by Jerry Ahern
“The Americans,” Varakov continued, “had this serum and we did not. Utilizing the pressurized cargo bays of the space shuttles, it was your own Dr. Chambers, your de facto President, who was largely responsible for the plan. With deep space travel within reach, awaiting only technological breakthroughs in propulsion or funding level in-creases, an international corps of astronaut train-ees was assembled, of all races, from all nations of the NATO, SEATO and Pan American Alli-ances—all nations of the world except the Soviet Union and The Warsaw Pact nations. They were trained arduously—one hundred twenty of the finest and best, the healthiest and brightest, the most skilled and most talented. They were never told their other, possible, secret use.”
Varakov stood up and began to pace, Rourke watching the man as he moved—his feet must have been a source of agony, but it was a soldier’s disease, Rourke reflected.
“At times of international crisis, what were called Eden Project drills were held, the partici-pants never aware. The space shuttle fleet was manned with its occupants and their gear, the in-jections given all aboard except the flight crews. They were never launched, until The Night of The War. It was gambled that always five of the six shuttle craft would be on the ground and at least four functionally ready. All six were on the ground, all six ready because of the protracted nature of the crisis. One hundred twenty souls, plus the six, three-man crews. A cargo bay that held microfilm of all the world’s greatest learning, greatest literature, sound libraries of music, video libraries detailing medical techniques, construc-tion techniques, cryogenically frozen embryonic animals and fish and birds—an Ark. That is the Eden Project. And,” Varakov turned to stare at John Rourke—Rourke watching the man’s dark eyes, the sadness there, “these ships were launched before the missiles destroyed the Kennedy Space Center. They cleared our radar—presumably they are out there, on an elliptical orbit that will take them to the very edge of the solar system and then return them to Earth in five hundred and two years. In Colorado, at this moment, Rozhdestvenskiy and his KGB Elite Corps prepare themsel-ves for the cryogenic sleep, to awaken in five hundred years and destroy the Eden Project when it returns. What I offer you, Dr. John Rourke, is the hope that you and your wife and children will survive this final holocaust. Twelve of the Ameri-can cryogenic sleep chambers were taken from an underground laboratory in Texas. Along with these, dozens of jars—we know not exactly how many—of the cryogenic serum that prevents the brain death of the subject. Go to Colorado, steal back this serum—what you need for your family and yourself and your friend Rubenstein. And for Natalia—I beg that.
“Steal however many of the cryogenic chambers you will need, however many this airtight Retreat Natalia speaks of will support. Save yourself, save Natalia, save your family—perhaps these men as well,” and he gestured toward Vladov, the Soviet Special Forces captain. “But above all, lest the devil himself should inherit the Earth, destroy The Womb, rob Rozhdestvenskiy of the cryogenic se-rum—otherwise,” and General Ishmael Varakov sank heavily to the bench, once again holding the girl—Catherine—by the hand, “otherwise, all the light of humanity will be extinguished in evil for-ever.”
John Rourke had no words to speak.
-end
FB2 document info
Document ID: ea898d9e-1530-442c-8e14-0458e0da2069
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 20.12.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.10, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Jerry Ahern
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