U-10

“Who’s that jumping around waving at us?” Hashtag asked as Elvis flew over the last tree line between the ship and the SEED building.

The view screen shifted and focused. The unmistakable face of Lincoln Frost appeared.

“My sensors indicate Ty, Koritt and Wraith are working their way out of the rubble and will join her,” Elvis said.

“Get us on the ground and open the ramp,” Fisheye ordered. “Hashtag, keep an eye out for the SEED plane. Until they are all onboard, we’re vulnerable.”

“Will do,” Hashtag replied as Fisheye left for the cargo bay.

“Elvis, what’s the enemy status?” Hashtag asked.

“The craft is stationary within the cloud bank. Once my crew is back aboard, I will intercept the craft and disable it once and for all,” Elvis replied.

“It may not be as easy as you think,” Hashtag warned.

“The primitive design of the aircraft leaves no doubt about the outcome of any confrontation.”

“I can tell you haven’t heard the story of David and Goliath,” Hashtag said.

“Were they former teammates of yours?”

“In a manner of speaking, David was,” Hashtag replied with a grin.

***

Collins was studying weather patterns trying to maintain a stationary hover within the densest cloud bank when Matthews, the Commander of the mercenaries, walked into the cockpit.

“Have you spoken to Director Cruneval in the last few? It’s not like him to be so quiet,” Matthews said.

“I’ve been concentrating on keeping us hidden in shifting cloud banks, but come to think of it, he hasn’t so much as buzzed me in the past half-hour,” Collins replied.

“It’s odd,” Matthews said. “Ever since the cruise missile failure, he hasn’t come out of his cabin or issued a single order.”

“Think we should disturb him?” Collins asked.

“Not alone,” Matthews replied.

Nodding at the sage advice, Collins said, “It would be best if we approached him together. Looking at the co-pilot, he said, “Hoover, maintain concealment until I return. The port engine is running a little hot. Run a diagnostic.”

Shrugging out of his shoulder and lap harnesses, he grabbed his coat and short-billed cap and donned them. Matthews gave him a questioning look.

“He does better when you look official,” Collins explained.

Following his example, Matthews pulled his cap with its Commander Insignia and slipped it on his head.

With mutual approving nods, they left for Cruneval’s cabin.

***

Fisheye entered the cargo hold as Frost bounded up the ramp. Roadkill and Sasquatch pointed their iridescent snub-nosed alien weapons at her.

“I’m working with you,” she said, raising her arms.

“The last time I tried to help you, you threw me across the room into a wall,” Sasquatch said. “My shoulder still hurts. That’s not going to happen again.”

“Let’s see how you react to some alien medicine rearranging your insides,” she shot back.

“Lower your weapons,” Ty ordered as he climbed the ramp behind her.

Wraith and Koritt jogged up moments later, and Koritt slapped the button to close the ramp.

“Has the box of cards been found?” Ty asked.

“Not yet,” Roadkill replied. The SEED people searching the ship boxed everything they found that might be alien technology. We’ve looked in as many as we could under the circumstances but nothing yet.”

“Have Elvis locate the box. It has a built-in RFID that responds to signals pinged at it from an inventory tracker,” Koritt said. “If it’s on the ship, its location will be pinpointed in an instant.”

“Well I’ll be. . . ,” Roadkill began.

“Elvis,” Ty interrupted, “Find the card box and tell us where it is.”

“The box of U-10 activator cards is located in Cabin 7-R. It is in a container labeled Miscellaneous.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that bit of information a long time ago?” Roadkill griped.

“You didn’t ask me, and I am not equipped to read the thoughts of primitive minds,” Elvis replied.

“Stop the bickering,” Ty ordered. “Psycho, take Koritt, grab the box and bring it to the cockpit. It’s not going to be long before Cruneval comes after us. A working U-10 will give us options. Elvis, are you back to full operational status?”

“Yes, all the disruptions to my systems have been repaired. Damage control reports no adverse effects. I am confident I will be victorious in any head-to-head encounter with an Earth-based enemy.”

