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Overview
Though Tiberium is a resource that could solve the world’s energy crisis, it is also incredibly destructive, spreading disease, death, and devastation. Tiberium has divided the planet into two factions: the Global Defense Initiative (GDI), which tries to maintain order at any cost, and the Brotherhood of Nod, a terrorist organization turned superpower that believes with religious fervor in the potential of Tiberium. The groups have already fought two world wars, killing millions.
Now, in the year 2047, a vicious Nod attack compels GDI to mobilize. Another epic global war is being waged, with humanity’s fate in the balance. One of GDI’s top units, the 22nd Infantry Division, must halt Nod’s agenda and keep the world from devolving into further chaos and loss of life. But in the midst of heavy fighting all over the world, mysterious visitors arrive . . . who may spell doom for the human race.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780307419293 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Random House Worlds |
| Publication date: | 07/22/2009 |
| Sold by: | Random House |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 1,047,258 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
ONE
The tank screamed over the ridge, crushing the grass and bamboo under its treads, guns blazing as it spit bullets and shells into the large temple and its occupants. Several of the bullets ripped into the distinctive emblem of the Brotherhood of Nod that hung over the door: an uneven hexagon, with a red background, and a scorpion tail curled in a backward C in the center. It was almost as if the tank had specifically been aiming to rip that logo into tiny pieces.
The concussive report of the tank’s weapons echoed into the night, even as dozens of GDI troops ran in front of the tank in order to secure the remains of the building.
But then a green-tinged explosion ripped through the air, sending dozens of those GDI troops flying backward. Their screams, however, continued long after the blast, for that green tinge indicated that Tiberium had been used in the explosives. Soldiers—combat veterans all—still screamed like children as the infectious crystalline substance that had been spreading inexorably across the globe for fifty years burned through skin and muscle and bone.
However, the GDI attack did not diminish, and even as their comrades fell, the second wave of troops attacked tacked and then a third. Grenade launchers sent more conventional explosives flying into the bullet-ridden temple, and soon Nod soldiers ran out, coughing and bleeding.
Taking refuge behind the pencil cedar and podo trees, several black-clad soldiers armed with bizarre-looking weaponry fired on the tank and the troops, but the GDI soldiers had numbers and better aim on their side. One by one, they picked off the remaining Brotherhood of Nod fanatics.
The first wave of troops to successfully enter the Nod temple was confronted with an unexpected sight: a laboratory, filled with test tubes, computer stations, boiling chemicals, a centrifuge, and more. The lead soldier, a battle commander, ordered her people to start confiscating the equipment.
It was the last order she would ever give.
Another explosion ripped through the air, consuming the building in a massive plume of fire.
A voice said, “Although the destruction of the Brotherhood of Nod’s Kenyan HQ resulted in the loss of three dozen GDI troops, and the injury of hundreds more, it was still one of the decisive victories of the Second Tiberium War when the 45th Infantry Division overcame Nod forces. Battle Commander Ilona Grunwaldt was given a posthumous Medal of Honor by GDI after the war’s official end.
“Examination of the wreckage revealed genetic material belonging to Kane, the psychotic leader of the Brotherhood, thus confirming reports from GDI’s Intelligence and Operations Division that he had been in the stronghold. Nod’s very quick subsequent fall and Kane’s own lack of public appearances or netcasts since the engagement in Y-2 lends credence to the belief that Kane saw the text on the screen and took his own life rather than face defeat and a war-crimes trial that would end with his execution at GDI hands.”
The voice-over, and the accompanying holo of the 45th’s successful mission, faded from the center of the lounge, and Jasmine Martinez had to admit to being disappointed in herself, while at the same time impressed with GDI’s propaganda machine. She’d been a reporter for W3N, one of the largest news agencies, for several years, and had seen the footage of the 45th taking down Kane’s stronghold in Kenya dozens of times. Yet she found herself completely immersed in it. The sights, the sounds, they had been so real. She wondered what it would be like if they ever figured out a way to convey smell in holos.
They had been playing these various propaganda documentaries for the last hour or so in the lounge of the GDSS Philadelphia, GDI’s largest orbital space station, and the site of the Energy Summit. They were only there in the lounge because GDI’s Director General, Lia Kinsburg, was supposedly going to be stopping by for a brief chat with the press. In real terms, this meant that Kinsburg would walk in, say something vague, and then leave, but still and all, every member of the press felt obliged to be in the lounge to wait for her.
