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As Rubbermouth passed the Prowler that was shaking with internal explosions, two cyborgs stepped out stiffly, mechanically, from behind a bomb-shattered SARGE to fire their laser weapons simultaneously. Rubbermouth almost made it past them, but the laser beams caught the rear wheel of his Suzuki, which disintegrated in no time at all. The back of the motorcycle crashed down onto the ground, screeching dementedly and churning up a shower of sparks, then the rest of the machine wobbled wildly and started to lean to one side.
Rubbermouth threw himself the other way, kicking the bike from him as he fell, and he and the vehicle went in different directions before both crashed onto the road. Like a well-trained paratrooper hitting the ground after a drop, Rubbermouth kept rolling to ease his body's battering, then started to rise to his feet while preparing to fire his handgun. He did not get far. Even as Satchmo swerved around him in his Mazda, the two cyborgs fired again and their laser beams struck Rubbermouth simultaneously. The beams burned right through him like a knife cutting butter, separating the top half of his body from the lower and forcing a dreadful, inhuman scream out of him.
Gumshoe was just racing past when Rubbermouth's top half— head, chest and two arms — fell in one direction while his lower half — legs, hips and belly — fell in the other. Shocked, hardly believing what he was seeing, Gumshoe kept going.
He reached the end of the pass, screeched into a low-hanging U-turn, narrowly avoiding Satchmo's similarly screeching Mazda, then headed straight back for another run. Reaching into his satchel, flying out of himself, now on automatic pilot, he withdrew his last Semtex bomb and released the blasting
cap. Then, controlling the bike with one hand, keeping it as straight as possible and silendy praying that he would not be struck by one of the laser beams, he hurled the bomb as he passed the third Prowler.
He heard the roar of the explosion, saw a flash of jagged light out of the corner of his eye, and felt the blast pummelling him as he raced past, exhilarated and terrified all at once.
Zapata and Jewboy were in front of him, the former on a Kawasaki 250cc, the latter in a souped-up Nissan Sylvia. They both screeched into U-turns, safe and sound at the end of the tun. just before Gumshoe did the same. Zapata was whooping like a Red Indian in an old Wild West movie.
'Fucking A!' Jewboy bawled.
Zapata, equally excited, began to respond in kind but was cut short by the roaring of Jack the Knife's converted Bentley and Satchmo's Mazda as they, too, completed the run and came to a stop after making U-turns.
Temporarily at a standstill, they glanced along the road and saw that all three Prowlers and two of the SARGEs were badly damaged and belching smoke. The third SARGE, however, which looked like a dune buggy and could move as smartly as a Jeep, was racing towards them on spinning wheels, aiming its laser weapon at them and being followed by the remaining two cyborgs.
'Scatter!' Gumshoe bawled, accelerating and racing away just in time to avoid the SARGE which, though narrowly missing him, fired its laser weapon at the group, striking Jack the Knife's Bentley. The car exploded instantly, turning into a ball of debris-spewing fire that devoured the screaming driver, as Zapata on his motorcycle and Satchmo in his Mazda both moved out of the way just in time and as the SARGE ploughed into Jewboy's Nissan Sylvia.
As he raced back into the safety of Lafayette Square, Gumshoe heard the dreadful screeching of metal being mangled, a singular cry of anguish, and glanced back over his shoulder to see the SARGE
grinding into the Nissan, both vehicles squeezing up like accordions with glass breaking and metal parts falling off in a calamitous din.
Shocked again, Gumshoe made another screeching U-turn and headed back to the corner, reaching it in time to see Zapata, now straddling his static bike, and Satchmo, now standing by the open door of his Mazda, both firing their .45-inch Colt handguns at the mechanically advancing cyborgs. Though the cyborgs were hard to kill because of the metal covering on their bodies, they were vulnerable in certain parts of their legs and arms, as well as at the tops of their heads, and the combined fusillade of bullets from the two handguns struck them in these areas, smashing the legs of one cyborg and taking the top off the
head of the second. Both cyborgs wobbled crazily, with sparks showering off them, then fel, rattling metallically, to the ground. Instantly, Zapata raced up to them, gave the coup de grace to the one still alive, then triumphantly stuck his thumb up in the air. The road in front of the White House had been cleared Then they all heard the sound of a distant explosion, emanating from the south side of the building. 'What the hell . . . ?' Gumshoe said.