“The sure way to ruination is through ego. You’re bragging,” Wraith warned.

“One cannot brag if the facts are evident,” Elvis replied. “I have prevailed in every encounter with the primitive weaponry of this planet save the unexpected EMP attack. I have now taken precautions and will not be affected by any such attack in the future.”

“Elvis, you’re not making me feel safer. You’re doing the opposite,” Fisheye said.

“I do not understand the need for the U-10 device. You have me,” Elvis replied.

Ty looked at Wraith and raised an eyebrow. Elvis sounded jealous. Not only that, he was argumentative. Ty began to suspect the EMP had caused unsuspected damage to Elvis’ fundamental programming.

“I think I better get to the cockpit,” Ty said. “I need to discuss some strategy with Hashtag.”

***

Collins knocked on Cruneval’s cabin door and listened for a response.

“Maybe he’s not in there,” Matthews suggested after a few moments.

Twisting the knob, Collins cracked the door. “Director Cruneval, Sir - are you in there?”

Hearing no response, he pushed the door open. The light was dimmed, and it was hard to see. Someone sat at the desk, in complete silence.

“Director?”

“It’s all right, Collins. You and Matthews are welcome.”

Collins looked at Matthews with a puzzled expression and entered. The voice sounded like Cruneval but different somehow.

It was dark enough for someone sitting behind the desk to be hidden. Matthews got the impression a shadow was speaking.

“Sit down,” Cruneval said. “We’re going to try a new tactic.”

The atmosphere in the room felt odd. There was a wet spot a couple of meters in diameter staining the large area rug between the door and desk. A stench like soured milk around the soggy area was strong enough to make Matthews’ eyes start watering. The sick, sweet, funeral home smell of lilacs became stronger the closer they got to the desk.

Both men avoided the greasy, wet spot, and Matthews said, “I’ll have a couple of my men come and clean up that spill.”

“Never mind that,” Cruneval said as he stood and moved into the light.

Collins and Matthews gasped.

Cruneval had transformed into a model of human male perfection. He looked like he was 30 years old despite his actual age of 55. He had lost over 40 kilograms. He was shirtless and had ripped the legs off his pants. His shoes had disappeared, but he still wore dark socks.

His muscles were well-defined and gave the impression they were the result of daily workouts. Instead of the male pattern baldness and short, silver hair, he sported a mane of thick, dark curls. He exuded strength and confidence.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, spreading his arms and rotating.

Neither Collins nor Matthews said a word. Instead they gaped at the transformation. One peculiar change they noticed was the joining of his little and ring fingers into one thick digit.

“Sir, how?” Collins asked at last.

“Gentlemen, I have discovered the fountain of youth,” Cruneval bragged. “As soon as I can get my DNA and blood serum analyzed, I intend to make it Priority One to transform all my loyal fighters to this level of perfection.”

Matthews started to respond, but Cruneval said, “Watch this.”

Picking up a steel letter opener and holding the thick handle between his thumbs and forefingers, he bent it in half with little apparent effort. Then he put his hand face down on the desk and stabbed it with the sharp point. Jerking the blade out, blood flowed from the deep wound for just a moment. As Collins and Matthews stared, the cut knitted together and healed itself without leaving a scar. The entire demonstration lasted less than a minute.

“How is this possible?” Matthews asked.

“Never mind,” Cruneval responded, admiring his hands and arms with a self-satisfied smile. “No use wasting high-explosives to get rid of an infestation of rodents when I can eliminate the problem and test my new abilities at the same time.”

“What are your orders, Sir?” Collins asked.

“Very simple. Get me a wingsuit.

***

Hashtag was staring out the cockpit view ports when Ty joined him.

“I haven’t seen any movement from the SEED plane in over 30 minutes. Sensors indicate it has remained stationary within the cloud formation.”

“What do you think is happening?” Ty asked.

“I have no idea. My guess is the failure of the cruise missile surprised them. With their ability to become invisible damaged, they’re playing it safe and hiding while they decide their next move. Whatever it is, I’m sure we won’t like it.”

