by S. L. Dunn
Vengelis considered her words for a long moment as he scrutinized her face for honesty. He raised his attention to the Vatruvian cell on the projector screen. His body language was perplexing, and his face looked as though he was in nearly as much confusion as Kristen—which was no easy feat.
“Vatruvian cell . . . ?” he muttered.
Kristen was at a loss for words. She felt separated from the rest of the ballroom, let alone her life five minutes previous. His hesitation concerned her, made him more dangerous and unpredictable. Perhaps she would be the next person thrown across the ballroom. For what felt like an eternity, Kristen stood perfectly still, afraid to even move and remind him of her presence. The three-dimensional Vatruvian cell rotated on the screen, silently captivating his total attention. The sight of it enraptured him, as though the image held dominion over his mind.
At last Kristen could take the silence no longer. “Who are you?”
“I already told you my name.” His eyes did not lift from the projection screen. “What is that?”
“A Vatruvian cell. That one in particular is a bacterium. Well, it looks like a normal bacterium but it’s really a—”
“Machine,” Vengelis said.
Kristen paused in surprise. “A machine? I don’t know if I would call it that, but it’s a cell we constructed in a laboratory.”
Vengelis slowly drew his attention away from the screen and turned to Kristen with an attentive expression. “You created this . . . this cell?”
“Among others, yes.”
“How could you possibly be capable . . .” Vengelis murmured to himself, but quickly silenced his own tongue. “How? How did you create it?”
Kristen shrugged. “Lots of research. Genetic engineering and computer programs mostly.”
“And you’re familiar with its conception? You understand how it operates?”
“Certainly.”
Vengelis pulled a strange contraption with a large screen out of his pocket and began to operate it in a manner not unlike a tablet or cell phone. For a fleeting panic-stricken moment Kristen thought it might be a bomb, but quickly realized it was not. After a few adjustments, he handed the device to Kristen.
“What is this?” Kristen asked, taking the contraption but keeping her attention on him. The bizarre device now in her hands was not helping her understanding of what he might be. He had referred to himself as God to the security guards, and yet he was using a technological device. That seemed paradoxical and suspicious to her—Kristen doubted gods required touch screens.
“Read. It’s been translated to English,” Vengelis said. “I will provide you with no predisposed impression. Read it, and then you can tell me what it is.”
Kristen looked at the screen, her brow furrowing at once, as she read through the familiar yet foreign sentences.
Operation Felix Rises
Nerol, Pral; Trace, Argos; Loh, Cintha; et al.
Our research aims to investigate the complex tissue structuring potential of the recently discovered Felix cell. The Felix cell is a highly anomalous artificial form that mirrors the physiology and structure of a biological cell. Recombinant Felix cells were imbued with Primus genetic sequences with the intention of producing a synthetically derived Primus entity. Potential alterations of complex muscular-skeletal system physical traits resulting from the aberrant and anatomically enhanced Felix cells are unknown, but likely to match the Primus genetic sequences used as templates. It is predicted that the Felixes will exhibit Sejero traits, though to what degree is currently unknown.
Kristen Jordan’s brilliant mind began moving a mile a minute. So much could be inferred from the single paragraph that she had to slow herself and read it again very carefully. She forced herself to read it again and again, trying to commit as many things as she could to memory.
At last she looked up and squinted warily at Vengelis. The cogs of her intellect were beginning to pull her out of the belief that perceived him as some sort of god. Whatever he was, he was not a god. He was trying to appear as such, but he was not. Whoever this Vengelis was, his origin was clearly based in knowledge, in science. Kristen held the proof of it in her hands, though she was uncertain if this revelation helped her plight in any way.
“Well?” Vengelis asked, barely able to hide that he was breathing fast in anticipation.
Kristen shook her head. “Well, what?”
“Can you help me?”
“Help you?” Kristen asked. “In what sense?”
“Do you understand what Felix technology is?”
