Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2)

by R. R. Roberts

  Moses smiled smugly. “No. This is brand new, and all my own. Yours too; you’ve been helping finance it for the past six years.”

  “This… this is Project Fresh Start?”

  Whenever he’d asked about it Moses had pressed his finger to his lips, playfully insisting on it remaining a secret.

  Here, however, Moses waved his arm to encompass the scene before them. “It is Project Fresh Start, and it’s time I brought you in. You’re ready; more than ready. I’ve been working on this for years and you’re here in time to witness our final breakthrough.”

  Moses was still dancing around the subject. Why was he afraid to actually tell Mike what he had done?

  “Still none-the-wiser here, Moses. Should we be wearing party hats, throwing confetti and blowing noise-makers?” Mike turned away from the activity behind the glass and leveled his gaze at Moses. “Okay. Enough with the birthday party surprise. Give it to me straight. I’ve got a boatload of work back at New Earth hanging over my head, all of which needed to be completed months ago.”

  “This is the final solution, Mike. The answer to everything we’ve been working toward.”

  Mike tilted his head and waited. Come on, come on.

  “This will level the playing field. This is our chance to change everything. For the better.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “We’ve been working on a virus—.”

  Mike fought to keep from staggering back.

  “—it’s new, sourced from an obscure disease from the Congo,” Moses continued, oblivious to the effects of his explanation. “A hybrid, never-before seen. Next up is the development of an antidote.”

  “An antidote! You think?”

  “It’s only logical,” Moses answered, failing to see the irony.

  Not even daring to breathe, Mike asked, measuring his words, “Moses. Why do you want a ‘never-before seen’ virus?”

  “I want to let this virus out. I want to spread it through the world, let the chips fall where they may, and once it has done its work, and once nature has worked out its natural selection, we pick up the pieces and start again, this time the right way.”

  “Na…Natural selection! Are you mad? There’s nothing natural about this! This is genocide!”

  Moses gripped him by his shoulder and turned him to face the videos. “Is it, Mike? Is this natural selection at work, or is it man’s insatiable greed at work, destroying everything in his path? Man is the true virus on this earth. It’s man who is sucking all the resources, destroying habitats, killing scores of species on a daily basis, in his bid to rise higher and higher. If we do nothing, we get Surface. And you know what Surface is all about.”

  Mike stared unseeing at the flickering images on the outer wall, his mind racing. “How long have you been working on this?” He twisted around to face the stranger beside him. “When did you start?”

  “As soon as I arrived and had some backing.” Moses was watching him closely as well, gauging his reaction. “It’s always been my plan to weed out the weak and retrain the strong as respectful stewards of our planet.”

  “And Harmony House?”

  Moses blinked in surprise. “You know about Harmony House?”

  Mike exploded, “Are you freaking kidding me!” He turned and strode back to the elevator, punched the floor keys, leaving Moses behind.

  Moses wisely did not follow. Good thing. If he had, he’d be a dead man.

  MIKE SPENT the next weeks rip-roaring drunk.

  Weeks turned into months.

  Mike stayed away from Moses, not trusting he would keep his hands from the man’s throat.

  He was never setting foot inside that mad man’s arena ever again.

  The only time he left his condo was for another attempt at escaping inside the Bore entrance down in that stinking alley. The bore rejected him again and again. He could not fight his way back into his old world, no matter how he railed. He was doomed.

  ONE DAY IN EARLY SUMMER, Moses was at his door, asking if Mike was willing to go back through the Bore with him, go back to their time together. Mike was hung-over, unshaven, unwashed, and swaying in shock at Moses’s capitulation.

  Wordlessly, Mike stood aside and allowed Moses into his condo. Mike was of course instantly aware that the condo reeked, and so did he. At last he understood Chelsea Wood. Her desire to forget. Her hopelessness. He saw his place as Moses did, unclean, but also through suddenly aware eyes for how Chelsea had lived—packed inside her filthy condo, piled high with crap, drunk and wasting away. He’d come full circle, was living Chelsea’s life. He laughed out loud at the irony, making Moses glance at him uneasily, oddly. Too bad—this was more than odd, it was freaking bizarre was what it was.