Elvis broke into their conversation. “My sensors have detected the opening of the bomb bay doors in the SEED aircraft.”

“Another cruise missile launch? Ty asked.

“My sensors can’t penetrate the undamaged hull material in that area; however, nothing has dropped out of the opening,” Elvis replied as he superimposed a wire screen image of the aircraft hidden in the cloud bank.

“There’s something unsettling about the opening of those doors,” Hashtag said. “It’s like someone just pointed a gun at me and cocked it.”

Activating his suit comm, Ty said, “Wraith, we’ve spotted some activity from the SEED plane. Get Lincoln and come to the cockpit. Maybe she can tell us something about the weapons on that plane.”

Just then, Psycho and Koritt walked through the hatch into the crew cabin. Koritt had the box of U-10 activator cards.

“What’s going on?” Psycho asked as he sidled into the cockpit and stared out the view ports. “I don’t see anything.”

Blocking Koritt as he tried to follow Psycho, Ty said, “Koritt, would you sort the cards into defensive and offensive categories? I don’t want to have to search for a card type. Arrange each category by order of magnitude from lowest to highest effect.”

Nodding his understanding, Koritt took a seat and began picking through the cards.

Wraith and Frost trotted into the crew cabin and started inching their way into the cockpit. Their eyes were focused on the view screen as they shoved past Psycho. Trying to stay where he was, Psycho kept maneuvering to block Lincoln. Ty was just about to say something when Lincoln grabbed Psycho in a bear hug, lifted and deposited him behind her like he weighed no more than a beach ball. Psycho was so shocked by her nonchalant display of raw strength, he shrugged and joined Koritt staring at the cards.

Ty frowned. The longer Lincoln was exposed to the nanobots, the more she ignored the profound changes they made. She already seemed oblivious to her enormous strength. New abilities like speaking Koritt’s language, as if she was a native Insectoid, didn’t surprise her. If she lost her biological attachment to Homo sapiens, there was no telling what she would become.

Trying to change his thoughts toward something he was trained to confront, he asked, “Lincoln, what sort of weapons are normal equipment onboard SEED aircraft?”

“You’ve already experienced the Gatling guns, EMP burst, baffle net trap and cruise missiles. There are nukes, but their use would require Presidential authorization, and he’s the last person Cruneval wants to know about his operations.”

“Then what should we expect?” Ty asked.

“He’s ruthless and will stop at nothing to secure a victory. The only heavy weapons he has left are a couple of MOAB’s.”

“You’re kidding. He has a Mother of All Bombs?” Ty exclaimed.

Activating his suit comm, Ty said, “Roadkill, how much can you tell me about a MOAB?”

“A small nuke without the radiation. That little jewel is a nine meter tube filled with over 8,200 kilograms of high explosive designed to detonate two meters off the ground. It’s equipped with satellite navigation for virtual pinpoint accuracy.”

“Blast radius?”

“Complete destruction within 200 meters of detonation. Varying degrees of damage to all structures, vehicles and personnel within three kilometers.”

“You sound excited,” Ty said.

“Why not?” Roadkill replied. “Those things are like a dream date.”

“I think one might be headed our way in the near future,” Ty replied.

After a pause, Roadkill said, “Crap. We can’t stay here. This is ground zero. Once it drops out of the plane, it’ll come to us at around 1,000 kilometers per hour. We’ll have no time to react.”

Before Ty could respond, Elvis said, “There is no need for concern. My hull and internal structures are designed to withstand small explosions.”

“Well we aren’t,” Ty replied.

“An object has fallen out of the aircraft,” Elvis announced.

***

Cruneval stood looking out the open bomb bay doors with a confident grin. He saw only thick clouds. The thunderous roar of the VTOL engines holding the Seeker in place beat at his ears loud enough to make him wince.

