ON THURSDAY MORNING, THE condo’s front office notified Ears of a package downstairs. He ran out to retrieve it.

“Peter,” he exhaled after darting up the stairs. “This one’s for you. Hope you were expecting something since we can’t be too careful. Good with it?”

Peter searched for the return address. “It took a few days, but it’s timely for our next interview.”

He opened the box and extracted an assortment of wigs, mustaches, beards, and hats.

“You didn’t,” Ears urged. “Is Molli aware?”

“With regard to what?” she asked, exiting the bedroom with her hair up in curlers.

“You might as well take those things out,” Ears snorted.

She spied the array of hairpieces spread out on the table.

“Why those? Oh no. Peter, are you serious? You want me to wear an old wig?”

Peter was enthused. “Absolutely! And they’re new, not used.”

“Where did you get this idea? Some spy magazine?”

“Safety, my dear. These might just save our lives. The face putty those mechs were wearing made me think we should do something like that as well.”

“You bought face putty?” she queried.

“No, no, but I considered it.”

“I imagine you did. But you’re serious – wigs?”

Peter knew he might get chastised by them, and he was trying to wiggle-through the best he could. He glanced over at Ears who was signaling no displeasure.

“Molli, I’d like to say I’m insistent. Think of the scary oddballs your friends have turned away at our door. Then there’s the hate mail we’re getting, which is picking up more after The Bard. I only want us to be safe.”

“Peter, I can’t. Never wore a wig, and I love my hair. I just washed it, and look at these wonderful locks!” she exclaimed, removing a few of the curlers.

“Lovely, Molli. Lovely,” Ears agreed.

“Ears, you’re not helping me,” he pleaded. “Okay, I’ll give you a different perspective. You’ve seen what the national media types do when undercover; how they sometimes wear garb like this. It’s part of being in the business, the dress code when required. Besides, we’ll have only a few more interviews in the city, a less and less comfortable place to visit. Does that give it context?”

Molli pressed her lips together and shook her head in disgust. “Shit. Which one?” She was rummaging through the assortment.

“I bought you three.”

“A redhead? Are you nuts? My skin isn’t that of a redhead’s. Do these arms look light-skinned and freckled to you?”

“I’ll wear it,” Ears volunteered. “You just described my skin.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that, Ears.”

“I understand.”

Without saying anything else, Molli pulled the redhead wig from the pile, walked into her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Peter was surprised at her reaction. “Hmm, that didn’t go as planned. I thought she’d appreciate the gift.”

Ears was searching through the pile and grabbed a short, brown wig. “Found one. Good with this?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed at Peter’s insensitivity. “She’s not so miffed at having to wear the wig, but she’d like to have been consulted, I imagine.”

“Proof that I am terrible with predicting behaviors, especially a woman’s. At least I can moderate a podcast.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” Ears joked. “We’ll see at the end of this series whether you are as famous and talented as you perceive. We’re now approaching thirty million.”

“After the Bard?”

“Yep. I guess people are big on using personal nukes to fight the perceived threat. You’ve seen the national media. The planet is flipping out, with not enough reporters to cover events in the major cities, much less smaller ones. The newer reporters on the street appear as if they just graduated from journalism school or are still taking classes. They must be so frazzled.”

Peter juggled to don his own long-haired wig and beard. “I know it’s too obvious, but these are first-rate products straight from the folks who supply Broadway shows.”

“Why so many extra sets?”

“Oh, yeah, some are for our armed guards out there. Molli’s friends.”

Ears chuckled, “The two gents are Taiwanese, and I doubt these brown beards work so well for them.”

“Can you invite them in to see what they can find? I need to shower before we catch the Brokers.”

“Sure. Wow, we’re going undercover. Outside of the risk, this is almost fun!”

* * *

Peter glanced at Molli in the rear-view mirror as she repositioned her wig. “You look fantastic in that – I’d say ravishing in red,” he teased.

She was flipping through her messages and purposely ignored the remark. “Aren’t you going to ask why I have the phone with me? Don’t worry. It’s in airplane mode, and I’m reviewing messages that came in this morning. My friend Sal says the Boston PD made substantial arrests of mechs last night, but they had difficulties. Some escaped arrest, let’s say, by wasting a few officers. The poor guys. These radicalized mechs are almost superhuman.”

“Why did he contact you?” Ears wondered.

“Warned me to watch out. They are so overwhelmed that the detective assigned to my case hasn’t been able to make further progress. He’s saying that anyone who is a target for the mechs needs to be extremely vigilant and consider using private guards.”

