“What files am I carrying in stemlink memory that will prove our innocence?” she asked, dismissing his question.
“None,” he replied. “That was a lie.”
Alexia took a deep breath and looked at the man who up until recently, had been her hero and role model. He was wearing a digger’s suit instead of the lab uniform she had always seen him in. The Director looked shorter than he did before. And old and tired. Then she asked “was there a moment in my life when you didn’t lie to me?”
“I’m sorry, Alexia,” he said with honesty in his voice. “Yes, I did lie about a lot of things but it was for the Program. For the greater good.”
“What greater good?” she asked, her voice breaking. Irked at herself for giving out to her emotions, she sighed but just remembering what she had seen in the underground sanatorium caused mixed feelings of disgust and betrayal directed at the man who, for years, she had honestly thought of as her father.
“The continuation of the human ra-“
“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Please speak the truth for once.”
The former Director of Control Administration crossed his arms and looked away then said “I wish I could have talked to you before Sophia did what she did. There’s just so much to discuss.”
“How can I trust anything you have to say anymore? I’ve seen it all for myself.”
“No,” Ethan said. “Not all. You have seen much but without context. I want you to understand how important the Program is, despite its faults.”
“I’ve seen the failed test subjects. All those poor people, their lives ruined beyond repair.”
“You cannot begin to imagine how much it pains me that had to happen,” Ethan said, for an instant his voice betraying distress. “But it was all for the greater good. It was all for my daughter.”
“Don’t put that on me,” Alexia spat back, surprising herself when she found the strength to confront him. “What do I have to do with their suffering?”
“You’re my stepdaughter, Alexia” Ethan said and she noticed his eyes were tearing up. “I mean my daughter. My Aurora.”
Alexia stood there, disturbed, as her mind struggled to make sense of what Ethan had just said. She looked down and whispered what does that mean. Aurora what’s going on?
After a few seconds, Aurora whispered I don’t know. I have no idea what he means.
“What? What do you mean?” Alexia demanded as anger made way for confusion.
“You have no idea how much I hate myself,” Ethan said as tears rolled down his face. “For having to put them all through the encoding process, yourself included, Alexia. You have no idea…” he added, his voice trembling.
“What encoding?” Alexia asked.
“The encoding necessary to build a suitable Controller. To create Aurora. But it was all worth it when she was born. And everything is going to be alright now that she has been shaped to perfection.”
Encoding? I don’t-… Aurora whispered.
“Will you make sense already? Explain!”
Ethan looked at her and said “I can’t. We’ve just ran out of time.” Then he motioned behind her. Alexia turned around and saw the elevator opened with Solis, Diaz and Stone walking out, their weapons pointed at them.
“No, stop,” Ethan screamed then walked in front of Alexia to shield her.
“You’re done, Sommers,” Solis said, “hand over the computer you’re using to control the daemon.”
Ethan kept his arms extended and Alexia noticed he was taking steps back to put distance between them and the Citpol officers. As he pushed back, Alexia sheepishly took steps to stay behind him. Still disturbed and struggling to figure out what he meant.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Ethan spat back. “The Troika doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
“I don’t care,” Solis barked. “Stop and hand over the computer or else we’re going to shoot it off your arm.”
After taking some more steps back, Alexia had to stop when she hit something solid with her heel. She looked down to see what it was and found the base of the pedestal under the chrome sphere. When she looked back up, Ethan was turning around.
“Forgive me,” he whispered and faster than she could react to, he grabbed the patchwork shirt by the chest, lifting her off her feet and pushing her back, away from him and onto the floating chrome sphere.
Alexia! her sister’s scream echoed in her mind.
There was a searing heat covering her entire body and her vision went pitch black in the instant after the exotic matter composing the chrome sphere sucked her in.
And at that moment, Alexia Sommers ceased to exist.
Aurora
AN INSTANT AFTER I see Alexia being swallowed by the strangeness of the chrome sphere, I find myself in an even stranger place. I am lying on my back on an endless crystalline field and above me, a night sky littered with countless stars extends far into the distance beyond a point my eyes fail to register. My eyes. I stand up then look around and a sense of déjà vu disturbs me. I can feel the air pass through my lungs as I breathe, the subtle minute functions of a body made obvious by the previous absence of one. I look down and see myself wearing the white and blue lab uniform. This is not merely a constructed actor. Then I notice the weight in front of my eyes. Absentmindedly I reach for it and find a pair of blue framed glasses I pull away, immediately blurring my sight. Disturbed at the implications, I touch the back of my neck and just as I feel the cold titanium piece of the stemlink cover on my fingertips, I hear an unfamiliar voice away in the distance.
“Aurora, welcome,” his voice has a certain unfamiliar cadence to it. “You’re finally here, I’m so glad you made it.”
I turn to the side and I put the glasses back on to see a man. He appears to be in his late fifties and wears an airtight suit that reminds me of the one worn by Alexia back in Francisco Citadel except for a helmet. He smiles warmly at me for some reason.