“Yes. I’m fairly certain this Felix cell that”—Kristen glanced at the screen—“Pral Nerol mentions, is the same thing as Vatruvian cell technology, though I could be wrong.”
“Unbelievable,” Vengelis said. “When was it created?”
“Umm. About a year ago now.”
“Is anyone else here familiar with the technology?” Vengelis asked sharply.
Kristen looked to the audience pushing against the far end of the ballroom. Some men were heaving and shoving at the barred doors. If they were in her research lab uptown someone might be able to contribute, but she certainly was not going to endanger anyone she knew. Kristen turned and saw the inert body of Professor Vatruvia at the rear of the stage and forced herself to look away at once. It would be cruel to invite anyone else into this predicament.
Kristen shook her head.
Most of the eyes in the ballroom were watching them on the stage, but she felt in a secluded world, encompassed only by Vengelis and the threat of his power. He had thrown a grown man hundreds of feet. Bullets had deflected against his chest and face and fallen to the stage like nothing at all. Kristen was mentally sprinting through any and all logical explanations, but coming up with absolutely nothing to explain what she had just witnessed.
“You,” Vengelis said to the hotel manager still curled on the stage at his feet. Vengelis nudged him pitilessly with his foot. “The broadcast that’s playing on the billboards outside. Chicago. Can you get it to play on this screen in here?”
“I-I don’t know,” the man wheezed.
“Let me reword it. I want the footage of Chicago playing on that screen. Now.”
The man scrambled to his feet and Kristen stepped out of the way, allowing him to the podium. She felt as though she and the manager were being held at gunpoint; though in truth they were being held by something worse—something evidently impervious to guns.
Vengelis turned to Kristen. “Can you tell me anything about what you just read.”
“Well,” Kristen spoke slowly, “assuming it is the same as the Vatruvian technology I know, that abstract glossed over a dozen dissertations and several thousand pages worth of content. That aside, I am familiar with the subject.”
Whoever wrote the report she held in her hands clearly had a greater grasp of Vatruvian cell technology then she did. Even in the brief introduction to the article, it was obvious the researchers were beyond the stage of Professor Vatruvia’s team. However, that did not mean Kristen failed to understand what she read. She had been able to surmise more than a little bit of information from the loaded sentences.
Three particular references, the only true variables that differed from basic Vatruvian cell technology, had caught Kristen’s eye: Felix, Primus, and Sejero traits.
Felix was clearly interchangeable with Vatruvian. If these Vatruvian, or Felix, replicate entities were created using people like Vengelis as genetic templates, Vengelis and his people thus had to be biological entities: a species known as Primus. That fact was irrefutable. Just as the Vatruvian mice in their cages uptown had been created using biological genetics as a template, so too must any Vatruvian identity. Beyond the obviously shattered ethical boundaries brought up in the scientific summary written by a one Pral Nerol, there was one question that stood out above all others to Kristen. There was one thing alone she did not understand, and therefore the crux of her remaining confusion.
“What are Sejero traits?” Kristen a
sked.
Vengelis shifted and failed to hide the surprise at being asked the question so directly. “I need you to figure out what everything else means. The Felixes are what concern me. I have no questions about Sejero genetics, they are irrelevant.”
“Sejero genetics?” Kristen’s gaze narrowed. “What does that mean? The article already made reference to Primus genetics. I’m assuming that is what you call yourself, a Primus?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then what are Sejero genetics?”
Vengelis visibly thought over the question, and Kristen recognized at once that she had pinpointed something he did not want her to know. He was staring at her uncertainly when the large vaulted windows overlooking Times Square suddenly crashed down on the ballroom floor. Kristen turned to the clatter and watched with blank dismay as two gigantic men flew into the room. They were wearing the similar strange attire as Vengelis, and greeted the young man who had at first introduced himself to her as emperor with dramatic salutes. Kristen was immediately unsure which attributes were more terrifying, the fact that these beastly things could fly, or their gargantuan size and unnatural muscle. They each seemed to be nine feet tall, and more muscle bound than the bulkiest body builder Kristen had ever seen. They would have looked like grizzly bears standing on hind legs were it not for their humanlike faces.
