Judas: The Extinction Series, #3

1

Bishop took a deep breath, inhaling the damp, pre-dawn air as his pilot carried them closer to the Capital Complex. Lightning played in the distance, but if thunder followed, it was drowned out by the roar of the engine and rotors.

Since the solar storms, he’d done nothing but put out fires and remind people that this was what they had been preparing for. It had just come early, sparing no thought to their plans or preparations. It was a setback, yes, but it wasn’t the end of the operation. It was the beginning. They had bred this beast from its very inception. Now it was time to ride it toward the future of the human race.

Approaching the LZ, sir.

He didn’t bother to respond. Time to himself had been rare recently. In the coming months, it would be even more precious. He intended to enjoy every last second of this final five minutes of calm. The broadcast had begun the morning before and would continue to relay Governor Erikson’s message of the New World Union until communications with their allies were back up and running. Everyone knew their part to play, he only hoped the other countries held together better than their own had. Even now, the lack of lights around the complex goaded him, a constant reminder of how thoroughly screwed up things had gotten.

When forward momentum slowed, gunners on either side of him leaned out into the darkness, bringing their assault rifles to the ready while the pilot began a 360-degree scan of the complex. Below them, soldiers secured the perimeter in preparation for the incoming helicopter.

No sooner had the helo touched down when a shadow separated itself from the darkness, running in a crouch to avoid the still-spinning blades. The gunner in the doorway saluted and stepped back while the newcomer’s huge frame filled the door. Commander, Lieutenant Nero at your service.

Nero? The name had a familiar ring to it, but Bishop couldn’t quite place it.

Yes, sir. He looked away, his eyes fierce in the weak light from the chopper. When he looked back, Bishop was pleased to see a determined shine in those pinched, dark eyes. My brother died in Mexico, Operation Genesis. It’s an honor to take up where he left off, sir.

Good to have you aboard, Lieutenant.

If you’ll come with me, sir, President Maitland is waiting.

Bishop jumped from the chopper and headed for the grand stairs that led into the Capital Building. It wasn’t the White House, but it would have to do. Where’s the old man?

Under guard in his quarters, Nero grinned. He’s refusing to participate any further since the broadcast. Seems he takes issue with a strong military presence.

Bishop laughed. I’m sure he does. I’ll speak to him later and change his mind.

Understood.

Footsteps echoed on the cold marble floors as an enlisted soldier joined them. Sir, there’s something you should see on the security feeds. We may have a problem.

Bishop stopped and turned so the man, no more than a kid really, could see the hard glare of the emergency lights on his scarred face. May have? Soldier, do we have a problem, or not?

The young soldier paled and cleared his throat. It is not an imminent threat, no, sir.

Then it can wait until I’ve briefed the President.

Yes, sir. Saluting again – and Bishop was already getting tired of that – he spun and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get away.

Are we short on soldiers old enough to shave, Lieutenant? Bishop asked.

No, sir. Nero laughed. But they’re stretched pretty thin right now.

What about power? How long before we’re up and running?

Nero shrugged his shoulders, Both solar and hydro plants were hit hard. The repair work is going to take another month, maybe less. They’re working on getting the rest of the emergency generators back up and running. Should have this building fully functional in another week, the hotel a week after.

Never mind the hotel. Bishop stopped Nero before he could open the door to the President’s new office. The factory takes priority. We need to get back on track. Right now, we have a slight advantage over what’s left of local governments, but it won’t last long. We need to be ready to move as soon as communications are back up and running, or our allies might begin to doubt C.O.R.E., as well as our new President. And we can’t have that now, can we?

No, sir. I’ll see to it.

Wait here for me, Bishop ordered as he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

A lantern cast a soft glow throughout the room, silhouetting the powerful man standing before the windows. More like a son than a paid assassin, Bishop helped himself to a comfortable chair and waited quietly for William Maitland, President of the New World Union, to acknowledge him. Even in the dim light, his bent shoulders and bowed head spoke volumes about his exhaustion.

How was your trip?

To Bishop, even his voice sounded as if it had aged decades since they last spoke. Enlightening, sir. The east coast has been devastated. There’ll be no trouble from the old national government. Casualties were extremely high and floods and tornados have the entire eastern side of the country, or what’s left of it, occupied.

Good. Maitland moved from behind the desk to take a weary seat across from Bishop. The devastation is heartbreaking, but perhaps it’s better this way.

Any word from— he wanted to ask about Mel. He wanted answers for the stunt she’d pulled before the storm hit the atmosphere. He didn’t dare. —from Victory?

