Critical Mass, page 16
Jin continued advancing toward the open door—toward escape. A man behind Jin grabbed his wrist, while another tried to place flex-cuffs. Jin crouched low and rammed his body into the chest of the man with the flex-cuffs, then thrust his hip into the ribs of the other man, entwining a leg, unbalancing him, then shoving him to the ground.
More English voices shouted in the hall: “Call the police!”
A voice in Mandarin shouted, “Tuōlí! Tuōlí!” Disengage!
As Jin moved on to the next target, he found the men retreating. Two cornered intruders exited through the balcony door, then lowered themselves over the second-story railing.
“Tuōlí!” The leader staggered through the front door, blood flowing from his nose and mouth.
Jin gave chase and discovered Tighe on the floor in the corridor. The assailants fled in opposite directions down the hallway, past a group of dazed Americans clutching their carry-on luggage close. Jin shouted toward them, “Did you phone the police?”
A man in a T-shirt and shorts was on his phone. “Yeah. They’re on the way.”
“Good. Thank you.” Jin knelt next to Tighe, whose face was bruised and bloodied. “J.T., you are hurt.”
Tighe coughed, but shook his head.
“Fighting is not your forte.”
“No shit.” Tighe tried to sit up. “Jesus Christ . . . Who the hell were those guys?”
“Wait for the police.”
“Just get me to my room.”
Jin lifted him to his feet, threw his arm around him, and helped Tighe to his door. Jin noticed an enormous and ugly bruise on Tighe’s inner arm. “You are injured.”
Once inside, Tighe sat on his sofa and took several deep breaths. “Tell me who those guys were, Han.”
Jin retrieved ice from the fridge. “They were Chinese agents. Here to kidnap me. They claimed the asteroid resources had been moved and that I must have sold out to the Americans.” He locked eyes with Tighe. “Why would they say that?”
“Because the robot tugs disappeared.” Tighe lay down on the sofa, seemingly exhausted.
Jin stared. “Disappeared? Who told you this?”
Tighe struggled to get his T-shirt off. “Lukas phoned me. After he tried calling you. He said the robot tugs orbited to the far side of the Moon but never reappeared. They’re gone. No one knows where.”
Jin wrapped ice in a dish towel and placed it against Tighe’s bruised eye.
“The US government knows, too. They think we cut a deal with the Chinese.” Tighe gestured. “And then I find you in your room with a bunch of Chinese agents, and I get attacked.”
Jin glared. “You are not suggesting that I betrayed you?”
“I’m not saying that. Maybe China promised you they’d rescue Isabel and Ade.”
“How can you insult me like this! How do I know you have not betrayed me to the Americans? Or that Priya has not betrayed us both?” Jin pointed back toward his room and shouted, “Why would the CCP try to kidnap me, J.T.? Why did they demand to know the location of the tugs if China took them?” Jin suddenly noticed the constellation of mottled yellow, blue, and purple bruises all over Tighe’s body now that he’d removed his shirt.
Tighe was itching his skin furiously and winced in pain. “All I know is that everything we worked for is gone. Everything David, Nicole, and Amy gave their lives for.” Tears appeared in Tighe’s eyes. “Now we can do nothing for Isabel and Ade. It’s all gone to shit.”
Jin was likewise horrified by this realization—but more immediately by the state of Tighe’s body. And then it all became clear. Tighe’s unnatural, permanent fatigue. It brought back memories of someone else. “James. Tell me what is going on. What is wrong with you? Those bruises are not new.”
Tighe just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Jin strode into Tighe’s bathroom, where he noticed a collection of prescription medications on the counter. He searched through them, examining their labels.
In a moment he returned and sat on the arm of a chair across from Tighe. “Why did you not tell us?”
Tighe stared at the floor, his breathing ragged. “Because we both know I can’t take a year off. We need to reach space. We need to be building in orbit.”
“What is your diagnosis? How bad is it?”
