Metal Gear Solid: Guns of the Patriot (26 page)

Liquid would become known in the history books as the man who simultaneously brought peace to the world and unleashed global war upon it—although I guess that would depend on someone still being around to write history books.

Campbell continued, “The first thing he’ll do is try to destroy the System the Patriots built to control the US.”

I narrowed my eyes. What good would that do him? He’d already seized the System—that was essentially the same as destroying it.

When I said as much, Campbell explained, “Supreme authority still resides with JD, which the Patriots still command.”

The three remaining AIs of the Patriots—TJ, AL, and TR—constantly gathered information from the global networks—taxes, family registers (births, deaths, marriages, and so on), medical data, economic indicators, biological data from nanomachines, and of course, the SOP. The computers collected exabytes of information each day and utilized them to create the proper context in the world and to construct the narrative for the human race—and by proper context, I mean the context the Patriots thought proper.

No single core was able to handle the massive amount of data alone. The workload had to be spread out in some way. But the Patriots didn’t want to give the AIs a free hand. They created a central unifying core AI to make the adjustments necessary to prevent any discrepancies from arising between the three narrators.

Liquid had reconstructed GW, the AI we thought we’d destroyed years before. Even when disabled, it had maintained a hidden connection with JD.

To explain it in simpler terms, Liquid shrewdly disguised himself as GW to get into JD’s family. Once he had been accepted, he showed them Big Boss’s genetic information and declared himself the rightful heir.

All that was left was to kill the master of the house, JD, and then Liquid would take over. Once this was accepted by the rest of the family, no one could stop him.

So far, Liquid had only seized the SOP, which controlled the soldiers and their firearms. Without higher authority, he had no access to American nukes and ballistic missiles.

“Which is why,” said Campbell, his face grave, “Liquid plans to launch a nuclear strike on JD. In orbit.”

We had overheard that bit of information thanks to the stowaway Mk. II on Liquid’s patrol boat.

Liquid had discovered JD’s location.

Outer space.

The Patriots’ core AI quietly floated through the cold void within a cloud of space junk, hidden among the countless fragments and metal husks of abandoned Cold War-era spy satellites.

I don’t think I could think of a better refuge for the Patriots—after all, they were born out of the Cold War. Amid the drifting refuse of the past, the satellite looked down, godlike, upon the tiny wriggling humans below.

Liquid had announced his intention to use REX. They were going to take REX and use its nuclear missile launcher to destroy JD. With the destruction of the control AI, the master authority would transfer to the System, just like the order of succession in the event of a presidential assassination. The System itself was created upon the foundation of the S3 Program tested on Big Shell, which was controlled by none other than GW. If Liquid’s attack were to succeed, GW’s priority within the AIs would rise to one.

The only obstacle was the nuclear warhead needed for his plan. Nuclear weapons weren’t under control of the SOP—the Patriots hadn’t allowed that—and remained fully within JD’s grasp. It wouldn’t matter if he had REX if he couldn’t operate it.

That was when I remembered. “Oh,” I said.

“What?” Snake asked.

“REX was scrapped before the Sons of the Patriots System was implemented.”

“Of course. The railgun.”

Metal Gear REX was outfitted with a shoulder-mounted railgun that could fire nuclear warheads undetectable by radar. When I headed up REX’s construction, I had been led to believe the railgun was designed to intercept nukes, not deploy them.

“Indeed,” said Campbell. “REX’s railgun can launch a stealth nuclear warhead into space, unconstrained by the System. In short, it’s the only device they have that is able to launch a nuke. Liquid’s going to use it to kill JD and deliver the coup de grace to the Patriots’ reign.”

Nine years ago, I created the Metal Gear–class mobile nuclear launcher. Told by AT Corp that it was a defensive weapon, I leapt at the opportunity to create a two-legged robot like the ones I’d seen in anime. I never questioned my bosses.

On Shadow Moses, Liquid described it to Snake as “the demon weapon that will drag the world into the twenty-first century.” But now the robot was about to change our twenty-first century into something entirely new.

I asked Campbell, “Where’s REX now?”

He lifted his shoulders and looked at me as if it should be obvious. “I think you know. A long-forgotten base, in US territory, outside the Patriots’ control. The place where Liquid made his debut. The place that serves as a monument to him. Off the Alaskan coast, in the Fox Archipelago.”

Snake spoke first. “Shadow Moses Island.”

Where Snake and Liquid’s battle began. Their ground zero.

“If Liquid destroys JD,” Campbell warned, “and his GW assumes total control over the System, he’ll have the world groveling at his feet. And no one will be able to stop him. Not even the Patriots.”

I looked to Snake. His face, as I’d expected, showed no emotion. He already knew what he had to do.

I turned away. Hadn’t he already done everything he could?

I hated myself for being unable to do anything more for my friend, this old man who would have to end his own life in three months.

Campbell said, “You’re the only one who can save the world now. Snake, I’m counting on you.”

I hated him for saying that.

The world? When had Snake ever asked to be responsible for the entire world? My friend—my best friend—would be dead soon enough. Couldn’t you let him be?

Campbell cut the transmission.

Snake stood and tottered over to Raiden’s medical station at the side of the cargo bay. The cyborg was covered with cables hooked to monitoring devices, and tubes filled with white liquid wove in and out of his body. Thanks to QR codes, Dr. Madnar had quickly been able to locate the access shunt to the bloodway that substituted for his arteries and veins.

A computer hooked up to a bar scanner could read the tags covering Raiden’s exoskeleton and display any relevant information for each part—its capabilities, related components, the manufacturer, the production date, even URLs for online help pages. Just as nanomachines filled soldiers’ bodies and constantly monitored data about their health, labels covered Raiden’s artificial body and contained data about his manufacture.

