of a crazed beast.

      Demonio! yelled one of the soldiers. The crack of magpulser fire stitched a line of death across the chest of the demon and it fell back with keening whine, more black oozing from the gaping wound across the bony breastplate of its chest. It sank quickly beneath the water, even as del Compo scrambled to his feet.

      All around and between the boats, the demonio had surged to the surface, thrashing and slamming against the two boats, pitching and tossing them as if they were small rafts. Soldiers stumbled and clung to whatever they could find. Fuentes was gone. He’d never surfaced. As del Compo watched, Uruguin took dead aim with a pulser at the face of one, trying to climb aboard the boat from the stern, and sliced a slash of black death across its bony head. It screeched and clawed at the air for a moment, then pitched backward into the river.

      There’s dozens of them! Herrera yelled.

      We’re outnumbered! someone else screamed.

      Montoya was already ducking into the pilothouse, gunning the engine of his boat, while Gonzalez was nearly pulled from his perch along the starboard rail. Green mottled arms wrapped themselves around his legs and were pulling him inexorably toward the edge.

      ‘Help! HELP ME!!..."

      Del Compo dove for the nearest thing he could find…a fire ax mounted on a bulkhead behind the pilothouse. He scrambled forward and swung with all his strength, striking the green arm with the ax edge.

      Black fluid exploded in the air as he severed the arm from Gonzalez’ leg. From the side of the boat, a bony head appeared momentarily, its face scrunched up in pain, as it reached out for something else.

      Again, del Compo swung the ax like a halberd and struck the creature on the side of the head, cleaving its skull with a sickening thud. It clawed the air, thrashed wildly, then slipped off the gunwales and slid beneath the water.

      GET US OUT OF HERE! del Compo yelled at the top of his voice. Headache still pounded his own skull, though the demonio seemed unaffected. Texeira had made it to the pilothouse and was already turning them downriver, even as the engines rumbled to life.

      But the water all around them was thick with the creatures.

      There must be hundreds!—

      We’re surrounded--!

      Pulser fire stitched and ripped the air, as beams crisscrossed the small grotto. Del Compo saw two more demonio clambering aboard their own boat, as Texeira rammed the throttles forward. They clawed their way up onto the stern deck well and began crawling like huge, dripping spiders up the incline of the stairs. Twenty feet away, from the stern of Montoya’s boat, Corporal Quinones saw what was happening.

      He took dead aim with his own weapon and let fly a magpulse at point blank range, burning off half the creature’s back and head.

      It reared up in pain and lost balance, pitching sideways into the river, where it was promptly struck by the surging bow of the boat.

      The second creature scuttled forward a few more feet, but this time del Compo and Gonzalez were ready, with fire ax and fathoming pole. As soon as the creature scuttled within range, they attacked.

      Del Compo managed to sever two of its appendages by the time Gonzalez had clubbed the thing into a semi-conscious stupor. It slid back down the stairs and lodged in a seething heap in a corner of the deck well, oozing life. Neither man saw the ragged stumps where its tentacles had been hacked off…starting to regrow, starting to regenerate.

      The other boat pulled alongside, with Quinones and Fuentes both taking dead aim at the still moving creature.

      WAIT! yelled del Compo. Don’t shoot…!

      Are you loco, profesor…this thing is the devil itself!

      Don’t shoot… del Compo held up his heads. Maybe we can tranquilize it, immobilize it. I want to take it back to the city. To my lab.

      The two Guardia soldiers looked at each other, each thinking the same thought. El profesor es loco… They shook their head, partially lowered their weapons.

      At least the air’s getting better, eh? shouted Texeira from the pilothouse. He dropped the throttle and the boat slowed, with Montoya’s boat slackening off as well.

      Soon the small flotilla was chugging downriver at a more manageable ten knots. Montoya directed his pilot, Private Uruguin, to bring them alongside. When the boats were only a few feet apart, he leaped to the deck of the scientists’ boat and landed on all fours. He stood up and regarded the wounded demonio shaking and moaning in the deck well. A blurry cloud, like a horde of flies, buzzed around its severed stumps.

      We can’t take that thing back with us…too dangerous, Montoya decided. He withdrew his own pulser sidearm and dialed it up to maximum, taking aim at its oozing head.

      Don’t shoot it, del Compo pleaded. Let’s restrain it, throw some netting over it. Gonzalez…you have serum in that kit of yours? Maybe we sedate it.

      They already killed one of my men, Montoya said. I can’t take a chance.