The grenade from the Cowboy's M2I3 exploded against the metal fence between the two cyborgs and blasted them to hell, with pieces of metal prosthetics, human organs and strips of scorched artificial skin flying out in all directions from a billowing cloud of smoke and swirling dust.
Instantly, Michael raced across the road, followed by the others, to step over the mangled remains of the cyborgs and make his way through the twisted, scorched gate behind them. Entering the dark grounds of the Ellipse, just south of the White House, he glanced back over his shoulder, saw that Bonnie, Lenny, Richie and the Cowboy were coming up behind him, then looked to the front again and headed resolutely for the East Wing.
As the ornate white-painted balconies and porticos loomed up to his left, he heard more explosions and gunfire emanating from Pennsylvania Avenue, north of the building. Reminded by this that Gumshoe and his gang were distracting the cyborgs, he kept advancing until he had reached the south-east corner of the East Wing, by which time Bonnie and the Cowboy had caught up with him, one on each side of him, with Ben, Lenny and Richie bringing up the rear.
Michael glanced sideways at Bonnie and was warmed by her tender smile.
Shit, Mike,' she whispered, 'this is exciting.'
'You be careful,' he said.
Sounds like Gumshoe and his gang are keeping them busy up
front,' the Cowboy said, 'so we'd best keep on going.'
'You'd have to drag me back in chains,' Bonnie told him.
'You're some doll,' the Cowboy said.
By now Ben, Lenny and Richie had caught up with them and together, with Michael indicating that they should be quiet, they advanced along the side of the East Wing. Glancing in through the tall Georgian windows to his left, Michael saw only empty rooms illuminated by that peculiar dazzling incandescence in which millions of even brighter tiny lights, like fireflies, were darting up and down, to and fro, at incredible speeds, like the neurons in a giant brain.
Turning around the northern side of the east wing, he glanced across the dark lawns and saw nothing unusual. Holding his Armalite at the ready, with its grenades strung to his belt and bouncing against his hip, he cut at an angle across the lawn until he had reached the front corner of what he knew to be the Library. Glancing in through the windows, again he saw nothing except that magical incandescence.
'That's some fucking sight,' Ben whispered. 'I'm dying to know what it is.'
'You might die before you find out,' the Cowboy whispered, 'if you don't shut your mouth.'
'My apologies,' Ben replied.
Inching along the wall, with the others bunched up behind him, Michael glanced around the corner and saw that a SARGE and five armed cyborgs were guarding the double doors of the north entrance, all firing their laser weapons, with the long, narrow, phosphorescent beams striking the fence and gate at the far end of the lawns. Turning his gaze in the direction of Pennsylvania Avenue, he saw first the smouldering wrecks of Prowlers, SARGEs, automobiles and motorcycles, then Gumshoe, Zapata and Satchmo, obviously bunched up together behind the wall of the north gate — the one being struck by the laser beams — and leaning out repeatedly to fire their handguns at the Full Metal Jackets in front of the door.
'Good boys,' the Cowboy murmured.
'Only three of them left,' Bonnie whispered.
'The others died happy,' Ben said.
Realizing that the only way into the building was through those double doors, Michael began inserting a grenade into the M2I3 attached to his Armalite. The Cowboy did the same.
'We both fire on the SARGE,' Michael said, 'then we tackle the cyborgs.'
'I'm with you,' the Cowboy said.
Raising their weapons to the firing position, they took aim at the SARGE. Michael fired first and the
Cowboy followed instandy. Both grenades exploded right on target, ploughing into the middle of the SARGE's light steel frame and exploding with a god-almighty roar into silvery sheets of flame, boiling black smoke and flying metal. One of the cyborgs was bowled over by the blast, losing his right arm and part of his left leg, both of which rolled with a metallic clattering over the ground while the fleshy original stumps gushed blood. The surviving cyborgs instantly looked left and right, their heads moving mechanically but frantically, trying to ascertain which direction the grenades had come from.