Ears nodded. “I already looked into that after you said we’re nearing the end of the line with your kung fu buds. Every door was closed. There aren’t enough private guards in New England to cover the needs of Boston alone. I’m sure they can name their price. Nobody feels safe, and only the very wealthy can afford to protect themselves. What was it in that mobster movie about ‘going to the mattresses’ in their high-walled fortresses?”

“Speaking of wealthy folks, Ears, how are your parents doing? Are they safe?” Molli inquired.

“I forgot to mention that they left Boston two weeks ago. Flew to Costa Rica because they read it’s safer there and just wanted to sit this out until the fires become ashes.”

“Good, good for them. Hey Peter, you, the dude who forced me to wear this ridiculous rug on my head. What’s the status with your parents? Spoken with them?”

“I’ve been in touch,” he reassured her. “Last week. I indicated we might arrive around the holidays. They’re getting old and barely watch the media, or maybe they simply choose to ignore the unsettling global anarchy. Besides, it’s Bemidji and frozen farmland as remote as you can’t imagine. Far out where nobody causes trouble, and everyone knows everyone. Dad grew up there.”

Molli sighed. “A few weeks ago, I thought we were joking about visiting them. I’m not so sure it’s as comical now. Would they puke if the three of us actually showed at their home and stayed until this crazy wackos phase passes?”

“My parents are chill. A bit cramped, I suppose, and one or two of us may need to sleep in the cold, unfinished basement. But better red than dead, right Molli?”

“Not funny, Peter.”

Ears frowned. “Indeed, not funny. With my hair, do you know how many times I’ve heard those redhead lines?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, no harm meant. Hey, I’m not seeing your buds behind us.”

Molli and Ears turned around. “I don’t see them either,” Molli observed. “With Peter the paranoid, they’re not allowed to have their cellphones on.”

“Caught in traffic,” Ears speculated. “I’m sure they’ll show since I gave them the address.”

They arrived at the office building in the Financial District. Peter needed to circle the car several times to find an outside parking space after rerouting around sections of the city that had been partially cordoned-off by police. There was no sign of their two guards in disguises.

The three entered the building, took the escalator up to the sixty-first floor, and were escorted to a conference room where their hosts were waiting. They made introductions, and Peter provided a rundown of the interview process as well as apologized for the conspicuous hairpieces.

“Listeners, we’re here today with Sally and Bob. In this new environment, we’d prefer not to expose their real names for safety reasons. They work at a large financial firm here in Boston. On today’s show, we are covering investment opportunities in the new tech discussed in this series, so let’s get started.”

Peter struck his usual lean-in pose. “Sally and Bob, because it’s only a half-hour show, I’m going for the jugular on the first question. Our listeners are very interested in this topic, and to be honest, the financial press has made nominal play of it.”

“Go ahead,” Sally replied.

“Okay then. So, how do you profit on the fear? I don’t mean to sound harsh by that, but investment gains and losses are based on fear, am I correct?”

Sally started. “It’s been two months since the arrival of the obelisk, and I’m sure the national financial media is developing similar stories as we speak. By the looks of your numbers, you folks now fit into that category, and we should talk offline about how our firm might find financing alternatives for your show’s expansion. But to your question, as with every investment, there’s a time to get in, a time to hold, and a time to get out. Fear is inherent with that.”

“Kind of like that old gambling song,” Molli interjected.

“Uh-huh,” Sally responded, appearing not to grasp the reference. “As a consequence of the obelisk, we are discovering great opportunities within certain areas of the tech sector. Mind you, some is mature tech at this stage, but this new and very visceral threat has accelerated applications and basic research.”

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“Fear is always a driver of the markets,” Bob declared. “Fear you might miss a buy or sell window. Either way. As you might know, fortunes were made and lost on this tech in the last decade. Everything has its rise and fall, then rise again, and so-on.”

Peter peered out the window of the conference room. The whole northern section of the city was visible.

“Pulling back for a minute, how has the obelisk been affecting markets overall?”

The two looked at each other with unsettled smiles. “I’m sure your listeners noticed the markets took a substantial hit in the last few months. There was the nosedive in the indexes, especially when the Canadian PM announced the obelisk as legit. After that, markets stabilized for a few weeks, then the groundswell of social disarray began. I can’t mince words, and the numbers are impacting everyone. We’re in a sixty-two percent decline across the average of the stock indexes. Bonds are faring slightly better.”