      Del Compo jumped down from the catwalk and stood between Montoya and the creature. I can. My job is to find out what’s happened at Via Verde. And what killed all the Xotetli. Something’s going on and it triggered BioShield. This…creature…may be part of the answer.

      Montoya was doubtful but he holstered his weapon and glared down at the creature.

      It’s truly demonio, just like Herrera said. Face of the devil, if you ask me. We should dump it in the river, where it belongs…where it came from."

      The same strange keening whine he had heard before now seemed louder, more insistent to del Compo. Is it my hearing? A burst eardrum? It came from the direction of the creature. Flies, he realized. Hordes of river flies…or mosquitoes. He didn’t see that both stumps were being steadily re-formed, below the swarm of insects.

      I’m not sure where it came from, del Compo said.

      ‘It didn’t seem affected by the bad air, Gonzalez observed. Not like we were."

      I don’t know what happened back there, at Via Verde, admitted del Compo. He found himself a perch and sat down wearily to study the creature. But this…this thing… it has to be part of the answer…I’m sure of it.

      That’s when he realized the keening buzz he’d been hearing for the last hour wasn’t flies at all.

      United Nations Quantum Corps Briefing

      UNQC Western Command Base,

      Table Top Mountain, Idaho, USA

      Fall 2068 (a few weeks later)

      For Major Jurgen Kraft, the commanding officer of 1st Nanospace Battalion, briefings at Table Top were always a royal pain in the ass. It wasn’t so much the formality and the time involved in ‘putting on a show’, as it was all the little things you had to do whenever the brass linked in from remote sites…the special details like side presentations to expand on certain points, enhanced video and animation, sim packages from SOFIE to help with decisions.

      At least, nobody’s figured out how to do coffee and doughnuts over the WorldNet yet, he told himself.

      If anything, today’s briefing would be worse…half the command leadership of UNIFORCE was vidlinked in to the briefing theater. Whatever it was, it was big.

      CINCQUANT himself, in the person of General Wolfus Linx was on one screen, linked in from Paris. The Commander in Chief was a bearded, fierce-eyed Teutonic warrior whose name carried the merest hint of ferocity barely contained. Linx had a withering glare that no amount of distance could dissipate.

      Kraft involuntarily shuddered every time he glanced over at the screen.

      Also linked in from UNIFORCE Headquarters on the Rue du Montaigne was Rene Camois, an Assistant Deputy to the Director General. Mssr. Camois was to Kraft an unknown quantity, though he was highly enough placed to be obnoxious if he wanted to be. Camois was on hand to represent the office of the DG himself, and thus spoke with the absolute authority of the top commander. Even Linx had to defer to the DG.

      One other vidlink completed the trio of screens that lined one wall of the briefing theater. His name was Hector del Compo, and from what Kraft had read of the précis’, del Compo was Valencian, said to be the chief inspector of the Ministry of Public Health in that landlocked South American country. Del Compo had data from some kind of environmental ‘disturbance’ in the upper Amazon River basin that was the official impetus for the briefing.

      Assembled in the briefing theater along with the vidlinked participants were several others.

      Captain Johnny Winger, 1st Nanospace Company, the Battalion’s top code and stick man and for nearly ten years, Kraft’s personal project in building an effective commander for nanoscale combat operations. Winger was the wonder boy of the Corps, and Kraft took a perverse delight in both showing off his prize commander to the brass and roughly reminding the kid who was really in charge.

      Also on hand was Captain Dana Tallant,, 2nd Nanospace Company, and every bit the equal of Winger in raw ability, though she didn’t have Winger’s charisma or guts.

      Kraft brought the briefing to order and acknowledged all the participants.

      Quantum Corps got tasking at 0430 hours this morning from UNSAC to convene a briefing for the purpose of determining what tripped BioShield yesterday. Shortly before noon local time in Valencia, BioShield Ops received several alerts from remote swarms patrolling the atmosphere over the Amazon Basin. The alerts indicated nanobotic activity over and above the lawful amount was occurring in northwest Valencia, some— here Kraft checked his notes— fifty miles upriver from the capital city of Afalamos. BioShield contacted the Valencian Ministry of Public Health and the Interior Ministry. Dr. Del Compo here led the first expedition to investigate. Doctor— Kraft yielded to the Valencian official.

      Del Compo was a compact, dark-haired man, with steel-rim glasses. He consulted some notes off-screen.

