Read Online Emergence by John Birmingham - Free Book Online Page A

high-energy milk biscuits. Straight away. And talk to the canteen; have them send some of that dreadful fatty slop they served at lunch. I am sure there will be leftovers. I don’t know what is wrong with Mr Hooper, but I fear his energy needs may be . . .’ He paused and seemed to ponder the question. ‘. . . extreme,’ he concluded.
    ‘Here,’ Allen said, reaching into one of the large cargo pockets of his jungle-green-coloured combat trousers and retrieving a couple of energy bars. He unwrapped them and handed both carefully to Dave, who took them with equal care. He wasn’t sure what the bars were, but he could smell citrus and cocoa. Spit flooded his mouth as soon as he jammed both bars in there, working his jaws in a fury. It was as though he couldn’t chew fast enough, and the pangs in his stomach sharpened while he tried to get the impromptu meal down as quickly as possible. When he was done eating a minute later, the dizziness and fatigue he had felt creeping up on him receded.
    ‘That working for you?’ the navy guy asked.
    ‘Shit, yeah,’ Dave told him. ‘Man, that was bad. That really fucking hurt.’
    ‘I’m afraid I’m going to need to schedule some tests,’ said Dr Pradesh. ‘Many tests. I’m sorry. This is unprecedented.’
    He didn’t sound as if he was afraid or even apologetic. He sounded like a guy who’d just spotted a Nobel Prize for Medicine dropping into his lap and wanted to grab it as quickly and hold on to it as hard as he could.
    ‘Doc, there’s not going to be any tests,’ said Chief Petty Officer Allen. ‘Not now and not here. I meant what I said before. I have orders and the authority to place Mr Hooper in protective custody and escort him from here to a secure location where he can be –’
    ‘Absolutely not,’ said Pradesh.
    ‘Whoa, hold on there,’ Dave said, adding his objections. ‘You might have bought me dinner, but that doesn’t mean you get to fuck me, Admiral.’
    ‘The language is not necessary, sir,’ Allen said. The words sounded weird in his oddly misplaced surfer’s drawl.
    It was the sort of thing Marty would have said, but Marty was dead. Eaten like a big born-again burrito. ‘A sailor who doesn’t swear?’ Dave said, concentrating fiercely to keep his thoughts in the present. ‘Seriously? Well, I’m not going anywhere and I’m not doing anyone’s tests until I get some answers. You can take me to Vince Martinelli if you want, if he knows more than I do. But right now you can start by telling me what the hell happened out on the Longreach this morning. It was this morning, wasn’t it? I haven’t been out of it overnight?’
    ‘No, sir, you have not,’ said a new voice from over by the door.
    A tall African-American man stood in the doorway. An officer by the look of him. He wore a short-sleeve khaki dress uniform, a more formal arrangement than Allen’s fatigues with their pockets full of high-energy chocolate bars. A swathe of multicoloured ribbons covered a patch over his left pec, topped by a bright gold bird bearing a trident in its claws. Dave’s eye was drawn to the purple ribbon. He was pretty sure his brother had been awarded one of those.
    ‘Michael Heath, captain, United States Navy. Joint Special Operations Command,’ the officer said.
    Special Operations, Dave thought. Did that make the captain a Black Seal? He suppressed an embarrassed, idiotic chuckle, ashamed of himself, blaming it on feeling so dizzy and light-headed with hunger and maybe some leftover drug residue, but the captain really was that dark. Like he had stepped out of Africa and right into Harvard or Yale to judge by the snooty accent. Man, you could sell hundred-dollar bottles of wine with that voice.
    Hooper cursed himself. Jesus, Dave. Get a grip you redneck asshole.
    ‘Okay,’ he said, mostly to stop himself from giggling like a stoned idiot, ‘more navy guys. Awesome.’
    Captain Heath considered Dave with a foreboding frown but addressed