later.”
“I agree,” the chief scientist said. “Lazarus will be pleased.”
Flanked by two plainclothes bodyguards, Jinjiro Nomura stepped out into the open air for the first time in almost a year. For a moment the small, elderly Japanese man stood rooted to the earth, blinking, briefly dazzled by the sight of the sun high overhead. A cool sea breeze ruffled through the thin wisps of white hair on his head.
“If you please, sir,” one of the guards murmured politely, offering him a pair of sunglasses, “they are ready for us now. The first of the Thanatos prototypes is on final approach.”
Jinjiro Nomura nodded calmly. He took the glasses and put them on.
Behind him, the massive door slid shut, again sealing the main corridor that led to the Center's living quarters, control center, administrative offices, and, ultimately, nanophage production facility hidden deep within the huge building. From the outside and from the air the whole complex appeared to be nothing more than a metal- roofed concrete warehouse — one essentially identical to the thousands of other low-cost industrial storage facilities scattered around the globe. Its intricate systems of chemical storage and piping, air locks, concentric layers of ever more rigidly maintained “clean” rooms, and elaborate banks of networked supercomputers were completely camouflaged by that plain, rusting, weather-beaten exterior.
Paced by his guards, Nomura marched down a gravel path and onto the edge of a tarmac, part of an immensely long concrete runway that stretched north and south for thousands of feet. Large aircraft hangars and aviation fuel tanks were visible at either end, along with several parked cargo and passenger jets. A tall metal fence, topped by coils of razor wire, surrounded the airfield and its associated buildings. The western horizon was an unbroken vista of rolling waves, crashing and foaming all along the coast. Off to the east, flat green fields dotted by grazing sheep and cattle ran for miles, rising toward a distant peak covered with trees.
He stopped near a small knot of white-coated engineers and scientists, all of whom were eagerly scanning the northern horizon.
“Soon,” one of them told the others, consulting his watch. He turned his head, checking the position of the sun through eyes narrowed against the glare. “The craft's solar power system is functioning perfectly. And the onboard fuel cells have finished cycling into standby mode.”
“There it is!” another said excitedly, pointing north. A thin dark line, at first barely visible against the clear blue sky, suddenly appeared there— growing steadily as it slowly descended toward the runway.
Jinjiro Nomura watched intently as the strange aerial vehicle, code-named Thanatos by its designers, drew nearer. It was an enormous flying-wing aircraft, without a fuselage or a tail but with a wingspan larger than that of a Boeing 747. Fourteen small twin-bladed propellers mounted along the length of the huge wing whirred almost noiselessly, pulling it through the air at less than thirty miles an hour. As the aircraft banked slightly, lining up with the runway, the sixty thousand solar cells installed on its gossamer-thin upper surface shimmered brightly in the sun.
Footsteps crunched softly across the tarmac behind him. Nomura stayed motionless, watching the enormous craft drift lower still as it came in for a landing. For the first time, the engineering specifications and drawings he had studied took shape in his mind.
Modeled on prototypes first flown by NASA, Thanatos was an ultra-light all-wing aircraft constructed of radar-absorbent composite materials — carbon fiber, graphite epoxy, Kevlar and Nomex wraps, and advanced plastics. Even with a full payload, it weighed less than two thousand pounds. But it could reach altitudes of nearly one hundred thousand feet and stay aloft under its own power for weeks and months at a time, spanning whole continents and oceans. Five underwing aerodynamic pods carried its flight control computers, data instrumentation, backup fuel-cell systems for night flying, and attachment points for the multiple cylinders that would contain its sinister payload.
NASA had designated its test aircraft Helios, after the ancient Greek god of the sun. It was an apt name for a vehicle meant to soar through the upper reaches on solar power. Jinjiro frowned. In the same way, Thanatos, the Greek personification of Death, was the perfect appellation for the intended use of this flying wing.