      The results of our inspection were surprising, del Compo noted. I’m sending the compiled data now. A new squirt off the satellite refreshed all screens and several plots and graphs materialized into view.

      BioShield data showed the center of this perturbation was in the vicinity of a small Indian village called Via Verde. The territory is along the Yemanha River in upper Valencia. This territory is home to a small tribe called Xotetli…or, I should say, was. The Xotetli were a protected tribe, basically Bronze Age forest-dwellers which our government was trying to protect from ranchers and loggers.

      General Linx cut in gruffly. Doctor, BioShield has a mandate to search for airborne nanobotic mechanisms and that’s all. We don’t want another pandemic like Serengeti scourging the world. If BioShield was tripped, some kind of nanoscale mechanism was in play, replicating in the area.

      I thought the same, del Compo admitted. When we arrived at the site, our investigators noticed right away a sort of aires viciado, a kind of bubble or zone of toxic air had developed. In and around Via Verde, the Xotetli tribe had all died, of asphyxiation. Scores of them. We did auto-autopsy on several and discovered the symptoms you see on your screens…hypercapnia, blue lips and cheeks, excessive concentrations of CO2 and other toxic gasses in their blood and lungs.

      Excuse me, Doctor… It was Rene Camois. You said the entire tribe had died?

      We found no survivors. The air in and around the village and along the riverbanks for several kilometers up and downstream was composed of gases in the concentrations I have displayed here…as you can see, toxic levels of fluorine and chlorine, carbon dioxide and reduced levels of oxygen and nitrogen.

      This doesn’t make any sense, Kraft studied the data. Normal air is seventy-eight percent nitrogen and twenty-one percent oxygen. This is all cock-eyed…are you sure your instruments are calibrated, Doctor?

      Perfectly, del Compo said. The air even affected me and my inspectors. We had to vacate the area…it was too dangerous for us there. No, the data are real, gentlemen. There is a bubble or zone of toxic air over Via Verde and the surrounding jungle and it’s expanding outward. We’re not sure where the source is, though some evidence suggests it’s in or around a grotto of caves further upriver, a place called Sulpeda. We tried to go there but we couldn’t—

      Linx raised a bushy eyebrow. You suspect what, exactly, Doctor…an illegal nanobotic reservoir?

      Possibly, General. Whatever it is, it’s changing the air in that whole area, and every living thing, Xotetli Indians, jungle life, everything, is being affected. Mass casualties are piling up along the riverbanks. Several villages downstream have already reported floating corpses in the water.

      Linx checked with someone behind him and returned to the screen. UNIFORCE confirms that atmospheric perturbations were detected in the area you’re talking about, Doctor. Satellite and aerial ‘bot inspection have characterized the phenomena as a ‘toxic cloud’ spreading outward from Via Verde, altering the composition of the atmosphere, breaking down ozone and other molecules. So far, it’s said to be a relatively small scale event, but whatever it is, it’s resistant to nanobotic intervention to this point. BioShield has deployed enforcement nano into the area with no effect."

      General, asked Johnny Winger, are we dealing with a natural outbreak or some kind of rogue ‘bots somebody let loose?

      That’s unknown at this time, Captain. Perhaps, Deputy Camois has something to add.

      The UNIFORCE official was a precise, almost effeminate bureaucrat. UNIFORCE has been receiving reports for several days now, actually reports, data, even imagery from multiple locations around the world. We’re getting reports of similar atmospheric disturbances, in places like Tibet, the south Pacific, the Antarctic, the Congo basin in central Africa.

      What kind of disturbances? Linx asked.

      Similar to what’s being reported here, Camois consulted some background material, squirted it off the satellite to Table Top. The master display showed a map of the world, with the areas mentioned highlighted. Constituent gas concentrations all mixed up, oxygen and ozone levels dropping, carbon dioxide levels rising, pressure fluctuations…BioShield is reporting nanobotic activity in or near all spots, so we think that’s the cause. Who or what’s behind it— Camois looked up and shrugged, visibly frustrated even on the screen. The Director General’s meeting with UNSAC this evening, 1900 hours our time.

      Johnny Winger studied the displays, trying to make sense of it all. There’s no obvious pattern. What makes all these places so special?

      Unknown, Captain, said Camois. We running routines now to try and match a pattern, possibly predict any further outbreaks. So far, the public’s unaware of the disturbances, except in the affected areas…the media haven’t sniffed this one out yet. But the problem seems to be growing.