We’ve had sporadic contact, thanks to the Global Network staff and their new team. Enough to know they’ve abandoned their original mission of taking the International Space Station, for now. They made the decision to move forward with Phase One of Operation Extinction. Commander Larson confirmed Mel probably saved all of their lives with her little rodeo.

Bishop had to unclench his jaw before answering. That’s good to hear. She’s okay then?

We don’t know for sure; they haven’t made contact with the ISS yet. But I’m sure she is.

How long before communications are back up?

Maitland shrugged and again Bishop took stock of how the man had aged. We need four of the GN satellites up and running for global contact with our allies. It could be weeks still.

Sir. Bishop leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees to hide his frustration. There was something off about his mentor, his idol. Something soft. Regret maybe. Whatever it was, alarm bells were beginning to ring. If we don’t contact them soon, find out how much of our fleet, how many of our launch facilities, are still intact, they may decide to act outside of our control. That cannot be permitted.

What do you suggest we do while we wait to get communications back online?

Prepare Phase Four. Just in case. Get one strategic satellite up and running, a local bird. Send out a recon team to get a feel for the resources we can reach quickly. Alabama isn’t that far away. Start there and—

Phase Four? Maitland interrupted. Do you understand what you’re saying?

"Yes, sir. I’m saying we need to be prepared to cut our losses if we have to. Follow the plan you began laying the groundwork for over twenty years ago. This was your plan, this... he pointed to the window as thunder rolled in the distance, this collapse has just done most of the

work for us. We need to adapt, adjust the operation to work with an expedited timeline."

Maitland nodded and smiled at Bishop. I could always count on you, son. And you’re right. I’m so damned tired I can’t think straight. Get me an action plan by the end of the week.

I’ll have it to you before dinner tomorrow evening.

Good, the sooner we start acting instead of reacting, the better I’ll feel. Maitland stood up and Bishop followed, stepping close to Maitland for a fatherly hug. Now, you must be as exhausted as I am. Why don’t you go get some rest?

I’ll do that. Have a good night, sir.

As Bishop stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him, he watched Maitland resume his post in front of the window. Seeing him standing there, shoulders slumped as if he’d suffered a blow, frightened him. The operation would go on with or without William Maitland, but Bishop preferred being in the trenches with his men, not sitting on the sidelines growing old.

Nor would he allow this seeming weakness in Maitland to stop what had been in motion for so long. He had given his life to Maitland, to the cause. No one, not even the man himself, would be permitted to screw it up now. Now, what was that kid carrying on about?

This way, Sir, Nero led him down the stairs. I’ve taken the liberty of having some coffee made.

I could use it.

With a quick stop for coffee  – the steaming black mugs ironically emblazoned with the golden seal of the Governors’ office – they slipped down a back corridor to a room lit by the digital glow of row upon row of computers and wall-mounted monitors. The primary screen showed the top of the hotel, the sun rising behind it.

There, sir. The kid who had interrupted them in the lobby pointed to the screen. We were scrolling through the security cameras, to make sure the LZ was clear when we spotted that bottle sitting on the ledge of the hotel.

Nero growled. You called us in here over a bottle?

No, sir... well, yes. Sir, it’s just that no one is allowed on the roof of the hotel.

Bishop stepped forward, the alarm bells that had begun with Maitland growing louder still. Zoom in on it.

They all stared at the empty Jim Beam bottle as it grew to fill the monitor. There was no reason that Bishop could think of for that bottle to unsettle him, but it had.

Nero thumped the younger man’s shoulder. If someone broke security protocol, don’t you think you should have scanned back on the vid to discover who it was?

Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.

"Don’t sorry, sir, me, you little pissant! Do your job! Nero took another step toward the young man, his face red from yelling, and pointed to the kid’s console. Preferably before you report it next time."

Bishop, curious now, had eyes only for the display on the monitor as time began flying backward. The sun was falling back towards the horizon as a man in a dark parka slipped out of the stairwell, walked backward toward the ledge carrying a black duffle bag, and picked the empty bottle back up.

When he turned and began setting up a rifle on the ledge, Bishop thought he understood what he was seeing and felt sick. Stop! he barked, stepping forward to get as close to the screen as he could. Zoom in on his face!

Max Dumerick’s smug grin filled the screen and Bishop’s nausea turned to red hot rage, the mug of coffee shattering beneath his grip. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. The SOB was not only still alive, he was here. Not just in Tallahassee, but he’d been standing right there in front of them. Within striking distance of Maitland.