As if some internal switch was activated, he felt a twisting undulation around his ears, and the noise muffled. Running his fingers over the sides of his head, Cruneval felt a covering over his ears that reminded him of noise cancelling headphones. Realization his body had adapted to the noise level made his grin widen. He didn’t notice the odd looks on Matthews and his support staff. What they saw was chitinous lumps that grew out of Cruneval’s skull and enveloped his ears like cancerous tumors. Matthews watched a couple of battle-hardened vets shy away from Cruneval and wished he could join them.

The wingsuit Cruneval was wearing made him look like a wrinkled, oversized bat. Matthews held out a helmet and goggles, which Cruneval ignored. Another mercenary crew member offered to help him strap on a parachute, and Cruneval pushed him away.

“I don’t need those things hampering me,” he said loud enough to be heard.

“Sir, without a parachute, a jumper hits the ground at 190 kilometers per hour. Even with a wingsuit, your speed will be near 80. You won’t survive the impact,” Matthews bellowed.

“Don’t be concerned,” Cruneval replied. “You haven’t begun to appreciate my upgrade.”

With those words, he whooped, leaped and disappeared into the clouds.

One of the crew slammed a button to close the bay doors, and the drone of the engines muted.

“The guy’s crazy.”

“I’m not so sure,” Matthews replied as he recalled Cruneval stabbing his hand with the letter opener, “but I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Get a team and prep the MOAB.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to the command center and monitor the situation on the ground.”

***

Cruneval shot out of the cloud bank at 9,000 meters.

The rush of air buffeting his eyes made vision impossible, and he panicked. Something instinctive told him not to try and cover his eyes with his hands. The gesture would break his wingsuit aerodynamics and send him into a spiral. Just as he began to imagine striking the ground headfirst and blind, his eyes cleared. With a joyous cry, he searched for the SEED building, spotted it and angled toward it.

If he could have looked in a mirror, he might not have been so happy. A clear covering with black, chitinous roots, had grown out of the bone of his eye sockets and covered his eyes. The bubbles made his face look like a grotesque sea monster.

Cruneval became aware of increasing weakness in his muscles as they fought to keep his arms and legs in the optimum position to control the wingsuit. Worry lines began to crease his forehead as the realization struck home that he had zero experience with freefall. He hadn’t been to a gym in ages, and his body was more mush than muscle.

He recalled Matthew’s warning. “At our current altitude, you’ll have about 45 seconds before you hit the ground. Slope your landing and roll if you want to give your upgrade any chance of protecting you.”

A ripping sound caught his attention, and he glanced toward it. A jolt of fear ran down his spine as he watched his wingsuit tear and begin shredding away. Spines were emerging from the sides of his arms and the backs of his legs, slicing through the wingsuit like razor blades. Panicked by the sight, Cruneval realized he was going to die. Over-confidence in the ability of the nanobots to protect him had assured his death. The last vestiges of his wingsuit tore off his body and whirled away.

Tumbling out of control, a thought began working its way into his panicked brain. For some comical reason, his subconscious mind told him to flap his arms like some kind of featherless chicken. Beyond rational thought, he spread his arms and legs as wide as he could and tried to fight against the air pressure as he fell. An unexpected itching in his shoulder blades caught his attention, and his shirt tore off his back. His rapid descent slowed and in moments, he hung in a steady hover. Twisting his head around as far as he could, he perceived a blur.

Somehow, his nanobots had produced bee-like wings, replacing the outmoded wingsuit with the equivalent of an insect gyrocopter. Wondering if he could control his flight, Cruneval thought the word ‘forward’. Slow at first, but with increasing speed, he moved forward. Discovering that his wings would move him in the direction he looked, he practiced some maneuvers. He even managed a barrel roll. Stopping was accomplished by just thinking the thought.

Cruneval began having so much fun testing his new flying prowess, he forgot his mission for a moment. Feeling a strange urge, he looked around for the nearest flowering tree or bush. The need to find something sweet to drink was overwhelming. The spell was broken when his wandering eyes fell on the white spaceship sitting on the lawn across from the front entrance of the SEED building.

