Metal Gear Solid: Guns of the Patriot (9 page)

The video finished loading, and I clicked play.

Naomi’s face filled the screen. The background was dark, but it looked like some kind of storeroom.

“Snake, I’ll make this quick.” Naomi’s expression was urgent. She spoke in a whisper and kept looking over her shoulder. The picture was unsteady—she seemed to be recording herself with a handheld camera.

“I’m in South America. I’ve been captured and forced to do research. It’s Liquid. His goal is to seize control of SOP—the Sons of the Patriots system that controls the soldiers. To do that, he needs to analyze the nanomachines’ structure and find out how they communicate with one another.”

“Was the madness I saw when I faced Liquid,” Snake muttered to himself, “the result of that takeover? Did Liquid already control the System?”

“The nanomachines currently in use by the PMCs are third generation. But their design is derived from that of the first, and the technology is still the same.”

“The first generation?” Snake said to the screen. Drebin had said something along those lines—that the nanomachines in Snake’s body were “old nanomachines” and had caused the interference with the System and blocked him from using non-ID guns.

“I was the one who created the first generation,” Naomi was saying. “A colony of nanomachines—part of which was FOXDIE. Nine years ago, at Shadow Moses, I injected it into your body, Snake. The technology used in FOXDIE was incorporated—inherited, really—by SOP. That’s why Liquid is making me help him hijack the System. Because I know how FOXDIE works.”

Viruses could be thought of as machines built from molecules of DNA or RNA—machines possessing the ability to utilize the cells of living organisms to reproduce. A man-made virus was, in essence, a nanomachine, and a virus found in nature might be said to be a natural nanomachine.

There was a loud noise on the recording, and Naomi turned. Sweat beaded down her forehead.

“Please rescue me.” She was visibly distressed. “Liquid’s found a loophole he can use to get into the System. Preparations for his insurrection are nearly complete. There’s no time to waste. Snake, hurry!”

The video ended.

Snake covered his mouth in thought. Meryl had told him that Liquid’s PMCs would be unable to stand up against the world governments—even if he was Liquid, the System couldn’t be beaten by military force.

But if the SOP could be hacked, the PMCs would be freed from the System’s control, and they could proceed to make war however they wished. The leaders of the war economy, now more powerful than the US military, could bare their fangs against the world that had used the war economy for its own benefit.

“This is bad,” Snake said.

I nodded. “Naomi created the technology. Given enough time, I’m sure she could do anything.”

The screen flashed
CALL
. I checked the encrypted ID tag and told Snake, “It’s Campbell.”

The line connected, and Campbell’s office appeared on the screen. The colonel sat with his arms resting on his oak desk.

“Snake,” he said, “as you’ll recall, following the Shadow Moses Incident nine years ago, Naomi was detained by the authorities. But someone arranged for her escape.”

Snake and I knew all about that. We had, after all, been official suspects. As fugitives, we kept a close eye on all of the charges against us—including the false ones. Snake and I have shared more than a few beers together while laughing at our names on the tops of the FBI website’s wanted lists for crimes we certainly didn’t remember having anything to do with.

Snake laughed sarcastically and said, “Yeah, I hear they added that to my rap sheet too.”

“I suspect it was actually Liquid. He must have taken her prisoner and forced her to do research at his facility in South America.”

I said, “Naomi sent her location data in a separate file. It was encrypted, but Sunny decoded it for us.”

Campbell nodded, and then his expression turned even graver. “Chances are the location she gave us is the site of Liquid’s main base.”

As he searched his pockets for a smoke, Snake asked, “But is there any actual proof?”

“Yes,” said Campbell. “There’s an ongoing skirmish between a new regime put into power by PMCs and a rebel army formed by remnants of the old one. The rebels have hired a small-scale local PMC of their own to stir things up. It’s the quintessential example of the war economy market. The new regime is still in shambles, so it’s really Pieuvre Armement—one of the PMCs under Outer Heaven control—that’s calling the shots. You might say it’s a perfect place for Liquid to make his haven.”

“Or it could be a trap.”

“True. But even if it was, we’d have much to gain.”

“I had Sunny trace the origin of Naomi’s mail,” I said. “The address was fake, but Sunny was able to track the message back through its proxies based on time stamps and data transfer volumes. Apparently, the message originated from a server in South America. I wouldn’t exactly call it one hundred percent credible though.”

Out of gratitude for her help, I didn’t tell Snake that she had hidden his cigarettes—just a modest trade to help ensure our continued stay on
Nomad
would remain a pleasant one.

Campbell said, “I’ve secured you landing clearance at El Dorado International Airport. You’ll be acting as UN inspectors.”

“South America …” I said. “That’s about twenty hours from here. What happens when we get there?”

“I’ll arrange for them to get you a four-by-four. The location Naomi gave us—the PMC’s base—is in a mountainous region surrounded by forests. Use the four-by-four to get as close as possible to the PMC’s security perimeter. From there on, Snake, it’ll be a solo sneaking mission. The rebels are still pitched in battle against the PMCs. The commotion should help you slip into the facility unnoticed.”

Snake changed the subject. “Colonel, how deeply are they involved in this?”

I looked at him and asked, “The Patriots, you mean?”

Even in the Middle East, we couldn’t help but keep watchful for any sign of the Patriots’ involvement. After the battle with Solidus over the Arsenal Gear in Manhattan, their AI had loudly proclaimed that they would regulate and control everything.

Snake nodded. “The data we got from Arsenal Gear was a load of crap. Twelve founders who’ve all been dead for a hundred years. Give me a break. We know they exist today. If the purpose of this battlefield control system is to control IDs, it fits in with their plans perfectly.”