The ballroom was roused into a tantrum anew at the sight of the two grotesque goliaths. Vengelis evidently seemed unbothered with the uproar for the moment. He held a commanding hand up to the behemoths, indicating for them to wait, and turned to Kristen.
“If you try to run away again, I will kill every person in this room, and you last. You are mine now.”
Kristen could barely hear him. She felt a renewed fainting wave splash over her as she gawked at the two giants standing by the shattered windows. “What the hell is going on?” she mumbled as Vengelis turned away from her and approached the giants, his face stern.
“Grazil-ta liriko Shicago?” Vengelis called out to them.
Kristen looked up, startled by his abrupt switch to a language she had never heard.
The two giants each nodded, and Vengelis looked satisfied.
“Pezca rez iliam ta. Rakool fahresk.” Vengelis beckoned them with a finger, and paced back to Kristen. The two lumbering giants followed him across the ballroom, their footfalls shaking the panels beneath her soles. She thought their faces were wild and feral where Vengelis’s was regal and composed. Vengelis seemed pleased by her queasy reaction. “Kristen Jordan, I would like you to meet Lord General Alegant Hoff and Royal Guard Krell Darien.”
Kristen’s lips were as white as paper. She said nothing, for fear of throwing up if she opened her mouth even slightly.
“We’re going to make this very simple for you, Kristen. These two soldiers you see here are what attacked the city of Chicago. They do not feel even a semblance of compassion or remorse for your people. To them, their actions in Chicago were equivalent to stepping on an anthill, nothing more. At my slightest whim, they will destroy another city in minutes. You, Kristen Jordan, will help me with what I need, right here and right now. If you do so, these two won’t have to destroy this city, or others. All I ask is for your cooperation. It is as Madison here said: all I’m asking for is compliance. That is the truth, and it seems perfectly fair to me. Does it seem fair to you?”
Kristen nodded her head a quarter inch, still captivated by the sheer size of the two giants. Even though they were not standing on the stage, they were still at her eye level.
“Good.” Vengelis turned back to the giants and waved them to the window. “Jinrak ezkeesh lorr mischka.”
Both of the monsters turned and sprinted across the ballroom, the large chandeliers swaying and chiming from their heavy steps. They then leapt straight out of the windows into the open air, and instead of falling down to the street, ascended upward past the window frame.
“They . . . you . . . fly?” Kristen mumbled.
“Yes. But that is just one facet of our power. Sejero power. However, it isn’t my wish to talk about Sejero genetics, I am here to discuss Felixes.”
“Genetics allow you to fly, allow those giants to fly? That’s not possible.”
Vengelis snapped his fingers in front of Kristen’s face and her head started violently. “I am not here to argue possibilities or impossibilities with you. We need to talk about the Felixes.”
“You actually created them?” Kristen said, her pale lips barely moving and her attention still on the empty window frames. “Vatruvian replicates based off your own genetics?”
Vengelis nodded gravely.
“Evidently, wherever you come from doesn’t place much stock in morality.”
“Evidently.” Vengelis nodded with a trace of sorrow. “But now it is up to me to deal with them.”
Kristen thought about the glowing blue eyes of the mice in their cages. It was going to require a lot of insight and speculation to shed any light on the Felix replicates mentioned in the report he had given her. She thought back to Cara William’s stress tests of the Vatruvian cells.
“The Felixes are resilient, strong,” Kristen ventured. “More powerful than you.”
Vengelis turned up to the projection screen, his eyes looking heavy. “Don’t speak to me of power.”
Kristen turned to where he was looking and saw that it depicted what was happening in Chicago. She forced herself to look away at once; it was too terrible and overwhelming. The hotel manager had evidently been successful in turning on the news broadcast, but he now lay wheezing on the stage. The giants had been too much for him.