Something in his mind clicked and his mission parameters popped into his thoughts. An annoyed buzzing sound emanated from his mouth. Drinking something sweet would have to wait. He had more important problems to solve. Willing himself toward the spaceship, he darted forward.

***

“An object has fallen out of the bomb bay doors,” Elvis announced. “As soon as it clears the cloud cover, I will analyze.”

“How big is it?” Ty asked.

“The object just cleared the clouds. On screen,” Elvis replied. A clear image appeared.

The optic clarity was astounding. It conveyed the impression a cameraman was within a few meters of the skydiver.

“That’s a man in a wingsuit!” Fisheye exclaimed.

“Look at his eyes,” Wraith said. “Those don’t look like normal goggles.”

“My God, the wingsuit is ripping off!” Roadkill said.

Mesmerized by the spectacle, Ty’s squad forgot they were in danger and concentrated on the drama unveiling on the screen. It looked like rose thorns grew out of his arms and legs, slicing through the wingsuit material like it was thin paper. The wingsuit shredded from the combined effects of the thorns and the whipping air and fluttered away.

Psycho began chuckling as the man flapped his naked arms. “I don’t think that turkey’s going to make it.”

As if his comment was a cue, a structure ripped through the back of the man’s shirt and grew into a wing-like framework. In moments, the wings began moving faster and faster until they blurred. The man, or bee, or whatever it was, began darting back and forth as if testing its flying capabilities.

“The face reminds me of Director Cruneval, only much younger,” Frost said. “If I didn’t know he was childless, I would think that guy is his son.”

“Those wings remind me of the evolutionary progression of my people,” Koritt said. “Many thousands of years ago, my genetic predecessors had wings of a similar configuration. Over the generations, we evolved past the need for wings as walking became the preferred method for locomotion.”

“No time to speculate,” Ty replied, “He’s headed right for us.”

“You don’t understand,” Koritt said, “Have you forgotten the changes made to Lincoln Frost? I think we’re seeing the same thing.”

“He’s unarmed. I perceive no threat,” Elvis said.

“Whoever that is just tore off its wingsuit and grew wings,” Ty growled. “Until we know more, he is the weapon. Everyone out and scatter. Give him a lot of targets. Koritt, you’re with me. I may need to use the U-10 in a hurry.”

Psycho grabbed his pack and rummaged through it as he trotted for the ramp. Feeling the ingots of annihilation produced by the U-10, he smiled.

***

“Thirty minutes to Andrews Air Base,” the pilot of the military transport announced.

Thann looked at Turner and sighed, “I hate these long flights. Can’t wait to stretch my legs.”

“You may not have as much time as you think,” Turner replied. “I’ll contact the Director and let him know our status. He may need us.”

Thann scowled as he left for the communications cabin. Turner was right, but that didn’t make him less of a pain in the neck. Deciding she didn’t want to clean up his inept attempts to communicate his needs with some modicum of intelligence, Thann climbed to her feet and followed him.

“You just had to come along,” Turner sneered.

“Well, you are just a mere mortal male,” Thann shot back. “I want to contact Director Cruneval, not the closest brothel.”

The look on Turner’s face was priceless. Anger mixed with a ‘how did she know that’ look confirmed Thann’s notions.

The communications lieutenant had a pleasant personality and was eager to please his two important passengers. When Thann’s code failed to receive a response, the guy was smart enough to begin a check for the satellite feeds to the SEED complex outside Washington.

***

Cruneval’s wings thrummed as he hovered near a tree line bordering the lawn in front of the SEED building.

In the back of his mind, he marveled at the efficiency of his wings. He felt no muscle strain or weakness from the constant flapping. The only telltale sign he was using any energy at all was a longing for something sweet to drink. His eyes kept wandering around trying to spot a bed of colorful blossoms.

Pushing the idle thoughts aside, he concentrated on the people trotting away from the spacecraft. Three of them represented serious threats. Lavender with the U-10 slung over his shoulder, Koritt with the knowledge of what the U-10 could produce and Frost, who had a gut full of his nanobots.