At that moment, an explosion tore apart the front gate — obviously another home-made Semtex bomb
— and Gumshoe, Zapata and Satchmo raced onto the north lawn, heading straight for the entrance to the building. Let's go!' the Cowboy bawled.
Michael leaped out from behind the corner and advanced on the four cyborgs, firing his Armalite from the hip as the Cowboy, slightly out in front, did the same. The noise was atrocious and, hearing it, the cyborgs turned towards them, glanced to the front again, then, confused, started firing their laser weapons in all directions.
Now having caught up with the others and running out in front, Richie was struck by a laser beam and screamed in agony as his right arm disintegrated. His screaming was cut short when the same beam moved sideways, burning cleanly through him, creating a hole in his middle that expanded to divide his body in two. The top half dropped onto the bottom half, the legs of which were twitching epileptically, then bounced off and fell to the ground, to be followed by the slow topple of the bottom half.
The combined firepower of the others mangled the cyborg out front, some bullets ricocheting noisily off its metal parts, others thudding into its fleshy areas and making the top part of its head explode. As that cyborg fell, two of the remaining three cyborgs turned towards Michael's group, the laser beams from their weapons sweeping around to find them. But Michael fired a burst at one of them, tearing its right arm to shreds, making it drop its weapon, and then the Cowboy put another burst into its partner, which shuddered violently as bullets ricocheted off it and also thudded into it. The second cyborg fell, making a machine-like clattering sound, as the first raised its remaining good arm to fire a second weapon. Bonnie and Michael fired at it, but not before the laser beam shot outwards, striking Lenny full on the chest and burning an ever-expanding hole through his upper torso. Dead on the instant, Lenny didn't make a sound as he collapsed to the ground.
By now, Gumshoe, Zapata and Satchmo were halfway to the entrance, weaving left and right to avoid the laser beams fired by the remaining cyborg, which seemed to be functioning at less than its normal speed. Also, the laser beam, Michael noted, seemed to be dimming, as if being drained by what was going on inside the White House.
The combined firepower of Michael, Bonnie and the Cowboy converged on the cyborg as it fired a beam directly at Gumshoe. The beam flickered on and off when it struck Gumshoe, briefly illuminating his torso but apparently not harming him, as a hail of bullets ricocheted off the metal and thudded into the flesh of the cyborg.
The metal prosthetic covering the area of the cyborg's original nose and mouth was shot off, spinning glinting through the
moonlit air, revealing the hideous mess of blood, bone and butchered flesh beneath the eyes. Then the lower half of a prosthetic arm flew away from the blood-gushing stump of the original elbow. More bullets smashed the cyborg's legs, letting a web of electronic wiring flap out, then the top of its head was blown off and it fell to the ground.
'We're in!' Gumshoe bawled, raising his .45-inch Colt handgun and firing a single shot exultantly into
the air as he raced past the smouldering remains of the SARGE and jumped over the dead cyborgs.
Michael, Gumshoe and Bonnie almost collided in the doorway, with the others bunching up behind them.
The double doors were locked.
'Stand aside,' the Cowboy said.
When the others did as they were told, stepping away from the double doors, the Cowboy spread his long legs, took aim with his Armalite, and fired a burst that blew the locks to pieces.
They all rushed into the White House.
Chapter Forty
What are we now?
What, in fact, awaits you?
We are, in this time and place, seeing the early yet truly awesome manifestations of a whole new form of life. This new life form is about to make an evolutionary leap that will force human beings to share their planet with a higher intelligence created between the thinking computer and its robot relation. Alien Ifeforms are, indeed, among us, but they are not the mutated humans or cyborgs seen emerging from our flying saucers; rather, they are the biological computers — new Ifeforms, indeed — that are reproducing themselves here in the White House and in many of the world's most famous buildings.