“But it’s not all bad,” Bob interjected. “Munitions stocks are skyrocketing, as are many government and DoD-contractor equities. Biotech, nanotech, and synbio are undeniable darlings. We’re also seeing an increase in related merger and acquisition announcements, and that’s affecting valuations positively. It makes good sense that if a threat is facing us, regardless of when the threat may get real, these companies must combine and converge their investments to allow them to create powerful new defensive weapons.”

“Great,” Peter continued. “Thanks for the overview of the markets. Now, back to the specific question on the defense stocks. Can you provide insights where these opportunities may exist?”

“Gladly,” Sally consented. “First, to make one amplification, the companies we cover are not primarily defense-oriented. As you know, the best defense is often a good offense, and vice versa. We don’t talk in terms of defense or offense with the new tech, as they’re just weapons and munitions enterprises to us. Oh, and a disclaimer. We’ll only refer to publicly traded enterprises, as a good portion of these tech companies are now in private equity hands. But whether private or public, the target market is huge with many interconnected threads.”

Bob loosened his tie and rolled his shirtsleeves back. “Before the interview, Sally and I quickly listened to your last dozen or so podcasts. Good stuff. We both agreed they covered areas of interest to our firm and clients. Biotech is the richest darling, spread across a wide gamut of sub-technologies.”

“Can you name a few?”

“We like what is happening across the entire spectrum of integrated, DNA-centric and metal technologies. For human systems, and one of your podcasts touched on this potential, we see renewed interest in integration of metal and synthetically created DNA with flesh. That type of geedee tech extends a human’s native manufacturing capabilities, also known as cellular replication, with advanced warfare components. Concurrently, it reduces or eliminates the weaknesses found in our God-given human systems.”

“Can you define what you mean by that?”

“Sure,” Sally added. “For example, one firm can develop a lung unaffected by offensive external agents. The remanufactured lung selects-out offensive molecules and selects-in molecules conducive to the system’s functioning, such as oxygen. In a battlefield theater, offensive molecules could even have been released by your own troops, such as a nano-scale biological or hybrid bio-machine agents. This upgraded lung eliminates the need for augmented troops to wear onerous masks or other gear since the defensive tech is inherently integrated within the lung’s DNA.”

“Wow,” Molli exclaimed, “that’s a new definition on the old iron lung.”

“Yes, on target,” Sally chuckled. “As another example, I just read a prospectus from a company that offers the replacement of all major skeletal bones with titanium components, combined with internal motorization. Normal functions provided by large bone marrow, such as blood cell creation, can be replicated via other products. Then you can couple this with new bioelectrical tech that fully embeds fleshy components like muscle and sinew together with metal. This results in a human-metal, hybrid soldier enhanced for many discernible battlefield situations.”

“Understood. But the key word is discernible. An advanced species capable of interstellar flight would likely not be fighting us on a battlefield. Don’t you agree?” Peter queried.

“Not necessarily,” Bob advised. “I’d much prefer a human-mech hybrid walking onto a downed alien ship or into a seething den of God-knows-what versus an unaugmented human, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. Humans are so ill-prepared for the job and susceptible to any of those agents, as you call it. Can we move to non-human systems for a minute?”

Sally pushed her chair away and began pacing the room. “Love to, since one of my areas of expertise is robotic systems. This starts at the micron and molecular level. One of your podcasts covered this tech nominally. This micro level of weaponry is where the experts agree is our best chance.”

“You’re referring to our Bard friend, I assume,” Peter interjected.

“I read the podcast notes and ‘nanobots’ was used. This is an interesting term, but it’s not descriptive of the tech now in development. If the opponents are biologically based, we are seeing systems as small as fragments of viruses, or even smaller, down to the subatomic scale. Such systems can come from metallics, non-metallics or biologics. For defensive needs against alien forces, you must assume every system may be utilized, perhaps even within the same battle theater.”

“Once deployed, I’d think these weapons could also affect us, the occupants of Earth,” Molli maintained.

“Again, my recall of your series included someone who discussed inoculations. For every offensive or defensive system these firms are creating, they are also being tasked by governments to create antidotes for application to human systems. This could be as simple as enhancing existing human immune response systems, up to and including integration of non-native components.”

Molli frowned at that idea. “Isn’t there a possibility that an augmented method of defense might one day replace every original cell in a human’s body?”