      Maybe it’s Red Hammer again, Major Kraft suggested, hoping someone had evidence to the contrary. Quantum Corps had had numerous run-ins with the world’s biggest criminal cartel in recent years and had the scars to show for it. But nobody disagreed.

      A distinct possibility, Camois agreed. Although after Serengeti, the cartel hasn’t made as much trouble for us the last few years. We damaged them severely in that affair. The Deputy looked slightly pained. General, would Quantum Corps like the threat condition from UNIFORCE raised? Do we need to raise the alert level here? The Commissioner will undoubtedly ask the same question.

      Linx was reluctant to admit there was something the Corps couldn’t handle, especially when a mandated mission like atmospheric patrol was involved, but he agreed.

      It would be best, he admitted. I’m thinking we may need to go beyond BioShield and send in a special ops team…an ANAD unit. I’m not sure BioShield can handle this.

      Camois took that grimly. Very well. I’ll recommend to the Director General that we go to UNICON Plus.

      Del Compo spoke up. The Ministry’s team encountered more than just atmospheric perturbations, gentlemen. We also ran into some kind of strange organism…the men have taken to calling them demonio…in the river near Via Verde.

      What kind of organism? Linx asked.

      Del Compo was physically located in a conference studio at the Ministry’s headquarters in Afalamos, the capital of Valencia. He turned from the screen a moment, then fed a video stream into the data feed. Moments later, all screens were refreshed with new imagery, this time of one of the riverine creatures the expedition had captured.

      It’s vaguely humanoid, del Compo narrated over the imagery. It has radically modified lungs, and as you can see, extra appendages. We’ve scanned all of its internal structure as well, in some detail. Ghostly images appeared, outlining the results of the scans. There are the lungs, all four of them. Something that we’re calling a heart, or circulatory pump, and there are other organs we haven’t puzzled out yet. Interestingly, it has no brain or central cognitive-processing center that we can detect."

      Demonio… Linx mulled over the word. Little devil. And no brain…what the hell is it? An animal of some type.

      Del Compo chose his words carefully. I want to be precise in what I am saying here: the demonio is not an organism in the conventional sense. In the sense, General, that you and I are organisms. Properly speaking, it is a colony.

      A colony--?

      A colony of endosymbiotic structures, somewhat similar in appearance, external structure and apparent function to our ANAD mechanisms.

      Johnny Winger’s mouth dropped open. ANAD? You mean—

      Kraft finished the thought. This bugger’s a bunch of nanoscale mechanisms? Like assemblers?

      Del Compo nodded. A very advanced colony of apparently designed and programmable mechanisms, small as a virus, but with extraordinary capability—here, I’ll show you what I mean. The doctor directed someone off screen with a flurry of Spanish. I’ve got imagery…this is a Quark Flux image of one of the devices here.

      The screens flickered and the grainy image of a polyhedral structure filled the view. The structure was festooned with grapplers, hooks, extended chains of polypeptides, bristling with molecular tools.

      I’ll be damned, Kraft muttered. What on God’s green earth are these doodads? He squinted at the image, measuring a fuzzy protuberance on the screen using his fingers as a caliper.

      Off hand, I’d say something like a fullerene hook, Winger said. Same as ANAD, only it’s got a lot more complicated set of radicals at every end. How the dickens does it stay like that?

      We don’t know, del Compo admitted. I had the same question. Bond energies should make this structure fly apart, but it doesn’t.

      We’re looking at some very advanced nanoscale engineering here, Linx said.

      Red Hammer? thought Camois.

      Possibly, but this…this is so far beyond what we’ve ever seen of their work. Indra, Serengeti, none of them looked like this. And the lot of them…they’re organized…not a swarm but—

      Exactly, General. Organized and held together somehow in a colony that vaguely resembles something humanoid. These demonio, as we call them, are nothing more than a collection of autonomous nanoscale assemblers, ANADs, if you will. And here’s what’s really strange: all the internal structures you see in the internal scan are perfectly designed, if I can use that word, to adapt this creature to living inside these zones of altered atmosphere.

      Del Compo’s words hung in the air for a few moments, until the full import of what he had said sunk in.

      Is this a new species, Camois asked. Some branch off the human evolutionary line. Or some kind of experiment?

      Or are we being invaded…maybe colonized ourselves? Kraft said.

      Del Compo shook his head. Unknown at this time. It’s my belief, however, that these atmospheric alterations, whatever their source, and the existence of the demonio, are related.

      Did one cause the other? Linx asked.

      We don’t know, General. That’ll require more investigation.