Before he realized what he was doing, he had the young man by the throat, choking the life out of him. Spit flew from his lips as he continued to shout obscenities, plastering the kid’s rapidly darkening face. "What in the hell were you doing, while he sat up there with a rifle? You had a chance to kill him. You had a chance to end him and you blew it!"

No one moved to stop him, not Nero, not the other computer techs. As the kid’s eyes rolled back in his head, Bishop managed to gain something resembling control and released him, dropping his unconscious body to the floor before pacing the narrow space between computers and soldiers, trying to calm his racing thoughts so he could think clearly.

After he calmed, Nero stepped forward, cautiously. Who is that?

That, my new friend, is the man who killed your brother.

Curtis! Nero yelled into his headset. Get two squads ready to rock. Now!

No! Bishop spoke quietly, but the vehemence in his soft voice brought everyone to a stop. Though for Nero, it took a Herculean act of will.

Sir—

I know, Nero, I want him, too. And we’ll get him. But wherever he is, that meddlesome witch he works for isn’t far behind. And I want them both. He turned to look Nero in the eye. I’d bet my soul you’ve had an old lady at one of these camps, demanding food and supplies.

Nero snorted an angry laugh. There’s at least ten in every camp.

Not like this one, Bishop grinned. People listen to her, respect her.

Okay, there are still at least four that fit the bill.

How many of them have an Asian man hovering around all the time?

Nero froze, his anger draining as he began to see where Bishop was headed. Only one.

2

Station Engineer Yuri Dmitriev pushed the dead crewman from Victory into the storage node before closing the hatch. Working in zero G was disorienting enough. Having a corpse bump into him from behind while it floated around was more than even the big Russian could take.

He reached for his socket wrench and caught the glow of a small red light out of the corner of his eye. Pushing off from the far side of the Unity node, he reached for the button on the com system and hesitated. He still didn’t know what to say to Mel. At first, he’d blamed her near death experience after the storm for her strange behavior. But after watching the broadcast declaring the New World Union, he wasn’t so sure. Her reaction was... unusual.

He took a deep breath, let it out, and hit the button. This is Yuri.

There’s activity at Telstar 1, Kaito answered, his voice as close to whispering as he could get and still be heard.

Relief flooded through Yuri and he cringed at his cowardice toward Mel. Victory is still there?

Yes. And a new signal, line of sight and encrypted, is being received. I have not been able to hack into it.

Yuri thought he already knew the answer, but he had to be sure. Have you reported this to the Commander?

No, I, um... Kaito swore under his breath, I just thought... maybe she should not be bothered with it just yet.

They couldn’t keep this up. Either they didn’t trust Mel to be their commander, or they did. One way or another, this had to end before the tension destroyed what little unity they had left. And right now, they needed each other. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to order Kaito to divulge any information to Mel. Understood. Any luck with the Ham radio signal?

Nothing so far. Not with Houston or anyone else.

Alright. Keep at it and let me know if you crack that encryption.

Yuri thumbed off the com and turned back toward the bulkhead where he was working on the environmental power systems. Every time he turned around, something was either coding or failing. As soon as one circuit was fixed, a dozen more faulted out. The next space station should be built next to a hardware store, he grumbled to himself.

If there was a next one. He hadn’t been able to look at Earth since the broadcast. From Kaito’s irritatingly frequent reports, every continent on the globe was still being hammered, reshaped, by the storms, including his own Mother Russia. Respites for any of them were brief. Not nearly long enough to begin rebuilding their shattered infrastructure.

Maybe Mel was right, maybe this New World Union was the only chance the Earth had to get organized, so they could begin getting back on their feet. Maybe. But he didn’t like it. Not when its first order of business was to threaten anyone who didn’t do exactly as the NWU said. With no way to see what was going on down there, his mind conjured images of the old KGB.

His could never be called an overactive imagination – not unless one included engineering problems – yet over the past twenty-four hours, it had been active enough. This brought him back to the more immediate problem – Victory. How long would they let them hide out in the ISS? Especially after the death of one of their crewmen.

Though they kept the lights off in Unity and the Zarya modules, the patch he’d placed outside after Mel’s rescue had held. Pressure levels had begun to come back up and what little communication between the computer systems they had been able to restore in Zarya confirmed it was safe to go back in. That also meant it would be safe for the crew of the Victory to get to Unity.

Instead of heading for the current project, he pushed over to the hatch to Zarya. Victory had been gone for over thirty-six hours, but there was nothing to suggest that they hadn’t left a man behind in the Russian Orbital Section. Nor did they have any way to find out, not until he fixed the circuits between the two sections.