When Kinsburg finally entered, accompanied by a short, stooped-over, elderly bald man who looked vaguely familiar to Jasmine, she tapped the side of her glasses to activate the cam. Even though little of substance would be said in front of live cams, not recording could cost Jasmine her job.
Most reporters kept the cam going all the time, figuring they could just carve out the good stuff in the editing room. Jasmine usually cited a feeble desire to conserve battery power, but the truth of the matter was she hated the editing process, and tried to keep it as simple as possible. The notion of sitting in a dark cubicle plowing through hours of dull chaff to find a micron of wheat filled her with a nameless dread.
Well, okay, not nameless. It’s called “laziness.” The voice in her head that said that sounded a whole lot like her father’s.
Those other reporters also thought they might miss something important if they ever turned the cam off. In all her years of reporting for W3N, Jasmine had yet to see anything spontaneous happen in front of her.
She activated the cam, and put the drone on standby in case she needed a second angle or herself in a shot. Given that there were over a dozen reporters in the room and they were restricted to one corner of the lounge, the drones were invaluable for getting some variety to the footage.
Of course, GDI didn’t care about their angles or visuals. They just wanted to maintain security, which was why the drones almost never got to go anywhere interesting, and were vaporized if they tried. Said vaporizing would be accomplished either by automated security or one of Kinsburg’s four bodyguards, who were as well armed as anyone short of GDI infantry.
Jasmine had had one of her drones vaporized once. That was when she found out how expensive they were, as W3N took the cost of replacing it out of her paycheck.
Several of the reporters spoke at once and asked variations of the same query: “Director Kinsburg, can you give us a preview of tomorrow’s speech?”
Kinsburg, a woman with deep lines in her face that bespoke both advanced age and advanced stress, had sharp blue eyes and a shock of dark-flecked-with-gray hair atop her head. She smiled, showing perfect, flat teeth, while walking over to the table that included finger food and drinks that the reporters weren’t allowed to touch. “I wouldn’t want to give away too much, Alfred—don’t want you sleeping through it because you knew it all already.” Kinsburg’s voice showed only a hint of her Danish accent.
Everybody tittered politely, even though the joke wasn’t all that funny. Kinsburg was the most powerful person in the GDI, which given the state of the world these days, meant she was the most powerful person on the planet, so when she let loose with a witticism, even half of one, you laughed.
“But yes,” Kinsburg said as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “I can at least drop a few hints. I’ll be talking tomorrow about what we’ve gotten out of this summit.”
Somehow, Jasmine managed not to roll her eyes. They already knew that the speech tomorrow would be the summary of what the Council of Directors and other assorted GDI advisors had been discussing for the past several days behind closed doors here on the Philadelphia. Indeed, the speech had been the last item on the summit’s agenda for months. The reporters had been given platitudes and clichés from most of the Directors between sessions, and a few carefully selected details had been leaked ahead of time, but none was of any consequence.
Kinsburg went on: “I can tell you that GDI will have a new watchword when this is all over. For the last five decades, we’ve been forced to emphasize defense against the onslaught of Tiberium and against Nod and the other forces that would destroy our way of life. Tomorrow, that will change, and for the better.”
Then Kinsburg indicated the older man next to her, whose face Jasmine had been failing to place for the last several minutes. “I have one other happy announcement. This is Dr. Ignatio Mobius, a name I’m sure you all recognize.”
Of course. Most of the pictures of Mobius were from his younger days when, if nothing else, he had hair.
“I’m pleased to tell you all that after my talk, Dr. Mobius will receive the GDI Medal of Honor for his valiant work in trying to solve the ongoing Tiberium crisis. As I’m sure you all know—”
But you’re going to tell us anyhow, Jasmine thought uncharitably.
“—Dr. Mobius was one of the first scientists on the scene when Tiberium was discovered fifty-two years ago, and he has remained at the forefront of Tiberium research ever since, both with NATO and later with GDI. The world owes Dr. Mobius a huge debt, and it’s one we can only begin to repay with the medal he will be presented with tomorrow.”
With that, Kinsburg took her coffee mug and departed, her bodyguards at her side, Mobius behind her. For her part, Jasmine stared longingly at the coffeepot. Her ration chip covered coffee in theory, but there’d been a shortage this year, and B-2, the Blue Zone where Jasmine lived, was one of the regions that didn’t get any. She wondered who she had to bribe to get a cup here.