“Almost eleven,” said Shelly, “by the last estimates we formulated here.”
“It’s a magnificent freak of evolution,” said Sorensen. “I’ve never heard of any organism in nature so perfectly suited to keeping its host alive. Or as close to life as possible, I suppose.” He shrugged and began to examine the velcro fuzz on the female ex’s shoulder.
Cerberus shot a glance at Stealth while moving a metal palm back and forth before one of the exes. “Do they remember anything? About, you know, who they were.”
Sorensen glanced up from the velcro and shook his head again. “That was my first hope, but no. They’re blank slates. Not a scrap of individuality or independent thought left in them. In fact, every time a battery pack dies, they lose any training we’ve given them and it’s back to square one.”
“You’re sure? What if they’re... comatose or something?”
“Positive. We’ve done numerous EEGs and MRIs. No activity at all in either the Broca’s or limbic regions, which means minimal language and emotion. I’d put their IQ below a lab rat at best.”
“A rat cannot be trained to follow complex commands,” said Stealth.
“Neither can the exes,” said Sorensen. “You can only issue one command at a time, and it must be an order they’ve been trained to follow. The most complex thing they grasp is a priority scale, that some commands can supersede others.”
“Priority?”
“On a few occasions we’ve gotten them to acknowledge soldiers over civilians, officers over enlisted men. There’s more work needed. Speaking of which,” he turned to Shelly, “if I may get back to my lab, colonel? I was in the middle of something.”
“Of course, doctor. Thank you for your time.”
“Shall I, sir?” said Smith. When the colonel nodded, the younger man guided Sorensen out of the Tomb.
“He’s a bit off,” said Colonel Shelly, “but believe me, he’s brilliant.”
Stealth was examining a Nest unit again. “Who is Madelyn?”
“His daughter,” said Shelly. “He lost his family at the start of the outbreak. We tried to evacuate them here to Krypton, but there was an accident. His wife and daughter were both killed.”
Stealth’s head tilted inside her hood. “Killed?”
“What would you rather hear, ma’am? Eaten alive? When he got the news it shattered him. He was in shock for months, and he’s still in denial. It’s not unusual to just find him sitting in a corner in his lab. He probably could’ve gotten the Nest done seven or eight months sooner but he has trouble focusing.”
The cloaked woman turned from the exes and walked out into the sun.
“If you don’t mind my saying, Doctor Morris, your companion isn’t very social.”
“No, she isn’t,” said Cerberus. The titan turned and followed Stealth outside.
The cloaked woman was a pillar of black in the sun-bleached road. “Are you going to give them the battlesuit?”
Another metallic sigh rasped from the armor’s speakers. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“They filmed the assembly procedure,” said Stealth. “There are four cameras in your work space. Two visible, two concealed. I would assume the office is monitored as well.”
“I’ll remember to be careful in the bathroom, too,” said the titan. “Look, they already know how to assemble the suit. That lieutenant said they’ve got all my records. They didn’t get anything from me they wouldn’t’ve figured out after doing it one or two times themselves.”
“Cerberus may have once been just a weapons platform,” said the cloaked woman, “and you were once just an engineer. But that is no longer the case. You have become a symbol to the people of Los Angeles. A hero. If you give the battlesuit away, that will go away as well. It will be just a weapons platform. You will be just an engineer.”
The huge lenses looked down at her. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
Chapter 18
NOW
The sun hit the horizon just as St. George crossed the Krypton fence line. He’d circled the base once to make sure they knew he was there. A group of soldiers waited for him. They didn’t aim their weapons at him as he landed, but they didn’t make a point of aiming them away, either.
“Hey,” he said, pushing the biker goggles away from his eyes. “I think you were expecting me. I’m St. George.”
One soldier stepped forward. He was about the same age as the hero and wore a single chevron on his chest. “Sir,” he said, “we weren’t expecting you until later this evening.”
“I got done early in Los Angeles. Decided to see if I could race the sun.”
None of them relaxed. “Do you have any ID on you, sir?”
St. George blinked. “Seriously? Are there a lot of people trying to get onto the base who can fly?”