“It’s spread, I think.”
“Who is your doctor? What is your treatment regimen?”
“It doesn’t matter, Han.”
Jin struggled for patience. He spoke softly. “I have put my life in your hands more times than I can remember, and you have never let me down. Yet, when it comes to your own life, James, you are one of the most irresponsible and reckless people I know. Why would you do this?” Jin felt a spasm of emotion he was not expecting. “Do you think that I do not care about you?”
Tighe shook his head. “This isn’t about me.” He searched for words. “So many people have died in my place already. I made myself a promise that I would either rescue Isabel and Ade or I would die trying—and it’s a promise I intend to keep.”
A siren was now audible in the distance.
“You’re giving up. That is not the J.T. I know.”
Tighe looked down. “It’s over for me.”
Jin studied him. “Do you remember what you said when we touched down in Karagandy? After our first sight of blue sky in four and a half years? Our first breath of fresh air?”
Tighe nodded weakly.
“You told Priya and me that we were the most important people on Earth to you.”
Tighe wept and struggled for words. “I’m sorry. I just—”
Jin approached and gently held Tighe’s head with both hands. “I consider you my brother, James. I have never had a brother, and I do not intend to lose you.”
“You need to help Isabel and Ade.”
Jin looked into his eyes. “We will help them.”
TWO MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER 12
Adrift
NOVEMBER 12, 2038
Lying in bed, James Tighe stared up at a soffited ceiling in varying shades of white. The walls around him were surfaced in luxurious fabrics, burled wood, and metallic finishes, interspersed with modern art and tropical flower arrangements. The décor was even more opulent than the rooms on billionaire Nathan Joyce’s private island, Baliceaux.
As he lay there, Tighe tried to ignore the IV drip he knew was hanging behind his right shoulder. If he let his mind wander, he could almost forget the needle taped into the back of his hand, too.
The gentle rolling motion of the room soothed him to sleep. In the background he felt as much as heard the bass rumble of distant engines. These were reassuring. Unwavering. And had been for many, many days.
Behind it all was the calming realization that he was slowly, steadily getting better.
A sharp knock roused him, and the door opened as two Chinese women in lab coats entered.
Tighe sat up in bed. “Doctor.”
A perfectly coiffed woman in her sixties, Dr. Li smiled briefly. “How are we this morning, Mr. Tighe?” She examined readings from a translucent tablet, while the nurse checked his pulse and the IV drip line.
“Good. I think.”
“Yes . . .” She tapped at the device while she talked. “The injections are taking effect. Your tumors are slowly dissolving, and your platelet count is almost within normal range.”
He hesitated, but then asked, “Am I actually going to survive?”
She kept reading his charts. “That is the plan. There is more work to be done, but no more need for bed rest.” She nodded to the nurse.
The nurse started ripping off the tape to remove the IV drip.
Tighe watched her work, wincing as the nurse removed the IV needle before placing a bandage over the wound.
Dr. Li produced a light pen and checked his pupil dilation. “You are not cancer-free, but the reagents in your bloodstream will continue their work for several weeks. The medically induced coma may have temporarily affected your memory.” She regarded him. “Can you tell me where you are?”
He looked around. “On a large yacht.”
“Do you recall its name?”
“The . . . Nezur?
“The Nezha. Close. And how did you get here?”
He thought back through the fog of weeks. “I remember being questioned by police. The FBI, I think.”
“But do you recall coming aboard the Nezha?”
He concentrated. “Vaguely.”
She patted his knee. “That’s better than yesterday. We will continue our morning checkups. In the meantime, if certain fragrances cause you pain or any parts of you feel alien, do not be alarmed. These are common side effects of genetic editing and likely temporary. I am available at all hours if you have concerns.”
“Likely temporary?”
She pulled back his blankets. “Try to regain your strength, Mr. Tighe. Eat more. The onboard chefs are excellent.”