There was only one way to be sure. Taking just enough time to grab and light his plasma cutter, he swung open the hatch, ready to defend himself. If someone had the misfortune of lurking on the other side a flick of his finger would be the start of a very bad day.

The interior of Zarya was dark, save for a few small lights that signaled what little connection the orbital still had to the American side. Dark bubbles, blood from Mel’s injuries, still drifted in the grim interior. Some clung to the padded surfaces and consoles. Seeing them, along with the memory of Mel struggling to get to him, hurt his heart. Not nearly as much as his growing concerns over her actions, or rather, her lack of action.

Turning so the Rassvet docking node was directly under his feet, he looked around for anything he could use to wedge the hatch shut. The knowledge that they had been this close to Mel while she was alone and hurt made his chest tight with useless fear.

Pulling a wrench out of his coveralls, he removed a laptop from the wall and used the mounting bracket to jam the wheel in the hatch. It was too late to undo what had happened to Mel, but no one would come in that way unless they cut a hole in the deck. From there, Yuri worked his way through the Russian Orbital Section, securing points of ingress in the Zvezda module and the Nauka lab.

He wouldn’t be able to secure the American Orbital Section without Mel noticing, but at least they were close enough to those to act before Victory docked. As long as he and Kaito pulled shifts, and kept a close eye on radar, they should be able to hold them off. Assuming they didn’t ram the station or have weapons that could swat them out of existence.

That thought stopped him cold. Never in his years preparing for this mission, had he seen anything like Victory. He had no way of knowing what armaments a ship like that might have. If for some ungodly reason they were some kind of battle-ready ship, they could easily have destroyed the station. Instead, they had sent someone out to kill him while he was working on repairing the Unity node.

So why hadn’t they? Unless there was something on the ISS they needed. Considering the C.O.R.E. upgrades and the strange new nodes they’d installed, Yuri was sure that was the answer. But what? What did they have hidden onboard?

He would have to find out, but first things first. Pushing off the bulkhead, he sailed back toward Unity, his eyes scanning his handiwork at the hatch to Rassvet. A sudden memory brought him to a stop. When Victory left the ISS to repair Telstar 1, the Soyuz decoy on the front had remained in place.

Vapor from her thrusters had bloomed in the waning light of the station as it pushed Victory away, but it was still attached to Rassvet. A docking adapter? It seemed likely. If that was the case, they would have to come through it if they decided to take the station intact.

Power to the hatch was down and there was no way to tell if Rassvet was pressurized. Depressurizing the station was not a chance he was willing to take just yet. As soon as he could, however, he would find a way to secure emergency suits and anything they could use as weapons, within easy reach. After that, he’d make an excuse for another EVA and get a closer look at that faux Soyuz.

This would be easier if Mel were still unconscious, or de— He caught this treacherous thought before it could become something even uglier. He was not a traitor. Before Victory, he would have followed Mel to hell and back. Giving up on her now wasn’t something he was ready to do. Yet... he needed to protect this station and its crew. He only hoped that in the end, Mel would understand.

Victory is on the move! Kaito’s voice boomed through the station, making Yuri flinch as if he’d been caught in the act of something duplicitous. Before anyone could come looking for him, he sealed Zarya from Unity and launched himself toward Destiny.

3

Max Dumerick had only been away for two days. In that short time, nearly two dozen new tents had popped up around the Osceola Refugee camp. Many more and it would be as stifling as South Beach had been before the collapse. Most were probably survivors of the Border Massacre, but not all. More and more refugees seemed to be pouring in from what was left of Florida.

After dropping Betty and the rest of his gear off at his tent, he stepped into the Hitching Post Saloon. It was a joke really, Mittie’s way of encouraging the new locals to work. The bar keeper kept a list, updated by her, of who was doing their part and who wasn’t. If you were working for the camp and the gathering sheep, you got a share of the hooch gathered from nearby towns. If you didn’t, you didn’t get paid.

Teddy, the first person he’d met in Osceola, always reminded Max of an oversized version of the Old McDonald ditty he’d learned as a kid. He gave a big, country boy grin and held up a bottle when he saw Max coming. The usual?

I knew there was a reason I liked you, Teddy. Max took the bottle, twisted off the cap and took a big swig. It had been a long, disappointing hike back from Tallahassee without one to dull his failure.

It’s my debonair ways, Mr. Max, Teddy grinned and then turned serious. Do any good out there?

