Psychic Warrior (2 page)

"In normal quantum mechanics, you have electricity, which is the emission and absorption of virtual photons. You have AM radio, which is electromagnetic modulation of photons, and you have FM radio, which changes the frequency of the photons into what you call radio waves." He glanced up. He knew he'd already begun to lose the general, but he always believed in starting from a known before moving into the unknown.

"But can you see a radio wave?" Sarovan continued. "Feel it? It is the virtual photon that propagates these waves. This virtual world is all around you, the waves passing through you all the time, yet you are not aware of it

"What we are doing here is modulating the individual photons, one by one, that make up a virtual wave. However, we are not doing an electromagnetic modulation exactly or a frequency modulation, but rather we are affecting the virtual state of the photon, the virtual world that the photon, which has action but not substance, exists in."

Sarovan spared a glance at his audience. They were trying to look like they understood, but he knew they didn't. He himself had a Ph.D. in physics and had been working in this field for decades, and he still wasn't exactly sure how the virtual world worked. He just knew they had stuck their toe in the door and, through sheer luck, had been able to accomplish some things.

"What we have to do," Sarovan continued, "is generate a coherent virtual wave of photons inside the tube, what we call phased displacement, which absorbs any physical material, taking it from the real plane to the virtual. That is what the computers and phased-displacement generator-the metal tube-are for.

"Then, like a radio station, we can send a signal of the photons which carry the object. The phased-displacement generator is not enough, however, for us to have an effective weapons system. The problem is then twofold. Think how a radio wave goes in all directions as far as the strength of the signal will propagate. There is no focus, no direction.

"To have a weapon, we must direct the object once it is on the wave, and then re-form the object in the real world once at the target. That is what we use the men below—what we call remote viewers—for. We went through over twenty thousand prisoners to find these four men who have the ability to 'see' on the virtual or psychic plane. Who can find our target and direct the object on the wave the proper direction and distance. Both parts—the generator and the remote viewers—are needed to make the weapon system complete."

Something else was being brought into the chamber below. Four soldiers wheeled a platform up to the tube. Two of the men climbed onto the platform, next to a wooden crate. The bottom of the platform scissored, raising it up to a level with the open hatch near the top of the tube. They picked up a round, green-painted shell and carefully slid it into the opening. Reaching in, they attached four leads on the inside of the tube to the shell, then, with great difficulty, they swung shut the thick door and began screwing it into place using long levers on the outside handles.

"As you may well recognize, that is a nuclear warhead designed for the S-twenty-three, one hundred eighty-millimeter howitzer," Professor Sarovan informed the GRU officers. "Its yield is the smallest possible, just under one kiloton."

There was a nervous rustling among the officers.

"Are we safe?" General Vortol demanded.

"The tube can contain the explosion if need be, venting it down into the earth," Sarovan lied to them. "But it will not be a problem. The warhead will not be in there when it explodes."

The GRU officers looked at one another, their skepticism quite apparent.

"Your explanation is not sufficient," Vortol said. "It seems to be a pile of scientific excrement designed to befuddle the listener."

Sarovan shrugged his massive shoulders. "I explained as best we understand, Comrade General. There is much we don't understand. Could you explain the physics of how one of your tank guns works? Or a jet fighter flying? You cannot, but you do know those weapons work. We know this works."

"It did not work the last time you attempted this," Vortol noted.

"That was not the last time we tested this. We have run four tests in the past two years, and all have been successful."

Vortol's voice was cold. "Let me correct myself, Comrade Scientist. The last time you used a nuclear warhead, it failed. With terrible consequences."

Silence filled the control room. They all had sufficient clearances to know what had happened in late 1958. In fact both Sarovan and Vasilev had been extremely fortunate to have survived the disaster, mainly because they had manned the remote-viewing site, overseeing where the warhead was supposed to have gone. Those stationed where the warhead was initiated had all perished in a terrific explosion that had devastated a large portion of Russian countryside to the east of the Ural Mountains, just north of the city of Chelyabinsk. The dead had numbered in the thousands. That disaster had led to Department Eight's exile to this remote site.

One of the scientists below indicated all was ready. The experimental chamber was evacuated and the doors shut, leaving only the four men in the coffins.

"We are now seeking to gain a coherent balance in the hyperspatial flux inside and placing the bomb in the virtual field," Sarovan informed the military men. "Building our virtual wave and containing it before release, so to speak. We must achieve this before proceeding further. That is what those computers"-he pointed to a bank of machines along the back wall of the control center, manned by a dozen white-coated technicians-"are for."

Vasilev could sense the growing unease among the soldiers as the minutes passed and nothing apparent happened. A green light flickered on the console in front of Sarovan.

"We have coherence." There was a quiver to the scientist's normally calm voice. "Initiating phase two."

Sarovan leaned slightly forward toward a microphone. His voice was low, almost soothing as it spoke to the four subjects. "The target. You must find the target." He repeated the two sentences for almost a minute, but nothing happened. Still speaking, he gestured with his right hand.

One of the other scientists turned a knob.

Sarovan momentarily shut off the microphone to address the GRU officers. "Current is being sent directly into the brain center of each man. To the place that regulates pain. You could not even begin to imagine what they are experiencing right now."

"Ahh," General Vortol said. "Motivation. We have used that direct stimulation technique on prisoners. Most effective torture, with no actual physical harm other than the probe into the brain."

"These men are special," Sarovan said. "They were tested at our Institute along with thousands of others, and these four had the highest rating on our psychic ability scale. We have long known that certain people have an ability to do what we call remote viewing-to 'see' places that are physically distant from them, using their minds. That is how these men will find the target for us and 'aim'- so to speak-the weapon."

Sarovan turned the mike on. "The target. You must find the target." He repeated that several times.