Sunny was thankful for the tags. In fact, they might very well have saved Raiden’s life. If she had needed to stop to look up each and every part, he might not have survived. Still, something about the shroud of wireless ID tags rubbed Snake the wrong way.

Sunny must have thought Snake had come to take Raiden, because she turned to him and said, “N-no! Jack can’t go. He’s not ready yet.”

Then Raiden spoke.

“Let me go, Sunny.”

He slowly shifted his arm. The movement was sluggish; he clearly hadn’t yet recovered. His voice wasn’t even his own, but that of a speaking device in his throat.

“No!” Sunny said sternly. “Your dialysis isn’t done yet.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Raiden was strapped to the medical bed by several data cables. As much as he tried to move, the cords held him in place. The sight made me think of Gulliver captured by the Lilliputians. Except Raiden had been so weakened, I couldn’t imagine he had the strength to snap free from his binds.

When told he wasn’t ready yet, Raiden looked straight into my eyes. I shrank back, overpowered by the force of his gaze.

“From now on,” Raiden said, “I’m living my life by my own will. Not a proxy life, as a slave to someone else’s scenario.”

Snake stared at Raiden, remembering what the young man had said in Manhattan—how Solidus killed his parents and turned him into a child soldier, and how he fled from that nightmare to America, where the Patriots, as part of the S3 Project, used him as a pawn and manipulated him into becoming another Snake.

None other than Solid Snake himself freed Raiden from that life.

Only after he met Snake did Raiden begin to walk his own path.

So Snake felt responsibility for meddling in another’s life and skewing its direction. He let out a sigh, quiet, but heavy with his thoughts.

“I’m a shadow,” he said. “One that no light will shine upon. As long as you follow me, you’ll never see the light of day.”

Perhaps Snake felt responsible for Meryl too. And I didn’t want to think about it, but maybe he even did for me. Maybe my friend had always carried a sense of guilt:
These young people who look up to me, can I even begin to tell myself that their lives are blessed for it? If I’m the Legendary Hero, wouldn’t the legend be of bringing nothing but misfortune upon others?

Those feelings were a part of why he now fought for an ending.

Raiden spoke more to himself than as a response to Snake’s words. “You and I are both just pawns in this proxy war. But once this is over, we will have our freedom. I’ll release you. It’s the only way I’ll ever be free.”

“Raiden,” Snake said firmly, “what I said five years ago … that’s not what I meant.”

“I’ve got nothing to lose.”

I shook my head. He said he had nothing to lose, and yet he still clung to something—maybe to the fight itself. The sight was too painful to watch.

His near obsession must have tortured Snake, who leveled stern eyes at him and remonstrated, “Don’t be an idiot. You know you’ve got someone to protect.”

“Snake,” he said, putting on a smile so awkward he looked like he was choking on it. “I’m the rain. The light of day holds nothing for me.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Snake said. He was still young; he should’ve still had the strength to bring light somewhere.

Snake put his hand on Raiden’s shoulder. “You’re the lightning. You can still shine through the darkness.”

“The lightning …”

“Raiden, look at me.”

Suddenly, Snake ripped the bandage from his left cheek and revealed the scorched skin beneath. “Do you see this? I have no future. In a few months, I’m going to be a weapon of mass destruction.”

Raiden looked into the face of the ragged old soldier, skin battered and burned and peeling off. This close, his flesh gave off a distinct, unpleasant odor—the stench of old age, perhaps. Heavy, sagging eyelids crushed the spirit from eyes that had been so astute and fearless when they first met on the Big Shell.

This was the face of a man with no future, an old man held up solely by a longing for the closure only atonement could bring. Snake wasn’t fighting for the future. He wasn’t fighting to hold on to something. Snake fought for what he had already lost. This was the face of a man who had nothing left to lose.

But Raiden still had a woman who cared for him.

He had something to hold on to—a place to come home to.

“You have a family,” Snake said.

Raiden’s eyes flew open. “I have no family!”

With his outburst, the medical observation systems sounded a warning in unison.

Raiden’s hardened exoskeletal body began to convulse. I dashed to his bedside, and Sunny wrapped her small arms around him, holding him down, while Snake shook his head with finality.

Again Raiden shouted, “I have no one!”

His wounds were already life-threatening—if it continued, Raiden’s agitated state could prove fatal. Sunny worked the infusion pump to temporarily increase the flow of painkillers.

Then Raiden spoke. Not with the artificial sound from his throat, but from his own mouth, he said, “I have always been alone.”

As his chin moved, the oxygen mask, only loosely held in place, slipped to the floor. Teardrops ran from his white eyes down his cheeks and onto the bed.

And then the drugs pulled his consciousness back into a opiate haze.

His unsteady breaths regained a steady rhythm, and his eyelids grew heavy and shrouded his eyes. I let out a relieved sigh, and my tensed back muscles returned to normal.

Softly, Snake spoke Raiden’s name. The man whom Snake, albeit unintentionally, had torn from a better and rightful life to further his own cause.

Just as he fell into sleep, Raiden squeezed out the raspy words: “Don’t leave me here alone.”

Snake got on one knee, drew close to Raiden’s ear, and gently whispered to the unconscious man, “This is my fight. My destiny.”

Snake’s words seemed as much directed at himself, reaffirming: This fight isn’t Raiden’s. It’s not Meryl’s. You don’t have to get hurt.

Snake stood, removed the bandages covering his injured body, and retrieved his equipment and maintenance tools from the storage area at the rear of the bay. Just as I decided to help him, he began to cough violently. The noise was terrible and sickening, like the depths of his lungs were convulsing.

I ran over and went to pat his back, but he shook off my hand and put Naomi’s autoinjector to his neck. Its contents had mostly calmed him down, but clearly the drug’s effectiveness was diminishing.