Cruneval was confident his modifications were superior to hers, but the quicker she was eliminated, the better. Confident his strategic decision was sound, he dived toward Frost.

A deep pain stabbed into his chest. The sizzle of alien weapon fire reached his ears, and he focused on the source. Another pain shot through his shoulder as he hovered. The marksmanship of the man called Fisheye was startling. Looking down at his chest, Cruneval watched as the burn hole near his lung healed into a flat plate of dark chitin. The pain in his shoulder disappeared, and Cruneval decided he was bulletproof.

Reordering his targets based on immediate danger, he dived at Fisheye. A bolt of energy struck one of his eye shields and glanced away. Not even a scratch appeared from the impact and Cruneval’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he plummeted headlong into Fisheye. Bones cracked and Fisheye groaned as they tumbled to a stop.

Cruneval straddled the man, sitting on his chest and pinning his arms with his knees. Fisheye squirmed and yelled, but the pain from his broken bones made it impossible to struggle free.

Feeling an unusual pressure in his tailbone, Cruneval felt something emerge out of his lower spine and plunge into Fisheye’s belly. Fisheye screamed, and his eyes bulged. Cruneval shivered as something oozed out the tip of his tailbone. Fisheye stopped moving, and his head lolled as his jaw went slack.

Hearing the sound of running footsteps, Cruneval turned toward the noise just as Sasquatch stabbed at him with his combat knife. Instinct took over, and one of his wings snapped up like a shield. The force of the stab pushed the knife blade through the wing, and its tip stopped a fraction of a centimeter from Cruneval’s face. Sasquatch pushed on the pummel with all his prodigious strength, but despite his best efforts, the knife didn’t move.

Wrenching the wing sideways caught the blade in a bind and jerked it out of Sasquatch’s hands. Cruneval uttered an angry chitter and grabbed Sasquatch’s arms. Squeezing until his fingers met bone, Cruneval grinned as Sasquatch screamed in pain. Relishing the sound of the man’s suffering, Cruneval recalled his earlier admiration for the size and strength of the big man. Now, his opinion was different. Sasquatch was an annoyance, another weak Human who needed to die.

Throwing Sasquatch to the ground, Cruneval straddled him and pinned his arms with his knees as he had done with Fisheye. Sasquatch bucked and heaved, trying the throw Cruneval off. With no broken bones and flush with adrenalin, he was harder to deal with than Fisheye, but Cruneval’s new strength was more than a match. Cruneval felt the now familiar stinger emerge from his tail bone. It dawned on him the stinger was like a thick finger with a barb that flexed in and out like a cat’s claw. Smiling with anticipation, Cruneval stabbed downward.

Without warning, something sliced through the stinger, and Cruneval screamed in agony. For the first time since he had transitioned into enhanced mode, he felt excruciating pain. Rolling off Sasquatch and facing his tormentor, Cruneval growled and bared his teeth. Wraith tossed away the bloody end of the stinger with utter disgust. Her tanto blade, dripping bloody mucous, glinted in the sunlight.

Cruneval began to step toward her when a sizzle of energy sliced across his chest. Leaping out of the line of fire, Cruneval buzzed up and over the tree line and disappeared. Roadkill and Psycho trotted up and helped Sasquatch to his feet as Wraith wiped her blade on her pants.

“I can’t move my hands,” Sasquatch said. “They’re numb.”

Just then, Ty, Koritt and Frost trotted up.

“I’m sorry people,” Ty said. “I should have kept us together. I thought we’d be safer spread out, but I just made it easier for him to attack us.”

“Who is that monster dragonfly?” Psycho asked and stared at Koritt. “One of your people?”

“You may be closer to the truth than you know,” Koritt replied. “Based on the extreme nature of the biological changes observed, it is my belief the individual we face is a result of the consumption of all the remaining orange capsules of nanobots.”

“So it’s Frost squared,” Psycho replied.

“More like Frost to the power of ten,” Koritt said. “We are in great danger.”