"We have a lock," one of the scientists announced from his desk, watching a panel.

"Show me the target." Sarovan said into the microphone. "Show me the target."

Above the tube, something flickered. A long black object appeared, the image hazy and unclear, floating in the middle of the experimental chamber, slowly gaining more form and substance.

One of the GRU officers swore under his breath as the forty-foot-long image became clear: a submarine. They could even see the propellers moving in the air. It was an exact copy of the picture on the machine: the
USS Thresher
. The image was not solid, as they could faintly make out the other side of the cavern through it. It was nose down, diving.

"That is the
Thresher
as it is operating right now in the Atlantic Ocean," Sarovan told the officers. His knuckles were white as they gripped the edge of his desk. "Center the target," he whispered into the mike, then cut it off.

"Arm the warhead," he ordered the man next to him, who threw a switch and flipped open a cover, revealing a red button underneath. The GRU officers all took a step back from the window. Vasilev's hand hovered over a button on his console, the neutralizer switch, his eyes focused on the chamber below.

"Center the target," Sarovan repeated to the four men below.

Slowly the image descended, until the tube was centered in the middle of the image.

"Initiate ten-second countdown on warhead detonation," Sarovan ordered.

The man next to him slammed his fist down on the red button.

When the countdown hit five, Sarovan leaned forward to the mike. "Project!" he yelled. "Project!"

There was a bright flash of light.

The image faded.

One of the scientists monitoring a panel spun about. "The warhead is gone!"

That was confirmed as the countdown passed through zero and nothing happened in the chamber.

Sarovan's broad smile showed his exultation. "The wave carried the warhead to the target. We have succeeded!"

Vasilev realized he had stopped breathing and had gone completely rigid, waiting for the explosion in the chamber. He unclenched his muscles, taking a deep breath.

"That is it?" General Vortol asked suspiciously.

Sarovan pointed at a radio. "Call your plane monitoring the area."

*****

Alarms rang on the
Skylark
. The
Thresher
had been at depth for fifteen minutes without a problem, but now garbled reports were coming of electrical trouble. Then suddenly the communication was gone. The sonar men on the Skylark threw down their headsets as a tremendous explosion roared into their ears.

The captain of the
Skylark
ran to the side of his bridge.

He staggered back as the surface of the ocean erupted in a massive mound of white water two kilometers off his starboard bow. The fountain went up two hundred feet, then slowly subsided. The large wave hit the
Skylark
, rolling it thirty degrees over, and then passed.

"Get me contact with
Thresher
!" the captain yelled as he ran back into the bridge. The sonar men put their headsets back on, but all they heard were noises that everyone associated with submarines prayed they'd never hear: the sound, like popcorn popping in the depths, of bulkheads giving way, and the high-pressure noise of air escaping into the ocean.

That noise meant that what remained of the
Thresher
was headed for the bottom and 129 men had just died.

Far overhead, circling to the east, a Soviet TU-20 Bear-D reconnaissance plane noted what had happened.

*****

General Vortol put the radiophone down. A broad smile crossed his face. "They saw the explosion reach the surface!" He grabbed Professor Sarovan by the shoulders and gave him a vigorous hug. "You did it!"

The doors in the chamber opened, and soldiers and scientists walked in. At the other end of the control center, Vasilev slowly relaxed. He went over to the computers and pulled the tapes off, putting them back in their case. He turned and walked to the elevator, knowing he was done here. He stepped in as the sounds of the celebration behind him rose. The doors swung shut and blocked out the noise. With a jolt, the elevator began going up.

In the control room, Sarovan pulled a bottle of vodka out of a drawer, and drinks were poured all around. What no one remembered in the excitement was that power was still being fed to the four men through the leads to their heads.

General Vortol was beside himself. "We cannot be defeated now! We have the ultimate weapon! We do not need Cuba to base our missiles. We can strike anywhere in the world from right here."

On the surface, Vasilev stepped out of the elevator, the heavy doors sliding shut behind him. The bitter arctic wind cut into the exposed skin on his face.

Inside the experimental chamber, the scientist closest to one of the coffins reached forward to open the lid, when his right hand suddenly jerked upward. The scientist didn't have time to ponder this strange development for long, because the arm snapped like a twig, bone protruding from the forearm. He screamed, staggering back.

At another coffin, one of the other scientists jerked backward, his hands going to his eyes, tearing at them. Fingers came forth dripping blood, holding two eyeballs, the occipital nerves still dangling.

There was a moment of shock in the control room, then Sarovan dropped the bottle and sprinted to the panel where Vasilev had been. He slammed his fist down on the button Vasilev had watched over. Canisters exploded, pouring gas into the chamber. The surviving scientists and soldiers in the experimental chamber turned and ran for the door, but it slid shut in their face, locking them in.

Sarovan watched as the scientists at the last two coffins grabbed each other around the throat. The gas was now rising inside the chamber. It was fast acting and Sarovan almost regretted having to use it, but there would always be other bodies to use now that they had had this success. The men trying to get out slumped to the floor, bodies twitching as the gas tore into their nervous system.

"What is happening?" Vortol demanded.

"Everything is under control," Sarovan said. He pointed at the coffin-like objects in the chamber. "They will be dead in twenty seconds. The-" Sarovan's jaw dropped open in shock as the heavy lids to all four coffins flew off, spinning through the air and crashing down. The four men inside sat bolt upright, their heads turned in his direction, eyeless sockets fixing him with their dead gaze through the gas swirling about them. The wires still dangled from the sockets in their heads. Something formed in the air above the men: a black vortex, five feet in diameter. Sarovan had never seen anything as dark, as if the universe had opened up and was showing him its deepest depth.

Sarovan stepped back from the blast glass, hands raised in futile defense. Lightning crackled around the vortex, arcing outward. Then the vortex exploded and all was consumed.