Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(113)

For more than twelve hours, Dr. Stephenson had taken Raul through a series of equations and diagrams illustrating what he wanted done and making an offer so attractive that Raul had leaped at the opportunity. As he had listened, applying the full computational powers of his networked brain, he found himself more and more impressed with the span of Stephenson’s intelligence.

Somehow, without Raul’s level of access to the Rho Ship’s alien computing powers, the physicist had figured out the purpose of the machine in question. Not only that, he had worked out, with amazing accuracy, the underlying theory to its operation. Looking at the equations was like opening a hinge in Raul’s mind, unlocking parts of his database that, although damaged, filled in pieces of the jigsaw puzzle he would need to get the thing working again.

Another shocking development was the way his data search revealed blocks of historical data on the alien technology that had enabled the Rho Ship to travel the stars. Unlike the subspace technology employed by the Enemy, the Makers had mastered the manipulation of gravity. Their ability to warp the space-time continuum extended well beyond the little worm fibers Raul had been able to recreate, allowing for the production of much larger discontinuities, holes in space large enough to transport objects the size of the starship.

The larger the hole, the greater the spanned distance, the more time it needed to remain open, the greater the energy needed to produce the space-time fold. The machine he was working on was what made the large folds possible. And even though there was no way the Rho Ship’s damaged power systems could produce anything close to an interstellar fold, it should be possible to produce one sufficient for earthbound transport. That was the breakthrough Stephenson wanted.

And in return, he had offered to let Raul pass through and return with a companion of his choosing. Raul’s heart rate and breathing increased as his mind played with that thought. He would create a doorway through which he could pull Heather back to him, a completely untraceable action that would deliver his soul mate. And once Raul had her where he was a god, he would introduce her to pleasures beyond her wildest imaginings.

Raul refocused his attention on his work. At the current rate, repairs to the machine would be complete in another 184 hours and 13 minutes. After that he needed to shift his efforts back to the repair of additional power cells. What he needed to do would certainly take far more energy than he currently had available, especially since he needed to maintain plenty of shipboard reserves. It wouldn’t do to transport Heather but kill his Rho Ship in the process. Once completely drained, there would be no way to restart it.

Raul flexed his mind, feeling the energy crackle through his neural network, drawing on the working power supplies to fuse two damaged conduits.

184 hours, 12 minutes, 23 seconds…and counting.





121


The rural house just off Mattaponi Reservation Circle backed up against heavily wooded Virginia countryside. Although the tribe claimed over four hundred members, the number of residents living on the hundred and fifty acres of reservation land that snuggled up against the Mattaponi river had shrunk to around seventy-five. Seventy-six if you counted Janet. Clad in the manner of the locals, with her dark hair, skin, and pregnant belly, few outsiders would have given her a second glance.

Tall Bear’s connections never ceased to amaze her. She had been accepted into the tiny community with a warmth and protectiveness beyond what she could have expected. And although she received more than a few questioning looks from the young ones, the stoic elders of the river people quickly squelched any open inquiries. Janet didn’t know what Tall Bear had told them, but they seemed to regard her with a respect reserved for heroes from the Indian nation’s proud past.

The location was exactly what she needed, an isolated community just on the northwestern side of West Point, Virginia, less than a three hours’ drive from D.C. She’d been given access to a high-speed Internet connection, provided food, fresh clothing, and a secure place to stay. The nine members of the tribal council had been unwilling to accept her thanks. Whatever they thought she was doing had been deemed worthy of their support. As far as they were concerned, that ended all discussion of the matter.

So, while the tribe went about their daily business, Janet returned to hers. Jack was out there somewhere within half a day’s drive from where she sat with her laptop. The first thing she needed was to let him know what she’d learned about the Colombian known as El Chupacabra. Next she needed to ask Jack for a meeting time and location to share her theory about the McFarland and Smythe kids.

Janet smiled to herself as she rubbed her abdomen. Jack’s child. What would he think when he saw her dark brown, round little body? It’d be worth the trip just to see the expression on his face. At least she hoped it would.

Pulling the Heckler & Koch 9mm Compact from the small holster strapped beneath her left arm, Janet set it on the table beside her laptop. Even after she finished posting her coded message to the Internet, it might be a long wait before Jack got back to her.

Might as well get comfortable.





122


President Gordon leaned back in his chair, feeling the even bulges in the burgundy leather press against his back. Pushing away from his desk, he glanced at the narrow grandfather clock that occupied the wall between the window and the large painting that hung immediately behind his desk.

10:36 p.m.