Teddy was one of the few who knew Max had gone to try to bring an end to the man he felt sure was responsible for the collapse. Max shook his head, disgusted. Nope. Saw an interesting movie, though.

Teddy snarled below his bushy mustache and leaned over the rough-hewn bar top to whisper, Yup. Saw the same one, most likely. And the damn thing is on every channel. Starts up about every nine hours or so. Damned guards won’t let us put a stop to it either.

Guards? Several trucks had passed him on the way back, forcing him to hide in the flooded ditch next to the highway. Soldiers are still here?

Yup, Teddy shook his head, scowling. Left two behind to make sure we watched that blasted thing like good little boys and girls.

If it’s the same thing I saw, I’m amazed no one’s put a bullet through it yet.

Grabbing a rag to try to wipe up the bar, the glance Teddy gave Max was full of worry. Ms. Mittie Kate said to stay clear of it. Not that anyone wants to go near it. Well, there are a few people that watch it every time it plays, but not most. Seeing that screen light up the first time was damned near magical. Real live television. Amazing after the few months we’ve had without it. Now, I can’t stand it. And when it comes on at night, when everything’s quiet, I want to rip my ears off. Stuffed toilet paper in them last night and it didn’t do a bit of good.

Better get going, Max took another swig from the bottle and hoisted it in a mock salute. Hold down the fort.

Teddy laughed. It’s getting easier. Most of the idiots trying to get what they haven’t earned are learning I’m not their buddy.

I bet, Max laughed and turned to leave only to find Billy Badass blocking his way. Billy had his coming, but Max had promised Mittie Kate he’d play nice. For a while.

What is it, exactly, Billy asked, flicking the bottle in Max’s hand, that you do to earn your share of the hooch, I wonder?

I could ask the same of you, Billy, Max grinned to hide his desire to choke the life out of the old drunk. What is it that you do around here besides beat up kids and harass women?

Someone’s gotta keep them in line, Billy bared his filthy teeth. The old woman sure as hell can’t.

Irritation flared and then faded just as quickly. The man wasn’t just a drunk, he was a fool. Max knew Mittie Kate had her reasons for keeping the bastard on his high horse, and most of the time he didn’t give a furry rat’s butt about anything that didn’t affect him, or his hunt for Maitland. In this case, he wished he understood her reasoning.

Popping a wrinkled cigarette into his mouth, Max lit up and blew smoke in Billy’s face. Winking at Billy, Max took a sudden step forward, forcing Billy to take two steps back which cleared the way for Max to step outside. I tell you what, Billy. At least you’re good at what little you do do.

Course I am. Billy puffed out his chest as Max walked passed.

In a couple of hours, the idiot might comprehend the insult. If Max was going to have to play nice, he’d keep his distance from this end of the camp until morning. By then, Billy would be enjoying his hangover and would have all but forgotten Max.

Taking the scenic route to Mittie Kate’s tent, Max scanned the new faces in the crowd for the girl he’d seen at Sebring. Thunder rolled, growing closer as he wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He almost laughed as he eyed the people he passed. Everyone seemed to be stealing surreptitious glances at the storm as if looking directly at it would incur its wrath. Despite the understandable dread that permeated the camp, sandbags had been diligently placed to help keep the next deluge from washing away their meager belongings.

The girl didn’t seem to be among them. Though she could have been inside one of the storm-battered tents, it didn’t feel right. Instinct told him she hadn’t made it this far north yet. The thought made him uneasy. Whispered conversations since reaching the overpass said the southern portion of Florida had been annihilated.

Remembering her soft eyes and gentle touch, he doubted she had it in her to survive, even with her daddy’s help. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, and it bothered him. Mittie Kate seemed to think Eve could be useful and he trusted her instincts as much as his own or Ling’s. The game, however, had changed. The country – the world in fact – had been thrown back into the Dark Ages and he wasn’t sure if Mittie Kate fully understood what that meant. A few big screen TV’s and some generators didn’t make much of a civilization.

By the time he had circled the compound and reached Mittie Kate’s tent, there had been no sign of the girl with the soulful brown eyes who looked so much like her mother. There had only been new faces, wearing the same shock and confusion as the old faces. Too many people pressed too close together. But at least here, he could step out of the tents and into the woods to get some fresh air and some peace from the constant undercurrent of barely-repressed despair.

You have not drowned yet? Ling’s voice drifted from the trees, moments before the man appeared.

Too ornery, Max smiled and gave Ling’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he stepped close.

I take it your trip was unsuccessful, Ling nodded as if he had expected as much from the outset.

What gave it away?

"That bottle is practically dragging the ground.