by JC Ryan
Dekka and Telestra turned toward the voice. To their horror, Santosh stood next to a newly awakened Deszik, holding a weapon to his head.
Telestra shook violently, and Dekka grabbed her before she collapsed to the floor.
“Have you changed your mind, Dekka?” Viktor asked with a grin.
“No. I won’t do it.”
“Dekka, please—my son.” Telestra pleaded.
“Telestra, I cannot. This is beyond horrific. He murdered an innocent boy.”
“We are all reanimates.” She pleaded.
“No. He will only kill more people and turn them into soldiers as well. Is that what you want?”
“Dekka, this is my son. Please, save him,” she begged.
“Well, Dekka? What’s it going to be?” Viktor asked. “Last chance.”
Dekka saw Santosh tighten his grip in preparation to fire the weapon pointed at Deszik’s head. “Stop!” he yelled. “I’ll do it.”
“Good!” Viktor responded, waving in someone from the hallway. “Now that you’ve agreed to help me, you can start with these two—they’ve been dead longer,” he smirked, “but they are still fresh enough to go through the procedure.”
Telestra broke down in sobs as she watched the missing soldiers carry in two more people belonging to the outside world.
“These are from the boy’s village—they were searching the forest for him. There are more villages nearby with many more people.” Viktor looked pleased. “I am going to build an army of reanimated soldiers.”
Telestra and Dekka gasped in unison. “No!”
“Ligator was right. This will be a new race—a race of reanimates. You are about to witness the birth of the Re’an. We will be the most powerful race ever to inhabit this planet. And we will live forever.”
Chapter 7- He was my lover
115 years later
The 8th Cycle Compound, Grand Canyon, Arizona
A lanky man stood silently on the rocky ledge of the alcove formed by the canyon walls, watching the helicopter rise from the canyon floor and move away into the night. The top of the man’s head was bald, but blond hair dropped from the side of his head to his shoulders. His pale blue V-neck tunic and pants fit loosely and fluttered around him in the breeze. He squinted his blue eyes against the bright, strobing lights of the helicopter until they disappeared into the distance.
Turning, he moved carefully down the steep slope to the mound of rocks the men in the helicopter had piled over their dead companion, the one they called Robert. One by one he quickly removed the rocks, revealing the body beneath. He took a moment to gaze upon the tall, well-muscled body of Robert Cartwright. His brown curly hair was dirty with dust, and stiff with dried blood. He is strong and fit. An excellent specimen.
Gently but effortlessly, as if lifting a baby, he hoisted the body onto his shoulders, climbed the slope back to the ledge, and disappeared into the lift that would take him far underground to the installation buried in the depths of this remote canyon. Stepping off the lift into the featureless room, he approached the opposite wall. It had a slight sheen of brushed metal and was perfectly smooth; there were no flaws anywhere, nor any protrusions that would indicate an opening, and yet as he waved his palm over the wall at waist height, an opening appeared before him. The disguised sensor panel detected the chip in his hand that allowed him access to the secret, restricted lab of the facility.
Stepping through the entrance, he adjusted the weight of the body on his shoulders and entered a brightly lit white room. Everything was white; walls, ceiling, cabinets, shelves, counters—even the floor and sinks. White containers, their contents identified by white labels with a variety of colored lettering, were organized neatly on the shelves in the alcoves. Numerous hand-held instruments lay in their cradles on the counters, and several microscopes and other machines stood ready for use.
A desk and chair hovered at the far wall; several tables floated along the wall nearest him. He knew they all would adjust their position according to the height and need of the person using them.
“Ah, Korda, I see you have retrieved Robert’s body,” his mentor, Linkola, said as he entered the lab.
Linkola, a man of average height with a trim build, except for a slightly rounded belly, was more than a mentor to Korda—he was more like a father. Korda had been Linkola’s student and later became his assistant. Linkola’s wavy reddish-brown hair had dulled some over time and had flecks of white in it, but he was still a handsome man and a phenomenal scientist.
“Yes, I have. I believe we have enough time to reanimate him if that is what we decide to do.”
“Excellent! Let us see what we can do for him; shall we?” Linkola said pointing to the floating table.
Korda gently placed the body on the floating lab table as Linkola joined him to examine the head wound.
“The weapons these Eleventh Cycle people use are so primitive and destructive. I would have thought that over the past 72,000 years since our Eighth Cycle ended, the human race would have at least found better ways to resolve their differences other than killing each other,” Korda lamented.
Linkola reflected for a few moments on the events since Joshua Rossler, nicknamed JR and the Australian born geologist, Robert Cartwright first entered the Command and Control Center in search of information from the Eighth Cycle. Their discovery and subsequent entry into the compound was what triggered his own, Korda and Siasha’s awakening. He remembered how scared they were of the two strangers speaking a strange language. They were relieved when the two strangers left within a few hours. But the respite had been short-lived; within a few weeks the strangers were back and brought more of their people with them. Recording the strange language and feeding it through the language decoder program enabled them to understand what these odd people were saying and learn a little bit about them and their society.
“It worries me too,” Linkola replied. “What I have witnessed of their behavior since our awakening gives me no confidence in them. If anything, they have descended into savagery over the seventy-two millennia.”