“Beautiful, is it not?” an all-too-familiar voice said quietly in his ear. “So large. And yet, so delicate… so graceful… so featherlight. Surely you can see that Thanatos is more a wisp of cloud blown by the breath of the gods than it is a creation of brutish man.”
Jinjiro nodded gravely. “That is so. In itself, this device is beautiful.” Grimly he turned to face the man standing close behind him. “But vour evil purposes pervert it, as they do all things you touch… Lazarus.”
“You honor me with that name… Father,” Hideo Nomura replied, smiling tightly. “All that I have done, I have done to achieve our common goals, our shared dreams.”
The older man shook his head forcefully. “Our goals are not the same. My fellows and I wanted to restore and redeem the Earth — to save this ravaged world from the perils posed by uncontrolled science. Under our leadership, the Movement was dedicated to life, not to death.”
“But you and your comrades made one fundamental error, Father,” Hideo told him quietly. 'You misunderstood the nature of the crisis facing our world. Science and technology' do not threaten the survival of the
Earth. They are only tools, the means to a necessary end. Tools for those like me with the courage and the clarity of vision to make full use of them.'
“As weapons of mass slaughter!” Jinjiro snapped. “For all your noble words, you are nothing more than a murderer!”
Hideo replied coldly. “I will do what must be done, Father. In its present state, the human race itself is the enemy — the true threat to the world we both love.” He shrugged. “In your heart, you know that I am right. Imagine seven billion greedy, grasping, violent animals roaming this one small, fragile planet. They are as dangerous to the Earth as any unchecked cancer would be to the body. The world cannot sustain so heavy a burden. That is why, like any mutating cancer, the worst of mankind must be eliminated — no matter how painful and unpleasant the task will be.”
“Using your devil's weapon, these nanophages,” his father said harshly.
The younger Nomura nodded. “Imagine Thanatos and dozens like it. Imagine them gliding high above the surface — silent and almost entirely invisible to radar. From them will fall a gentle rain, drops so small that they, too, will go unnoticed… at least until it is far too late.”
“Where?” Jinjiro asked, ashen-faced.
Hideo showed his teeth. “First? Thanatos and its kin will fly to America, a country that is soulless, powerful, and corrupt. It must be destroyed to make room for the new world order to come. Europe, another source of materialist contagion, will follow. Then my nanophages will cleanse Africa and the Middle East, those cesspools of terror, disease, starvation, cruelty, and religious fanaticism. China, too, bloated and too mindful of its ancient power, must be humbled.”
“And how many people will die before you are finished?” his father whispered.
Hideo shrugged. “Five billion? Six billion?” he suggested. 'Who can say exactly? But those who are left alive will soon understand the value of the gift they have been given: A world whose balance has been restored. A world whose resources and infrastructure are left intact, undamaged by the madness of war or all-consuming greed.'
For a long moment the older man could only stare at his son, the man who was now Lazarus, in horror. “You shame me,” he said at last. “And you shame our ancestors.” He turned to his guards. “Take me back to my prison cell,” he said softly. “The very presence of this monster in human form sickens me.”
Hideo Nomura nodded tightly to the two poker-faced men. “Do as the old fool asks,” he said icily. Then stepped back and stood in silence, watching his father march away to renewed captivity.
His eyes were hooded. As so often before, Jinjiro had disappointed him — had even betrayed him — with the shallowness of his thoughts and with his lack of courage. Even now his father was too blind to admire the achievements of his only son. Or perhaps, Hideo thought, savoring an old and bitter resentment from his vanished childhood, his father was simply too jealous or coldhearted to offer the praise that was his due.
And praise was due; of that he was sure.
For years the younger head of Nomura PharmaTech had worked almost day-and-night to make his vision of a cleaner, less crowded, and more peaceful world a reality. First, careful planning had made it possible to build, staff, and fund this hidden nanotechnology lab without drawing unwelcome attention from his shareholders or from anyone else. None of his many competitors had ever suspected that Nomura, apparently lagging behind in the