“Seizing control of the world’s ID systems,” Campbell said, “and then using them to manipulate the economy and the worldwide flow of information—for the Patriots, that’s the ultimate prize. You might say that the Patriots are the embodiment of the war economy.”

“Everything that Solidus feared five years ago,” Snake said solemnly, “has come to pass.”

The former president had turned to terrorism out of his desire to build a world free of the Patriots’ control. Freedom. Human rights. Opportunity. These were the fundamental ideas that burned inside each and every American’s heart in those glorious first days of their independence. But somewhere in the young nation’s short history, those ideals were warped and twisted, and the Patriots’ horrifying System was born.

It wasn’t because any one person had been driven by a thirst for power, or that someone had desired control. America’s commerce, economy, lifestyle—even the very essence of the nation itself—had given birth to the structure of the Patriots.

“Now with the media and global opinion under complete control,” Campbell said, “not even the UN can stand up to them.”

Snake asked, “Then Liquid’s insurrection is against the Patriots?”

“Exactly. It would seem as though Liquid has taken up Big Boss’s cause. An age of persistent, universal warfare for mercenaries freed from domination. In a sense, the ‘Outer Heaven’ Big Boss envisioned is already a living reality.”

“You mean the PMCs and their war business.”

“Right now,” Campbell said, “Liquid is a slave to the Patriots, forced to fight their proxy wars for them.”

“He must be dying to break free of their spell.”

“Beneath the surface, a new cold war is brewing between Liquid and the Patriots over who will survive.”

Snake turned away from the screen and looked up at the ceiling with a distant gaze. “And no matter who wins, the world will have no future. Until we stop Liquid and destroy the System, we’ll never be free.”

Isn’t that what Solidus had wanted? He had been terrified of not leaving any legacy behind. Solid, Liquid, Solidus—the sons of Big Boss—had been born stripped of the ability to create offspring. They were just reproductions of Big Boss’s genetic code.

But Solidus had wanted to achieve something. He wanted to prove he was more than a simple carbon copy of Big Boss’s DNA. He wanted to prove he was free. He wanted the world to hear his silent cries—
I am free. I am me.

I am free. And you are free.

“Snake,” Campbell stated plainly, “what we call ‘peace’ is an equilibrium kept in check by the war economy. Destroying the System means wiping out the information society—the end of modern civilization. Like it or not, we may have no choice but to protect the System.”

Solidus had tried to destroy the System, but it defeated him. As ironic as it might seem, Snake and I—and Raiden—believed our actions had saved the world. If we now took down the Patriots like Solidus had tried to do, only an endless chaos would await us.

But still, could you say that Solidus was entirely wrong? I didn’t think I could.

“Got it,” Snake said, rubbing at his shoulder, stiff from lying unconscious for an entire day. “We’ve got twenty hours until we land. I’ll have a look at the documents. And I’d like to have a smoke while I have the chance. Otacon, have you seen where mine went?”

“Sorry Snake, I can’t tell you.”

I shrugged. He eyed me with suspicion but didn’t press.

Since I didn’t know where Sunny had hidden them, I wasn’t exactly telling a lie.

2

AFTER FLIGHT CLEARANCE was granted by the local air force,
Nomad
touched down at El Dorado. Sunny pressed the button to lower the hatch. The thinness of the outside air startled her.

The air
was
thin. El Dorado International Airport was over eight thousand feet above sea level—an elevation high enough for air pressure to significantly affect the boiling point of water. I wondered if that would affect the taste of her eggs. Could it possibly be for the worse?

You might have inferred this already, because air traffic control was being performed by the military, but the El Dorado Airport was jointly a civilian and a military airport. The air force was in full presence, with old C-130s scattered everywhere. America had probably sold them off decades ago.

“I think those are PMC transport craft,” Campbell said from the screen.

Emblazoned on the sides of the planes was Pieuvre Armement’s ominous logo—eight tentacles poking out the eyes, nose, and mouth of a skull.
Pieuvre
being French for octopus. I’ve heard that people in southern France sometimes eat octopus, but whoever designed that fearsome image couldn’t have been a fan of the dish.

As Snake performed one last inspection of his gear, Campbell decided to use the time to introduce Snake to his psychological counselor for the mission. He called her over next to his desk to get her in the video feed. She was young and attractive, with straight black hair.

“This is Rosemary,” he said.

Snake and I looked at each other at the same time. But not just in reaction to her beauty. This young woman had been Jack’s lover, and during the Big Shell Incident had carried his child. Rose would later tell me about how Jack returned from the Big Shell unable to put away his memories as a child soldier. He’d get drunk, and some nights he returned covered in injuries. Eventually, she had a miscarriage, and he disappeared.

When I first learned all of that, I had trouble accepting it. How could that have happened? For a brief moment, I even thought,
Why couldn’t she have come to Snake or me?
But I know that neither of us could really have done anything for her.

But when her face appeared on the screen inside the cargo bay, I was suddenly reminded of something else I’d heard. I looked at Snake. He seemed to simultaneously come to the same realization, and it wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Colonel,” Snake said, “the woman you married, the one that Meryl was talking about …”

“Is Rosemary, yes. Didn’t I tell you before?”

Snake and I sighed in unison.

“What were you thinking?” Snake asked. “She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

Campbell’s response was only more depressing. “Yeah. Lucky me, huh?”

I nearly laughed at the absurdity. Snake, disgusted, said, “Now I see why Meryl won’t have anything to do with you.”

“Meryl said something about me?” The flippant tone had left the colonel’s voice, replaced by deep pain. But neither Snake nor I were in the mood to feel sorry for him.