“It’s frightening to think that all of our scientific knowledge has vanished. There have been no advancements, and the world seems to be much worse than it was when we left.” Korda said grimly.
“That might be so Korda, but I think we should not be too quick to form a final opinion. We have only seen a few of them so far; we can’t base our beliefs on what we have observed in the behavior of that person John Brideaux,” Linkola said. His thoughts turned briefly to the man whom they had seen pretend to be friends with Robert and his party and then betray them, killing Robert and shooting JR through the left hand and of the others in the lower right leg. He left them bleeding and tied up, to die in the facility.
“Well, I am just happy that they never became aware of our presence here. Can you imagine being in the hands of John Brideaux? It’s agonizing to think what he is going to do with the Beast.” Korda said.
Linkola nodded. “Judging by his behavior, I have no doubts that he has nothing but malicious intent.”
“I don’t know what the future holds for us,” Korda replied, “but I’m not sure I want to meet the people of the Eleventh Cycle.”
“We’ll have to wait and see about that Korda, at the moment I agree with you. I don’t have a desire to meet with them either,” Linkola said as he lifted Robert’s head slightly to get a better look at the back. “There’s no exit wound here, so the projectile is still lodged in his brain. We will need to remove it first.”
Korda nodded. “If his genetic makeup is such that we want him amongst us, at least we get to decide who he will be.”
“Agreed,” Linkola said as he pushed a button on the side of the table and took a step back to allow panels hidden underneath to slide out automatically and over Robert’s body, enclosing him in a glass-like sarcophagus. “Please let Siasha know that you have returned—we will need her expertise as well.”
Linkola adjusted a few settings on
the diagnostic panel and pushed a button. Different colored lights came alive in the sarcophagus and slowly started moving up and down its length.
Korda watched for a moment as the Dima-Scanner, Diagnostic Imaging Scanner, began to move across the body, shooting protons through it—a detailed, ghost-like hologram of Robert appeared above the sarcophagus. Linkola would have the full body scan completed before he returned with Siasha if he didn’t hurry. He nodded and left to find Siasha.
Moving through the familiar, deserted hallways, Korda felt an eeriness descend upon him. He was not accustomed to seeing them empty. Before the end, they had always been full of workers, colleagues who would greet him or smile as they passed each other.
He shivered as he remembered the fear that fell across their world when they realized someone had tampered with The Healer and it had escaped their control, turning against them, becoming ‘The Beast’ and killing all but the untouchables like himself, the reanimated.
He and Linkola had been the only two B’ran left at this installation. The others had been assigned to attack and seize control of the second installation on the other side of the planet.
It was quite by accident that they had discovered Siasha, a L’gundo woman who was held captive in the detention area. And a fortunate accident it was for her; by the time they found her she was weak from starvation and dehydration. If he and Linkola had not removed her from that cell and put her into the deep-sleep cycle, she would have died and been gone forever.
***
When Korda and Siasha entered the lab, Linkola had just started the diagnostic sequence on the PHS, the Proton Hydroxyl Scanner. The holographic double of Robert hung in the air to one side. Linkola had completed the full body scan and had already injected the glucose into the body so he could focus his examination on the brain.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Siasha,” he said as he pressed a button on the panel. They heard a slight hum as it activated the radio waves that would change the magnetic properties of the protons in the hydroxyl groups so they would get a better picture of the brain.
They joined him at the console and stared at the PHS screen as a digitized display of Robert’s brain took form.
“The Dima-Scanner shows his body to be quite healthy and in good physical shape. His heart is strong. Have a look while we wait for the PHS on his brain to finish. The genetic tests should complete momentarily as well.”
They turned to the holographic image of Robert hovering in mid-air.
“Mhh, strong skeleton, healthy bone structure, not much deterioration,” Korda muttered as he checked the readouts on the screen.
“Yes, and so is his cardiovascular system, arteries, and all his organs,” Siasha added.
“The genetic tests just completed,” Linkola said enthusiastically. Genetic makeup looks good…” suddenly he took a sharp, deep breath and then froze.
“What is it Linkola?” Korda asked. “What have you found?”
“He is a descendant of the X’ran people,” Linkola whispered in awe.
Korda looked closer at Robert and then back at Linkola. “Are you sure? It is believed they were all killed off during the third cataclysm.”
“Who are the X’ran?” Siasha inquired.
“They were a brave and intelligent people. Some believe all the ‘ran class people descended from them. They were extraordinarily strong, brilliant, and innovative, but they were also fierce warriors—even warmongers. From all accounts, they disappeared without a trace, as Korda mentioned, during the third cataclysm when the world was almost destroyed by the asteroids. That was about seventy-thousand years ago.”
Linkola sighed. “I was hoping we could reanimate him and use him, but I don’t want to take the chance. The X’ran were too vicious.”
“Wait, Linkola. Not so hasty.” Korda interjected. “Remember we decide who and what he is going to be, we only need his body to be strong and healthy; we control his mind—well, at least the memory we give him.”
Siasha nodded her agreement. “It’s that memory, which is going to determine who he will be. Besides we need more people; not only that, we need people who will be able to protect us from the B’ran.”