Though he wore a set of absurdly luxurious blue silk pajamas, Tighe felt suddenly exposed, and now that his health was improving, he felt once more the weight of obligation to his lost colleagues.
How long had he been here? What exactly had been done to him? But before he could vocalize these questions, the doctor and the nurse were already gone.
* * *
—
Tighe sat at a table in the sunlight. His cabin was well above the waterline and included a large window. Beyond was endless ocean. He stared into the distance for a long time, and at some point heard a knock on his cabin door. He turned. “Come in.”
Jin Han entered.
Tighe smiled. “There he is.”
Jin returned the smile. “I would have come earlier, but you were in quarantine. Dr. Li tells me you can now have visitors. That you should start moving around.”
Tighe examined the bruise-free skin of his arms. “It’s amazing.” He looked up. “In fact, I don’t really know what they did to me.”
“They edited out your cancer—an experimental treatment. One that is only available to a select clientele.”
“I keep forgetting you grew up rich. How do they ‘edit out’ cancer?”
“They prepare a custom CRISPR protein coded to your tumor’s DNA sequence, insert it into an adenovirus, then let it spread throughout your body to destroy the tumors.”
The explanation was lost on Tighe’s still foggy mind. “I’ll take your word for it. I don’t know how I can repay you, Han.”
“Continue to get better. We have work to do.”
Tighe opened and closed his hands, testing his grip. “I do feel better. Better than I have for a long time.” He took a deep breath, then paused. “If only we had had this treatment on the Konstantin. We could have saved Nicole.”
Jin nodded grimly.
“If we ever get back into space, we need to take this tech and someone to operate it up with us.”
“Unfortunately, getting into space continues to be the problem. We have been banned from launch, and, as you know, we have no resources in space even if we reach orbit.”
Tighe’s heart sank. “So the robot tugs are still missing.”
“Yes, and there is no word from Washington, Beijing, or Moscow—or Macy and Burkette, for that matter. Any one of them could have stolen our tugs. We have no bargaining position and no funding. And our investors are suing Catalyst for fraud. Again.”
They remained silent for several moments.
Finally Tighe looked around at the yacht. “Then who’s paying for all this?”
“We are guests of an old friend of mine.” Jin stood. “Are you able to walk?”
Tighe sat up. “Yes. I’ve been pacing a little.”
Jin extended his hand. “Dr. Li says you need exercise, and there is someone who will be very happy to see you.”
As they exited the cabin, the lavishly paneled and marble-inlaid corridor beyond was new to Tighe. Walking slowly down the hall with Jin, he began to get some sense of the scale of the yacht. As they passed a bank of tinted windows, an unbroken blue ocean lay beyond. They were cruising at an impressive pace.
“Where are we?”
“The Andaman Sea. We crossed the Pacific from Hawaii.”
“Jesus, how big is this yacht?”
“A hundred and sixty meters.”
“And your friend owns this?”
“It was a gift from his father. More a rebuke, really—one that keeps him away from the paparazzi.”
They soon emerged into an enormous and luxurious salon that ran the full width of the yacht’s beam—easily 20 meters and much bigger than any apartment Tighe ever had. It was decorated with custom sofas, chairs, woodwork, carpets, crystal light fixtures, and ringed by tall windows.
As pleasant as the surroundings were, Tighe was most happy to see Priya Chindarkar curled up on a sofa in a T-shirt and sweatpants, reading a book entitled Principles of Linear Induction. He spoke softly. “Some light reading?”
She glanced up, then smiled broadly. “Look at you!” She set the book aside and bounded across the enormous room—halting just before reaching him. “How is your immune system?”
“As impossible as it sounds, they say I’m okay. I’m still having trouble believing it myself.”
She moved in and hugged him. Kissing him on the cheek. “I’m still mad at you, J.T.” She looked at him. “Why didn’t you trust us to help you? You could have died, you idiot.” She hugged him close again.