“Are you the gestalt?” I stupidly ask, picking one question out of the dozens that come to mind. Soon after I realize the absurdity of it.
“Gestalt? What the hell is that? I bet Ethan came up with the name. He always had such limited imagination the poor guy,” he says then chuckles and walks towards me. I am alarmed by the surrealism of the scene and take a step back away from him.
“Stay away,” I warn him, trying to hide how disturbed I am. He stops and his smile turns to a concerned expression. I can see him more clearly now. His grey hair is neatly combed in a way I’ve never seen before above a solemn, wrinkled face that makes him look wise. “Who are you and where are we?” I try again.
“I am an old friend of your father’s. He entrusted me with passing valuable information to you,” he says.
“My father?” I ask, recalling the words of the man who just murdered my sister. “You mean Ethan Sommers?”
“That’s right. My name is Mikhail Novak and if any of this is to make any sense, I suggest you think of me as the first Controller.”
“The first Controller? You’re too old, the Program has only been around for a little over a decade.”
“Ah yes,” he says, crossing his arms to his chest then looking down and running his index and thumb on his chin. “Controller was such a strange way for Ethan to name us, beings like you and I.”
“Listen carefully, Mikhail Novak,” I hear myself saying as the anger overrides fear. “My sister has just been murdered and I am not in a mood to decrypt your bullshit. You will tell me where we are and how I got here right now.”
The old man chuckles and walks closer to me. I stand my ground but don’t have a choice but to let them come near.
“Ethan warned me you would be short on patience,” he says, standing close by. I now notice he’s taller than me and I instinctively think of ways to defend myself against him. “But very well. I call this place the buffer. If you are here, then it means Alexia walked through the Celestial Gateway.”
“Ethan pushed her into
the portal, unwillingly,” I say, recalling that final instant when deep inside her, a primal, overwhelming fear took ahold of her mind. The moment she knew she was dying. “An instant later I was here.”
“I knew it would be challenging for Alexia to accept her role as the proverbial sacrifice. And yet it had to be done. You must ensure it was not in vain.”
“Her sacrifice? You’re just like him,” I spit out. “He used and discarded human lives for his own sick experiments then tried to convince the victims they were being sacrificed for some greater good.”
“And I see he failed,” he says then looks down with a sigh. “What greater good is there than the continuation of the human race?”
“By controlling citadels? It can be done by humans, we’re not even that critical to their survival.”
“No, something far more important than that. Perhaps I can clarify what Ethan so miserably failed to convey,” he says. Then out of nowhere, I feel meld probes reaching into my mind. He appears to be initiating a convergence session. It feels new and familiar at the same time.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping away from him. He uncrosses his arms and our eyes meet, intensifying the violating sensation of his mind forcing its way into mine.
“I believe Ethan called this a convergence event. Again, he doesn’t have much of a creative imagination,” he says, walking towards me. Closing the gap. Defeating my mental defenses. Forcing his way in.
“Why?” Is all I can muster before my senses begin to fail me.
“I have much to show you and this will make it easy. Rather than stand here and talk for days, you shall see the world as I saw it in the last few days I was alive,” he explains then our minds become as one.
Mikhail
THE VIEW FROM the hotel room balcony was amazing. It was the first time in his life Mikhail had been to the city of Los Angeles. Or anywhere else in the United States for that matter. Just hours ago he had been flown in from home back in Vasylkiv and now he was standing there, admiring the breathtaking panorama that included the internationally recognized Hollywood sign, the iconic Santa Monica Mountains and far away to the west, the vast blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. The luxurious suite seemed to be too expensive to house an ordinary test pilot but then again ever since his secretive hosts had approached him, he had quickly come to realize the staggering amounts of resources they had access to.
The sun was setting beyond the mountains and it was time for Mikhail to attend his dinner invitation and finally meet his generous benefactors in person. Pleased by the beautiful view, he stepped back inside the room and examined the gala suit that had been left there while he was showering. As a veteran of the Ukrainian Air Force, he felt it should be more fitting to wear the formal uniform of the armed forces from his homeland. It was however, not a very advisable thing to do while on American soil given the ongoing conflict between the coalition of western powers and the Holy Russian Empire. Ever since he had landed on what some countrymen would consider enemy territory, he had done his best to hide his eastern European accent but it had been in vain as time and again at the airport and hotel, lobby attendants had given him the inquisitive looks reserved for those who could be potential spies.
Chuckling, he took off the bathrobe and put on the exquisite suit. The navy blue slacks were complemented well by the polished pair of black oxfords. Then he put on the light blue shirt and the navy blazer and stood up to see the result in the mirror just to realize his benefactors had seen for him to wear something that closely resembled the familiar uniform while staying low key. Again he combed his grey hair and as he ran his hand on his wrinkled face, he once more wondered what these people wanted to do with an old retired test pilot with his best years far behind him. Before he left the room, he pocketed his smartphone and the small wallet with pictures he placed in the shirt’s front pocket.