      Deputy Camois had heard enough. This tells me we’ve got a crisis on our hands and it’s growing fast. If what happened at Via Verde spawned or was somehow created by these…creatures…then what the hell is happening at all the other sites BioShield has detected?

      This could explain why BioShield is detecting heightened nanobotic activity, Johnny Winger said. Maybe they’re detecting these creatures.

      I’ll get tasking from the DG and UNSAC, before the night is over, Camois promised. The investigation mission will be assigned to Quantum Corps and your ANAD units."

      Linx was satisfied with that. Thank you, Deputy. We won’t let UNIFORCE down. Major Kraft--?

      Sir?

      Linx ticked off what he wanted done on his fingers. Work up a tactical plan, every scenario you can think of, and what resources you’ll need. Work SOFIE until she’s smoking. Get it to me by 2200 hours tonight. I’ll see the orders are written and scoped to make it all work.

      Jurgen Kraft was already halfway out the door and Johnny Winger was right behind him.

      Table Top Mountain was situated on a high mesa in the Snake Mountains of southern Idaho, like the palm of a hand with ridges and valleys fanning out in all directions. Hunt Valley and Buffalo Valley swept away in a steep incline to the east and northeast, buttressed by snow-capped mountains. Desolate ravines folded over the land to the south and west. The mesa was an isolated, windswept escarpment miles from any town or settlement. The closet town was Haleyville, some thirty miles to the east along the twisting, turning Highway 7.

      It was in all respects a perfect location for Quantum Corps’ Western Command base.

      The Ops center was a glass and earth building half-buried along the mesa’s eastern limb, surrounded by a grassy quadrangle and connected by enclosed tube and walkway with A Barracks and the dome of the Containment Facility directly to the south.

      Inside Ops, the sim tank was the center of activity as the new UNIFORCE tasking came through. The tank was a small theater run by SOFIE, the Special Operations Force Information Environment, where scenarios and missions could be simulated and rehearsed ahead of time.

      Johnny Winger was there, along with Dana Tallant, Major Kraft and a select team of planners from 1st Nano.

      They discussed possibilities, and how to put the tasking into effect.

      We’ve got to send a team into Valencia, Winger was saying. Covertly, in case the Valencians are behind this.

      Kraft was inclined to agree. I think it’s significant that BioShield ‘bots have had no impact on what’s going on. Whatever’s modifying the atmosphere down there is tougher than BioShield can deal with.

      And they’re using ANAD 3.0 as a base, aren’t they? asked Dana Tallant.

      Three point two, to be exact, Winger recalled. He felt a buzzing in the back of his head, it was the ANAD master, on the neural circuit.

      ***Antique jalopy, if you ask me, Boss. That version couldn’t break a hydrogen bond if his life depended on it***

      Winger smiled. Just got a raspberry from ANAD, guys. He doesn’t think much of ANAD 3.0 either. SOFIE, he commanded the sim system, display locations of all atmospheric perturbations detected by BioShield in the last forty eight hours.

      The concave displays of the sim tank flickered and a map projection of the world came up in pieces. Small whirlpools danced along the upper Amazon, among an island chain in the south Pacific, in the central Congo and in the highlands of Tibet.

      Isolated pockets, Kraft observed. Widely separated.

      For now, Winger said. SOFIE…best prediction for disposition of these disturbances over the next seventy-two hours….

      The displays changed again, this time showing larger whirlpools and more of them.

      I was afraid of that, Kraft said. BioShield data says the disturbances will grow…maybe even link up.

      We’ve got to find out what we’re up against, Winger said. Where’s that toxic gas coming from…what’s modifying the air.

      And is it a natural process, Tallant added. …or something else?

      Red Hammer, Winger shook his head. ‘I’d bet money on it. "

      ***Those demonio creatures have me worried, Boss….colonies of nanoscale mechanisms…gives me the creeps…***

      ANAD’s right, Winger added. We’ve got to find out what’s behind these creatures Dr. del Compo found.

      Captain Winger, Kraft looked curiously at the atomgrabber, I know we approved implanting ANAD into containment in your shoulder, but hang it, it’s friggin’ bizarre when you get involved in one-way conversations.

      Yeah, Wings, said Tallant, think you could clue us in once in awhile?

      Winger shrugged. ANAD was just saying those creatures, demonio or whatever, that Dr. del Compo found give him the creeps.

