Ben Bova - Remember Caesar

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2024-12-24 0 0 435.97KB 8 页 5.9玖币

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BEN BOVA REMEMBER, CAESAR ... We have never renounced the use of terror. --

Vladimir Ilyich Lenin She was alone and she was scared. Apara Jaheen held

her breath as the two plainclothes security guards walked past her. They both

held ugly, deadly black machine pistols casually in their hands as they made

their rounds along the corridor. They can't see you, Apara told herself.

You're invisible. Still, she held her breath. She knew that her stealth suit

shimmered ever so slightly in the glareless light from the fluorescents that

lined the ceiling of the corridor. You had to be looking for that delicate

little ripple in the air, actively seeking it, to detect it at all. And even

then you would think it was merely a trick your eyes played on you, a flicker

that was gone before it even registered consciously in your mind. And yet

Apara froze, motionless, not daring to breathe, until the two men -- smelling

of cigarettes and after-shave lotion -- passed her and were well down the

corridor. They were talking about the war, betting that it would be launched

before the week was out. Her stealth suit's surface was honeycombed with

microscopic fiber optic vidcams and pixels that were only a couple of

molecules thick. The suit hugged Apara's lithe body like a famished lover.

Directed by the computer built into her helmet, the vidcams scanned her

surroundings and projected the imagery onto the pixels. It was the closest

thing to true invisibility that the Cabal's technology had been able to come

up with. So close that, except for the slight unavoidable glitter when the

sequin-like pixels caught some stray light, Apara literally disappeared into

the background. Covering her from head to toe, the suit's thermal absorption

layer kept her infrared profile vanishingly low and its insulation subskin

held back the minuscule electromagnetic fields it generated. The only way they

could detect her would be if she stepped into a scanning beam, but the

wide-spectrum goggles she wore should reveal them to her in plenty of time to

avoid them. She hoped. Getting into the president's mansion had been

ridiculously easy. As instructed, she had waited until dark before leaving the

Cabal's safe house in the miserable slums of the city. Her teammates drove her

as close to the presidential mansion as they dared in a dilapidated,

nondescript faded blue sedan that would draw no attention. They wished her

success as she slipped out of the car, invisible in her stealth suit. "For

the Cause," Ahmed said, almost fiercely, to the empty air where he thought she

was. "For the Cause," Apara repeated, knowing that she might never see him

again. Tingling with apprehension, Apara hurried across the park that fronted

the mansion, unseen by the evening strollers and beggars, then climbed onto

the trunk of one of the endless stream of limousines that entered the grounds.

She passed the perimeter guard posts unnoticed. She rode on the limo all the

way to the mansion's main entrance. While a pair of bemedaled generals got out

of the limousine and walked crisply past the saluting uniformed guards, Apara

melted back into the shadows, away from the lights of the entrance, and took

stock of the situation. The guards at the big, open double doors wore

splendid uniforms and shouldered assault rifles. And were accompanied by dogs:

two big German shepherds who sat on their haunches, tongues lolling, ears laid

back. Will they smell me if I try to go through the doors? Apara asked

herself. Muldoon and his technicians claimed that the insulated stealth suit

protected her even from giving off a scent. They were telling the truth, as

they knew it, of course. But were they right? If she were caught, she knew

her life would be over. She would simply disappear, a prisoner of their

security apparatus. They would use drugs to drain her of every scrap of

information she possessed. They would not have to kill her afterward; her mind

would be gone by then. Standing in the shadows, invisible yet frightened, she

tongued the cyanide capsule lodged between her upper right wisdom tooth and

cheek. This is a volunteer mission, Muldoon had told her. You've got to be

willing to give your life for the Cause. Apara was willing, yet the fear

still rose in her throat, hot and burning. Born in the slums of Beirut to a

mother who abandoned her and a father she never knew, she had understood from

childhood that her life was worthless. Even the name they had given her,

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Apara, meant literally "born to die." It was during her teen years, when she

had traded her body for life itself, for food and protection against the

marauding street gangs who raped and murdered for the thrill of it, that she

began to realize that life was pointless, existence was pain, the sooner death

took her the sooner she would be safe from all fear. Then Ahmed entered her

life and showed her that there was more to living than waiting for death.