Mikhail Novak made his way down the hotel tower to the lower floors where the restaurant was. All around him, the opulence Americans were so infamous for displaying surrounded him and he wondered if the war escalated closer there how much of a waste it would be if it all the vain luxury was glassed down by hydrogen bomb. Eventually he arrived at the hotel lobby and a sign on the wall directed him to the restaurant. Once there, the attendant took his name and walked him to the reserved table. Without asking, someone else brought a bottle of wine and placed the ice bucket on a stand next to him. He grabbed the bottle and read the name on the label which was meaningless for a man who had gotten his spirits fix out of cheap vodka but still decided it would be good to taste it while he waited for his benefactors to show up. There was a finely crafted glass upside down on his side of the table and so he poured some of it. The taste was just as meaningless as the wine’s name. But it was good enough to numb the mind down and keep the vain laughter of those around him, untouched by the realities of war, from getting to him.
“Major Novak,” Mikhail heard on the side. He stood up and saw a short, stocky Asian man accompanied by a taller brown skinned woman he could only guess was of Hispanic descent. His military training crept up from some long forgotten valley in his mind and soon it was evident he was a VIP and the woman, judging from her athletic build and strangely defiant eyes, his security detail.
“Good evening, sir,” Mikhail said, reaching for the man’s puffy hand to shake it. “I would return the greeting but I am afraid I still don’t know your name.”
“Oh, let’s not worry about such formalities for now,” the man said as he sat down and placed the silky cloth napkin on his knees. Mikhail attempted to shake the woman’s hand too but she deliberately ignored the gesture and sat down next to the man in silence. Mikhail awkwardly pulled away his failed attempt at a handshake and sat down. He grabbed his napkin and placed it on his lap too as to not fall behind in his display of manners.
“Major, let me personally welcome you to the United States of America,” the man said with a wide grin. He then reached for the bottle and poured some of the expensive liquor. The woman appeared uninterested in it.
“Well, thank you, unknown person,” Mikhail said. “Although back home some would call your country the capital of the North Atlantic Empire.”
“Meh,” the man muttered. “Empire this, empire that. Let’s leave the politics of war to the Neanderthals with the phallic symbols on their shoulders,” he said in a somewhat flamboyant way that caught Mikhail off-guard. “No offense, of course,” he added, nodding at his bodyguard then Mikhail.
At that moment, a waitress brought thick large books Mikhail realized were the menus. Each one of them took one but he put it down as his hosts browsed for dinner selections.
“At the risk of sounding like an ingrate, given how well I have been treated, I must ask if you could explain who you are and what you want from me,” Mikhail said, letting his voice transition to the tone reserved for command. He was starting to grow annoyed by the shady secretive nonsense.
“Of course, Major. We owe you as much,” the man said and put down his menu. “Although in order for me to fully explain matters to you, I must urge you to first sign a non-disclosure agreement. For both our protections.”
Mikhail chuckled and placed his arms on the table, crossing his fingers. “You people really don’t care about money do you? What if I just walked right now? After all the money you’ve spent bringing me here on a private jet, bypassing visa registration?”
“Well, no one needs to know you’re here,” the man said. “And yes, the jet, the hotel and even this dinner are an investment. For now all I can say is you are a unique individual and we are in need of your test piloting experience for a highly classified project.”
“I see,” Mikhail said. “Well, let me put it this way. I have been retired for almost 20 years now. I have not piloted any aircraft in that time and, as embarrassingly as it is, I am afraid I must admit my eyesight and muscle coordination are not what they used to be.”
“Nonetheless, Major. You can rest assured you would be an int
egral part of this project.”
“Sir, I am afraid you want to send me on a suicide mission,” Mikhail said, looking at the stranger in the eyes. His reaction was exactly what he expected, including a clumsy attempt at hiding his surprise.
“Major, what makes you think that?” the man asked with a slightly outraged tone.
“All my family is dead. As a test pilot, I am useless. I am illegally in this country and no one knows I’m here,” he said as dead serious as he could. “And this dinner frankly feels more like a last supper.”
The two hosts appeared to think of how to react and looked at each other for a second, before the waitress interrupted the scene.
“Are we ready?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“We are,” the man replied. “I’ll take the duck risotto.”
“And for the lady?”
“Same,” the bodyguard said, never taking her eyes off Mikhail.
“And for the gentleman?” she asked, facing him.
“Sounds like it’s a popular dish around here so I’ll have the same too.”
“Very well,” she said then picked up the menus and left.
“Major,” the man said. “A suicide mission would be an inappropriate name for-“
“Save it,” Mikhail interrupted. “Just tell me more about it.”
The man did not expect the comment so he appeared to take a few seconds to process Mikhail did not in fact mind a suicide mission. “I wish I could, but you must sign the papers first.”
“Alright. Show them to me.”
The man nodded at the woman and she procured a folder from her briefcase and handed it to Mikhail along with an expensive looking fountain pen. He took the items from her hand, placed them on the table then opened the folder, found the signature line at the end and stamped it with his name without reading a single line. The Asian man raised an eyebrow and observed as he returned the documents to the bodyguard.
Gestalt Prime Page 28