“You forget that although Korda and I are L’gundo sympathizers, we are still B’ran. We don’t know if any other B’ran exist anymore. For all we know they are non-existent now. If they were awakened, don’t you think they would have turned up here by now?” Linkola countered.
“We don’t know what is happening in the outside world Linkola, we can only hope the B’ran soldiers have been destroyed, but we won’t know until we can get to the L’gundo facility where their soldiers were sent and see for ourselves.” Siasha countered.
“I agree with her,” said Korda. “We should not ignore the possibility that the B’ran could still be out there—it would be better to be prepared.”
Linkola slowly nodded. “As much as I hate the idea of resurrecting a violent human being, I have to agree you might be right. So, who will he be?”
“I think we need a military person; someone who knows the strengths and weaknesses of this facility, and how it operates; someone who can think strategically and is capable of situational analysis and action,” Siasha said.
“A military person!” Korda exclaimed. “Have you lost your mind? They are the ones who unleashed The Beast that killed everyone! We can’t trust them!”
“Easy, Korda,” Linkola soothed, “Not all the soldiers were bad. Some of them still had minds of their own.”
“Only the Commanders and a few of the officers. Are you asking me to believe that a soldier of that rank would betray the B’ran as a L’gundo sympathizer?”
“If only we knew of one,” Linkola said.
“I do,” Siasha said softly. “He was my contact since I first joined the Liberty Movement.”
“Who?” Linkola asked.
“Tawndo.” Siasha said without hesitation.
Linkola looked stupefied. “Tawndo? As in Second-In-Command of the strongest military force on the planet during the Eighth Cycle, Tawndo?”
“Yes,” Siasha replied. “I knew him very well, he was my contact and… also my… friend. He told me everything about the B’ran.”
She paused and lowered her eyes. Korda and Linkola saw she had not told them everything. They remained quiet, and looked at her inquisitively, waiting for her to continue.
Then in a low whisper, she said, “He was my lover, we had a child—a son.”
Chapter 8- Formerly known as Robert Cartwright
“The projectile penetrated the head at this point,” Siasha pointed to a red circle between the eyes of the hologram. At a touch of a button on the panel, the head of the hologram divided into two halves along the trajectory of the damage.
Tracing the path of the bullet with a red line on one half of the display she indicated the areas of damage. “It traveled along this route and became lodged here,” Siasha indicated an area near the back of the head where the red line ended. “The damage to the areas the projectile passed through is extensive but repairable.”
Had Robert been able to see what they were looking at, he would have been alarmed to see that John Brideaux’s bullet had passed through and, by Eleventh Cycle medical terminology, destroyed his sinus cavity, prefrontal cortex, hypothalamus, thalamus, corpus callosum, and lodged in the parietal Lobe.
“Very well,” Linkola said. “Let’s get started.”
Siasha glanced at the hovering instrument tray. Eiser, extensor tip, separator, grips, microchip, micro-sealer, and sealer were all in place—they were ready.
“Alright. I will handle the opening, damage repair, and closing. You will complete the implant process and revival,” she instructed.
“Very good. Korda is an able assistant and will help as needed.”
“Set up the IV and hand me the Eiser, please.”
Korda handed the surgical tool to Siasha and watched with fascination as she used its ultra-fine beam to cut throug
h the bone of Robert’s forehead and expose the tissue beneath.
Linkola inserted a needle into a vein in Roberts left arm. “IV ready.”
“I need the extensor tip now, please,” Siasha requested.
Korda quickly handed it over; Siasha attached it to the Eiser with an efficient snap and inserted it into the wound. The extensor tip, thin as a needle, would electronically detect the damaged cells and use its primary directed heat beam to cut them away and vaporize them. A secondary stimulator beam would stimulate cell growth in the area cleared of damaged cells. When the process was complete, there would be no difference between the new cells and the original cells. It would be as if the damage never happened.
Siasha worked quickly but carefully, and in no time, announced, “The repairs are complete.” She picked up the Sealer and held it over the wound, stimulating the cells of the skin to regenerate and cover the wound, sealing it up.
“I’ll open the skull for the implantation and then turn the surgery over to you Linkola.”
“Very good,” he acknowledged.
Siasha completed sealing the wound on the forehead and moved to the top left side of Robert’s head and made an incision, removing a circular section of the skull bone. Then she stepped aside.
As Linkola took Siasha’s place beside the table, it automatically adjusted to the proper height for him to work. Korda handed him the separator tool when he asked for it, then he gently parted a few folds of tissues beneath the incision and worked his way deep into the central sulcus of the brain.
He set the ‘lock’ feature on the separator and, holding it in one hand, reached with small tweezer-like grips to pick up the miniature chip that he had placed on the instrument tray.
Slowly and carefully Linkola placed the tiny chip near the bottom of the central sulcus. “Inject the nanites,” he ordered and watched as Siasha connected a small tube to the IV catheter and depressed the plunger.
“Nanites injected and on the way,” she reported, knowing that they would quickly repair and restore all damage to the organs and cells caused by the decay that commenced from the moment of death.