      Kraft hmmpphhed and commanded SOFIE to put up the raw investigative files from the BioShield ‘bots that had detected the disturbances. How can a device the size of a molecule get the creeps, for Chrissakes? It’s starting to act like my teen-aged daughter.

      Winger found himself defending the little assembler all the time. Doc Frost says ANAD’s processor is that powerful…he’s got the cognitive abilities of a small child.

      And the temperament too, sounds like, Tallant said. But what if you have to spank him?

      Winger reddened. It’s not like that at all—

      Never mind, Kraft interrupted. He paced about the tank, studying the displays SOFIE had put up. Real-time feed from BioShield nanobots patrolling the Earth’s atmosphere showed up as undulating virtual cloud masses, as swarms of the nanoscale mechanisms probed and sniffed for illegal nanobotic activity, biohazards and environmental outlaws, all part of UNIFORCE’s new mandate in the wake of the Serengeti Factor pandemic a dozen years before. Isolated pockets of disturbances were highlighted, with the nature of threat attached as floating tags around dancing whirlpools. The whirlpools over central South America and the other places Camois had mentioned had no descriptive tags at all…only blank fields hovering nearby, as if BioShield couldn’t figure out what was going on.

      We’ve got to get a handle on this before it spreads too far, the Battalion commander said. Winger--?

      Yes, sir?

      You sit down with Tallant and put together a full ANAD team for insertion. People, equipment, tactics, the works. Pull from 1st Nano, and 1st Bio as well. We might just be looking at a counter-twist mission here and I want to be ready.

      Thinking of the demonios, and how severely the epidemic of twist, or pirated, rogue DNA had infected parts of the world, Winger nodded gravely. You thinking these things could be a gene experiment gone bad, sir?

      I don’t know what to think anymore. All I know is what I can see: BioShield’s run into something it can’t figure out and it can’t stop and people are dying because of it. That’s all we need to know. CINCQUANT’s given us our orders…now we have to execute. His stomach churned at the scenarios they’d already played out…none of them had a happy ending. UNIFORCE has given this thing a UNICON Plus priority. That means we move fast. Captain, I’m forming an ANAD detachment immediately. You’ll be in command but I’m pulling elements from anywhere I can. Get over to Mission Prep and get your gear ready for a little recon trip to Valencia. I’ll notify a hyperjet to stand by.

      On my way, Winger said. He and Tallant hustled out of Ops to head over to the Ready Room at Mission Prep, across the quadrangle, to go over personnel and gear.

      On the sprint across the grassy expanse of the quad, Winger and Tallant ran headlong into Holt and Reinhart, from 1st Bio.

      Hey, Wings, called Holt. I hear you’re off to South America, with half my people. Sure you don’t need some help with all those creepy-crawly things?

      Winger was deep in thought, listening to ANAD chatter over his internal neural circuit.

      ***Looks like the real creeps are here, Boss. I guess virus-lickers can’t help it…what are they qualified for anyway…wiping cow’s asses? That’s all a virus is…a stupid cow…all bubble head of DNA and some lipids, grazing in a field of cells***

      I think we can manage it, Holt. Maybe your guys will learn some manners after a few missions with 1st Nano.

      They hustled along the pebbled path to Mission Prep, where expeditionary equipment for ANAD detachments was housed: hypersuits, HERF guns and coil-gun rounds by the thousands in the ordnance bunker, plus racks of Super-Fly entomopters for recon, MOB-net canisters for immobilizing the enemy, camou-fog and fully enabled interface controls ready to go.

      Beyond the roof of the bunker lay the three liftjet hangars, A, B, and C, and beyond that, perfectly framed by the snow-covered mountain backdrop of the Snake Range, lay the north liftpad, where a sleek black hyperjet was veetoling in for a vertical touchdown.

      There’s our ride now, Holt. Hope your guys don’t mind riding rear seat to the elite.

      Holt snorted. Elite, my ass. I’m just waiting for a chance to show you nano guys what a real combat outfit does for a living. Why don’t you stand down and let the adults take over? No sense assigning kids to do what real men do better.

      Winger tapped the soft skinpatch where the ANAD capsule had been implanted in his shoulder a year ago. You want me to show you what my little brother here does to real men? It takes about two and half minutes…then we have to call Facility Services to come clean up the puddle of protoplasm that’s left.

      Dana Tallant turned and faced the 1st Bio puke nose to nose. Look, Holtzie, lay off, will ya? This deal’s UNICON Plus…and you’re not invited. She brusquely shoved the taller man back down the steps as they went inside.

      What a creep! Winger

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