Sally and Bob looked at each other with eyebrows raised, as if that was a foregone conclusion. “Many companies we cover see that eventuality as paramount,” Sally proudly admitted. “The going-in assumption of these firms is that we need to be as adaptive as hell. We have no concept of what virulent tech might be employed against us, and any thoughts of using conventional systems is patently naïve, to say the least. That’s not to exclude personal nuclear devices, of course. Those are also great weapons against the threat.”

“We just interviewed a client from that area,” Bob divulged. “The overarching feeling in the industry is that we must be prepared to land every punch and kick, even simultaneously. The last human on Earth would not want to feel that we avoided using this or that tech because it might do too much harm to other humans. When few or no humans remain alive, that concern is no longer a concern, by definition.”

Peter was vexed. “What if the obelisk is a hoax as some suggest, or a false alarm, or an errant warning from a civilization lost in time? Aren’t we then consuming substantial resources and treasure for defensive or offensive means that should be used elsewhere to help resolve humanity’s pressing issues? Poverty? Addictions? Atrocious wealth disparities? Homelessness?”

“We often ask that questions of ourselves,” Bob confided. “Think back to the last century for an answer. It may be overplayed, but consider the billions of dollars invested in our race to the moon. Out of that science came many other discoveries to assist humanity. We must have faith in a payoff that could be as important as the long-term survival of our species. And there should be considerable side benefits from offshoot technologies we never dreamed of, like resolving core problems such as poverty and inequality.”

“I’m still not there on the reference to the space program,” Molli admitted, “which didn’t hold the potential to eliminate humans from the face of the Earth without any assistance from aliens. We’ve done interviews where the tech research and applications are going all-out. Many of those are not occurring under the careful guidance and watchful eyes of governmental and regulatory bodies. Not at this point.”

Sally shook her head in frustration. “We get that rationale, yet we can’t forget that we’re faced with an existential crisis not of our own choosing. It’s anyone’s guess when that crisis presents itself. If we’re not ready to respond immediately – even tomorrow – our species might be relegated to the dustbins of history. All those people and lives. This doesn’t excuse the lack of discipline, but any oversight on advancing such tech needs to be balanced against the imminent nature of the threat.”

“Or not,” Molli countered. “It could be we’re creating tech that only jeopardizes our futures, and nothing ever arrives from space.”

“But what if it does?” Sally protested.

Ears lifted his wrist to note the time.

“That’s a great way to close, Sally and Bob,” Peter concluded. “Just one more question. We didn’t talk about warning systems in space or on the ground. Can you give us a few seconds on that?”

“This is another area of opportunity for market growth. These warning systems are a big topic, from satellite and planetary warning systems down to personal warning tech. It also touches on the array of control systems in place today and how to enhance them. Things like real-time monitoring and tracking of every individual on Earth through one centralized AI versus the disparate networks we have today. We don’t know what these aliens may look like, but those same systems we use for human tracking might be able to keep us apprised of where those little bastards are hiding on the planet. Okay to cover another time and day?” Bob inquired.

“Sure, another time.”

Peter closed the podcast, they thanked the Brokers, and exited towards the street.

“God, I can’t wait to get this stupid wig off my head!” Molli grumbled, stepping out of the building and onto the sidewalk. She then scanned the street. “Hey, I still don’t see my buds.”

“Watch out!” Ears yelled as a car screamed towards them.

They crouched in the alcove of the building as the vehicle hit the curb and smashed into a light pole. Its carbon fiber hood bent like a spring, snapped off, and flew high in the air, crashing close by them in the street.

“Let’s get out of here!” Peter screamed.

They sprinted down the block towards their parked car. Molli was in the lead.

“Peter,” she cried. “Grab the fob and open the door!”

As he was running, Peter fumbled in his pants pocket for the fob and dropped it on the ground. He crouched to retrieve it, spinning his head back momentarily as his wig flew off. Two men were running after them, unusually fast.

“Freaking mechs!” he snarled, then continued running.

Ears and Molli reached the car before he did.

“Get in,” she shrieked. “They’re on your tail!”

Peter finally reached the car, sliding past the driver’s door that Ears pushed ajar. Molli had pressed the start button by the time he was in the driver’s seat.

“Slam it. They’re right there. Hit them if they get in the way!”

One of the men, dressed in a long gray overcoat, jumped on the roof of the parked car in front of them and was sliding down its back window and trunk towards them.