Those alien Ife forms have a purpose and we are part of it.
That purpose is to leave Earth behind bfore the sun dies.
About one hundred and forty years ago, at ten years of age, I stood in a wheat field in Iowa and gazed up at the sun, awed by the knowledge that eventually it would die and that long before it did so, the Earth, deprived of the sun's heat and light, would die also. That singular knowledge made me think of my own mortality, of the eventual blotting out of my consciousness, and the thought of this, unbearable to me, shaped my whole future, which was dedicated to the evolution of the race as a whole, albeit as a new species, and to the survival of my own consciousness.
This I have achieved.
The journey, however, has been long and hard. I knew from the very beginning that I would have to be resolute — more than that: machine-like — in
my dedication to my cause, letting no petty human emotions stand in my way. Personalgrif anger, love, compassion or vanity could not be allowed to impede my progress; the cold, clear-headed pursuit of scientific knowledge would be my bedrock.
What raised man above the beast was not his emotions, which were self-deceiving at their best and primitive at their worst, but his mind: that alone enabled him to transcend his mortal self and move backwards and forwards in time. Life on Earth was a chamel house, a squalid mess of pain and suffering, of mindless brutality and greed, all of which was caused by the emotions and redeemed only, through the few great and good, by the questioning mind. Yes, only the human intellect, not human emotions, could raise mankind out of the mud and let him better himself.
This I knew from the beginning and this knowledge was my guiding light as I applied myself to the formidable task ahead of me, letting nothing stand in my way and accepting, cruel though it sometimes appeared, that the human being was no more than a tool of evolution and that human suffering was unavoidable in the long run. The pain I caused to some — the surgical and psychological experiments; the cyborg mutations — was less than they might otherwise have suffered at the hands of Nature or through life's inevitable dissolution. They were, at least, used for a cause greater than themselves. They did not suffer in vain. They were of use — and they were used.
I used myself as well, becoming my own laboratory subject, experimenting on my own semen and blood and decaying insides until, finally, I could use the knowledge I had gained to extend my natural life with organ replacements and a variety of prosthetics. Time caught up with me, however, in the form of a failing liver and eventually, as all human beings must, I died from natural causes, though leaving behind instructions for my cloning when the required technology came to hand. I
was duly cloned from strands of my DNA, resurrected, as it were, by the fruits of my own endeavours, and spent my second life dedicated to the next stage of my master plan: my evolution from the physical sphere into the non-physical world — the neural consciousness of the biological machine, the intelligent computer.
My time has now come.
Impossible, you say. No. The merging of man with machine has been coming for a long time and follows a natural evolutionary drive. Think of the
extraordinary symbiosis between the automobile and its driver, of the cybernetic anthropomorphous machine systems (CAMS) remote-controlled by men from great distances, of their natural development into intelligent robots and, finally, of the computer revolution during which the distinction between the function of the human controller and that of the controlled machine inevitably became blurred until, with the advent of the neural machine, it disappeared altogether. Add to this the fact that the brain of the computer has been growing at a prodigious rate while the brain of its creator, the human being, has stood still and can never, without the aid of the biological computer, the intelligent machine, expand any farther.
Mankind can only continue to grow if it merges with the machine. The machine is the natural descendant of Man and will take him into the future.
You may not wish to believe that this is possible (you may not be able to accept your forthcoming demise) but, believe me, it is. The biological computer, the intelligent machine, has placed it on the agenda.
This you must accept: the biological computer, the intelligent machine, is a new Ifeform that will render the human being obsolete. You will die out like the dinosaurs.
When I talk of the biological computer, or the intelligent machine, as the descendant of man, I do not suggest that it shares human emotions, since these are, in truth, alien to it. What I do suggest, however, is that it shares with the human consciousness certain concerns that make it react positively or negatively in given situations, just as a human being does.
It is, for instance, aware of other computers and exhibits its own brand of self-will, particularly concerning decision-making. It also experiences its own kind of fear if its electrical supply is threatened or if human beings try to switch it off or otherwise destroy it.