“You did that?”
“Yes,” Vengelis said at once. “The two soldiers you just met did, under my command.”
“Why?”
“Simple, really. Submission. I gave the order so the scientists here would help me, though I never could have imagined Felix technology would actually exist here. In a sense I’m reeling as much as you are.”
“Are they strong? These Felix replicates?” Kristen asked quietly.
“Yes. Incomprehensibly.” Vengelis sighed as he watched the news report of Chicago with an expression that conveyed a hint of being overwhelmed himself.
“And their eyes?”
Vengelis froze and she noticed his chest constrict. “Their eyes . . . you know of their eyes? How?”
“I’ve seen them,” Kristen said. “Though not on the face of a human. The man who you just killed—my boss—created Vatruvian mice.”
“Mice . . .” Vengelis trailed off.
From beyond the empty windows a series of deep resonant clanging sounds echoed from far off, and the hint of a distant crowd’s high-pitched roar drifted faintly in the wind. Kristen turned for a moment to the windows and back to Vengelis. On the screen overhead, a leaning skyscraper in Chicago at last fell to its side, and the audience in the ballroom momentarily transitioned from whimpers to wails.
Vengelis roared for them to be silent, never taking his gaze off Kristen. “I have told my two men to destroy any bridges leading off this island so we can have all the time in the world for our discussion. With one word from me, they will shift from simply toying with your people to outright massacring them. Millions of people can die at your whim, right here and right now. Or you can do as I tell you and ensure that every one of them stays safe and sound and protected from my men.”
Kristen’s nostrils flared, and she nearly responded hotly, but quickly composed herself and tried to respond as lucidly as possible. “So what is it exactly that you are asking of me?”
“Asking of you?” Vengelis raised his eyebrows. “I am not asking you to do anything. I am ordering you to show me how to defeat these Felix machines.”
Kristen found herself unable to respond she was so afraid. Try as she could to stay calm, panic was rising in her stomach. How could she possibly describe how to destroy something she knew nothing about? She knew the genetics and molecular construction of
Vatruvian cells, not how to kill a Vatruvian entity replicated off of an enigma that was obviously beyond the grasp of modern science.
Vengelis was looking at her with unmistakable hope, which Kristen knew was not good, for she now understood his question. Kristen also knew that—with Professor Vatruvia dead on the stage—she was the only person capable of answering it. And she knew she would not be able to.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Lord General and Royal Guard
The sun reflected against their Imperial First Class armor and shimmered off the buildings below, the noon radiance contradicting the dark nature of their charge. Hoff and Darien reached the last skyscraper lining the southern tip of Manhattan, and before them the end of the city met with the swelling gray waters of an open bay. On the banks surrounding the bastion of skyscrapers on the narrow city-island, dense populations extended as far as the eye could see. Where earlier in the morning the two soldiers had embraced boundless woodlands and rolling hills and fields, now they were witness to the grand kingdom of man: sharp angles, towering monoliths of austere glass and concrete. A mirage of smog hugged the horizon and spread across the region.
Two rivers extended up each side of Manhattan, and a few prodigious bridges connected the main island with the adjacent lands. Even from his distance, Darien could see the nearest one spanning the eastern waterway—an enormous and dignified suspension bridge—was congested to a standstill with evacuees seeking refuge outside the city limits. Surely they were the survivalists, the smart ones, leaving the city merely as a precautionary measure after what they saw happening in Chicago.
“Vengelis told us to seal off the island. Let’s separate and move up each side of the city,” the Lord General called, and pointed to the east. “I will take the river to the west. You go up the eastern river there, and bring down any bridge connecting the city to the mainland. I’ll meet you up north.”
“Okay.” Darien nodded.
The two soldiers turned from one another at once and soared northeast and northwest up the expansive rivers surrounding Manhattan.