Afterward, he looked her in the eye. “Priya, I’m sorry. I was worried my illness would mess things up. I’m not completely cancer-free, though. So promise me my health won’t disrupt our plans.”
“What plans? We’re in limbo. I’ve been here the past two weeks.” She gestured to the book. “Reading up on mass-drivers because I don’t know what else to do.”
Tighe suddenly noticed his reflection in a mirror behind the bar. He had a full head of hair. “How long have I been here?”
Jin answered. “A month and a half.”
“We wasted a month and a half because of me?”
“Not because of you. Because we have nowhere to go.”
Chindarkar said, “China, the US, Russia—they have all banned us from space.”
“So Han said.”
“And one of them stole our robot tugs.”
Jin said, “No telling which one.”
“To be fair, it could also have been Macy or Burkette. Or some other billionaire.”
Chindarkar motioned toward the sofa opposite. They joined her. “I would have come earlier, but the Intelligence Bureau in India detained me for questioning.”
Tighe thought for a moment and turned to Jin. “Didn’t Chinese agents try to kidnap you? Am I remembering that right?”
He nodded.
“Are we safe here?”
“It’s why we came here. My friend has his own security team.”
Tighe noticed a suited man walk past the window on the deck outside.
“However, I think it has become clear to the superpowers that we have no answers.”
Tighe asked, “What about Lukas, Sevastian, and the others?”
Chindarkar shook her head. “We’ve had no word from Lukas or the rest. It’s Nathan’s bankruptcy all over again. Catalyst’s market cap is zero without those resources.”
A voice somewhere behind Tighe suddenly shouted, “HE LIVES!”
Startled, Tighe turned to see a handsome Chinese man perhaps forty years old, dressed in an electric-blue suit and white silk shirt, open at the throat. His arms held wide, one hand holding a flute of champagne, and a broad, perfect smile on his face, he strode into the salon and said with a British accent, “Look at you, James Tighe!” He came forward. “Or, as you prefer, ‘J.T.’ Delivered from death’s door by the peerless Dr. Li.” He closed the distance to enthusiastically shake hands.
Tighe returned the shake. “Good to meet you . . . ?”
Jin gestured. “J.T., this is Cheng Zhihong, our gracious host and my—”
“Best friend since childhood.” He gripped Tighe’s shoulder. “And call me Bobby! Everyone calls me Bobby. Any friend of Han’s is a friend of mine.”
Tighe nodded. “Well, Bobby, it seems I owe you my life. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”
Cheng waved it away. “No trouble at all. Happy to do it. They can perform miracles with genetic editing. If you want your eye color changed, too, let me know.” Cheng sat on the arm of the nearest sofa.
“So you and Han go way back?”
“Han and I have known each other since preparatory school, though he was more studious than I.” He laughed. “For all the good it did him.” Cheng poked at Jin’s arm. “Always studying. No time for fun. I told him his fretting would come to nothing.” He gestured at Jin’s grim face. “Look how sad he is . . .” Then gestured to himself. “. . . and how happy I am.” He raised his glass. “Because no one has grand expectations for me.” He took another sip of champagne.
Tighe just then noticed a uniformed butler who had silently entered. Cheng motioned to him. “Bring a fresh bottle of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay. We must toast to Mr. Tighe’s miraculous recovery.”
The butler nodded.
Tighe said, “I’m not entirely cured just yet. So no champagne for me.”
Cheng sat up. “Ah, a shame.” He looked to the butler. “Bring it for us, though. And some food.” He turned to Tighe. “Are you hungry? My chefs are the best. The. Best. They can make anything, and I think we have everything. I think we have ostrich eggs, if you want. Do you like ostrich eggs? An ostrich omelet?”
Tighe shook his head. “That sounds like way too much, but thank you. Just tea is fine, Bobby.”
The butler nodded and hurried away.
Cheng turned to face them. “What are we talking about?”