Peter had no choice but to squash the man’s legs between the two cars as the man slid forward. He then put the car in reverse, forcing the back tire to climb the curb, and shot into the otherwise empty street. As he did so, the second mech jumped toward their car and grabbed onto the back fender.

From the front passenger’s seat, Molli turned around to check if he was holding on.

“Faster, damn it!” she commanded. “He’s attached to the wheel well!”

Peter veered left and right but the mech’s arm strength outmatched the car’s inertia. The mech then lurched forward, breaking the glass at both right-side windows while holding onto the back door jamb. Ears ducked over to the driver’s side of the back seat.

While Peter continued swerving to loosen the mech’s grip, Molli’s martial sense heightened.

“That son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled, releasing her seat belt. “I’ll bet his face is not mech’d!”

She stuck her right arm out the window to give his face a backhand punch. He responded instantly by shifting his right hand’s grip from the door jamb to her forearm.

“Thought you’d try that!” she seethed, pulling him towards the front passenger door.

“Molli!” Ears shouted, “You’re bringing him closer!”

The mech used Molli’s arm as an anchor to push his left arm forward, allowing him to hook it around the front door jamb.

“Kick it!” she roared at Ears. “Kick his arm!”

Ears turned in his seat and pounded at the mech’s arm with his heels. He noticed flesh tear away on the first kick, exposing a metal infrastructure.

“Metal!” he screamed.

“A little closer, not the face!” Molli uttered beneath her breath as she pressed her back against the passenger-side dashboard.

Just as the man shot forward, Molli kicked at his throat.

He held on.

She snapped again at the same spot, and he still held. His grip was tearing at the flesh of her arm.

“That’s it!” she screamed in pain, placing a stomp kick to his left temple.

His grip loosened. She did it once more, and he fell to the street.

“Gone?” Peter cried as he sped down the street. “PD?”

“No!” Molli demanded. “Home! I need my buds.”

“But your arm!” Ears exclaimed.

“Damaged, but I can still move my fingers. We’ll ice it.”

Driving frantically to get out of downtown, Peter looked at her arm. It was already visibly bruising.

“Hospital?”

“No way in hell,” she winced painfully. “Ice. I need ice. Let’s get to protection.”

“Damn,” Peter shouted. “I turned on the nav. It shows Storrow and 90 are blocked, possibly shut down. I’ll reroute. Maybe Longfellow and take Broadway in. Ears, grab Molli’s phone, turn it on and see if you can get nav for another route.”

Ears found her purse stuffed beneath the driver’s seat. “Here it is. Crap Molli, it looks like it was already on!”

“Oh, my God. My damn purse did it again!”

“What?”

“My purse and frigging phone. It sometimes flips the switch from airplane mode to active. I should have checked!”

“I doubt that’s what clued them to our location,” Peter assured her. “We were each scanning the traffic, and I went a circuitous route to get us here. Oh crap. Your buds?”

“I didn’t see them when we came out. They were supposed to wait for us across the street. Jesus, I hope that doesn’t mean they’re hurt.”

“Don’t jump to that, Molli. Not yet. Peter, I’m not comfortable with the phone on. I think it gives us away, and they may still be tracking. I’d like to turn it off,” Ears requested.

“Do it,” Molli agreed, bending over at her right side. “Peter, you know this town. Wing-it through the city streets and hope we don’t meet-up with any armed groups. I doubt the Guard or other troops are on the ground yet.”

“Who knows what’s stopped traffic? Can’t believe it! Our Broker friends were so casual, as if this was just another day at the office. The whole city is dangerous now. We need to get back to Cambridge in one piece. Molli, tell us if the pain increases, and we’ll stop at a hospital,” Peter insisted.

“Oh, that’s no place of comfort at this stage, not with this violence. I’d rather sit in pain until the insanity subsides. It’s more the ribs than the arm. When he grabbed my arm, they got pressed against the seatback. Dumb luck it wasn’t the other side.”

“Re-broken?” Ears asked.

“Can’t tell. Everything on that side is in scorching pain. Shoulder, arm, ribs. Ears, I forgot to mention. Nice kicks. I’m sure that guy’s arm is not happy.”

“Nothing like you, Molli,” he observed. “I can’t believe he took what you dished out!”

“Four kicks, hard kicks. His neck was mostly mech. Never seen that extent of integration before.”

“At least you didn’t lose your wig,” Peter teased, trying to lighten things up.

“Shut up,” she responded, repositioning it atop her head. “Lot of good it did me. Peter, you lost your toupee while fleeing. Care to double back and retrieve it?"