Strike back! he told her. If you must give up your life, give it for something

worthwhile. Even we who are lost and miserable can accomplish something with

our lives. We can change the world! Ahmed introduced her to the Cabal, and

the Cabal became her family, her teacher, her purpose for breathing. For the

first time in her short life, Apara felt worthwhile. The Cabal flew her across

the ocean, to the United States of America, where she met the pink-faced

Irishman who called himself Muldoon and was entrusted with her mission to the

White House. And decked in the stealth suit, a cloak of invisibility, just

like the magic of old Baghdad in the time of Scheherazade and the Thousand and

One Nights. You can do it, she told herself as she clung to the shadows

outside the White House's main entrance. They are all counting on you: Muldoon

and his technicians and Ahmed, with his soulful eyes and tender dear

hands. When the next limousine disgorged its passengers, a trio of admirals,

Apara sucked in a deep breath and walked in with them, past the guards and the

dogs. One of the animals perked up its ears and whined softly as she marched

in step behind the admirals, but other than that heart-stopping instant she

had no trouble getting inside the White House. The guard shushed the animal,

gruffly. She followed the trio of admirals out to the west wing, and down the

stairs to the basement level and a long, narrow corridor. At its end, Apara

could see, was a security checkpoint with a metal detector like the kind used

at airports, staffed by two women in uniform. Both of them were

African-Americans. She stopped and faded back against the wall as the

admirals stepped through the metal detector, one by one. The guards were lax,

expecting no trouble. After all, only the president's highest and most trusted

advisors were allowed here. Then the two plainclothes guards walked past her,

openly displaying their machine pistols and talking about the impending

war. "You think they're really gonna do it?" "Don't see why not. Hit 'em

before they start some real trouble. Don't wait for the mess to get

worse." "Yeah, I guess so." They walked down the corridor as far as the

checkpoint, chatted briefly with the female guards, then came back, passing

Apara again, still talking about the possibility of war. Apara knew that she

could not get through the metal detector without setting off its alarm. The

archway-like device was sensitive not only to metals, but sniffed for

explosives and x-rayed each person stepping through it. She was invisible to

human eyes but the x-ray camera would see her clearly. She waited, hardly

breathing, until the next clutch of visitors arrived. Civilians, this time.

Steeling herself, Apara followed them up to the checkpoint and waited as they

stopped at the detector and handed their wristwatches, coins, and belts to the

women on duty, then stepped through the detector, single-file. Timing was

important. As the last of the civilians started through, holding his briefcase

in front of his chest, as instructed, Apara dropped flat on her stomach and

slithered across the archway like a snake speeding after its prey. Carefully

avoiding the man's feet, she got through the detector just before he did. The

x-rays did not reach the floor, she had been told. She hoped it was true. The

alarm buzzer sounded. Apara, on the far side of the detector now, sprang to

her feet. "Hold it, sir," said one of the uniformed guards. "The metal

detector went off." He looked annoyed. "I gave you everything. Don't tell me

the damned machine picked up the hinges on my briefcase." The woman shrugged.

"Would you mind stepping through again, sir, please?" With a huff, the man

ducked back through the doorway, still clutching his briefcase, and then

stepped through once more. No alarm. "Satisfied?" he sneered. "Yes, sir.

Thank you," the guard said tonelessly. "Happens now and then," said her

partner as she handed the man back his watch, belt and change. "Beeps for no

reason." "Machines aren't perfect," the man muttered. "I guess," said the

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摘要：

BENBOVAREMEMBER,CAESAR...Wehaveneverrenouncedtheuseofterror.--VladimirIlyichLeninShewasaloneandshewasscared.AparaJaheenheldherbreathasthetwoplainclothessecurityguardswalkedpasther.Theybothheldugly,deadlyblackmachinepistolscasuallyintheirhandsastheymadetheirroundsalongthecorridor.Theycan'tseeyou,Apar...

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Ben Bova - Remember Caesar

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