  Moses advanced into Mike’s home warily, his first time here, his eyes blinking and darting around, before he grimaced, shifted a pile of dirty clothes and empty food boxes from a chair onto the floor and perched himself on its edge as if he were afraid he’d catch cooties. This from the man who’d developed a disease to wipe out half of humanity. Rich.

  “Why are you here, really?” Mike slumped across the couch on top of a tangle of blankets and shed clothes. On second thought, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what Moses thought. Mike hadn’t sent out an invitation.

  “I realize I can’t do this without you. You’re my strength. You’re my guy.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mike twisted his face in disbelief. “Tell me another one, why don’t ‘cha.”

  “It’s true. If I can’t stop the destruction here, I may as well give up and return to face the council.”

  Mike snickered. “If they’re even still there.” He searched the blankets for his bottle. He found it, but it was a dead soldier. He tossed it over his shoulder. It thudded on the carpet behind the couch before bouncing and clinking against the others already there.

  Moses’s face fell from distaste to defeat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s already too late.”

  Mike scowled. “What do you mean, it’s already too late? What’s happened?”

  Moses surprised the hell out of him by bursting into tears, hiding his face in his one good hand. “It’s all a waste. Franklin up and quit, Davies refuses to even talk to me. He will only talk with you. The funding’s drying up—I’m no good at fundraisers—you know that. And… and today, President Douglas declared open season hunting in all the national parks. He says he sees land, he wants to build. He doesn’t care about the endangered species. He says they’d better run back up to Canada if they want to survive.”

  Mike shook his head in confusion, wishing he had a drink. “But, we sent them wolves, bison, white tails, elk, grizzlies, all to replace what had been hunted to extinction. They were making a great comeback. Beavers to rebuild their fresh water ways and wild habitat. The national parks were—.”

  “He doesn’t care. And he’s removed the ban on importing elephant ivory. He says the money the hunt brings to the locals outweighs the loss of game. Big game hunting is back on, everywhere. The ban on ivory is rescinded. The elephant population will be gone within a decade. Mike, I can’t take it. I just can’t face it.”

  Mike sat up, gazing at the miserable huddle that was Moses Zhang. “You’re a disaster.”

  He never knew Moses cared so much about elephants, so much that he’d cry over them. Cry over anything, for that matter. Zhang was so single-minded, so focused and unemotional. Strange, and he hated to admit it to himself, but Mike realized he was actually glad to see Moses; more than glad to see the guy did have a breaking point after all. So, he was more human than he looked? Huh. I guess I’ve missed the guy. How twisted was that?

  “I’m ready to give up,” Zhang croaked brokenly. “Nothing we’ve done has made any difference here.”

  “That’s not true,” Mike was compelled to say, feeling bad for Moses. Grudgingly. They’d done good work together, lots of good work. He leaned forward and shrugged, tipping his head and an eyebrow. “You’ve still got the plastic
recovery system. Cleaning up the ocean alone is a massive success.”

  “Except, they’re now illegal. It’s all about who owns the recovered plastics and gets the profits from the recycling. It’s all tied up in international courts now…”

  “What! Are they insane? The recycling costs barely cover the recovery! It’s the fact that the plastics are out of the ocean that matters here. Don’t they know these plastics never go away, that they just get broken down smaller and smaller and we are now collectively breathing in plastic; that it can now—and has—crossed into our blood stream?”

  “They don’t want to know, or they don’t care.”

  “I care!”

  “And now the Koreans are protesting the DRAs, claiming they came up with the concept and are owed millions because of copyright infringement. They’re threatening to nuke us all. Again. As of last month, all the DRAs are shut down.”

  Mike was on his feet, his fists clenched. “The Koreans didn’t learn their lesson when they blew half their country into the next century testing that crap they were putting together in their freaking backyard garage?” He caught sight of himself in the darkened glass out to the patio and was aghast. He was a rambling wreck; he needed a shower in the worst way.

  Moses wiped at his face. “I’m serious, Mike. I’m done. I’m so done. I’m ready to give up and go home. There’s nothing that can save us in this political climate. The moneymakers have it all sewn up—always have. I was dreaming to think I could start again with people who cared about the planet, who’d honor what God gave us instead of exploiting it.”

  Fresh tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m so embarrassed. I shouldn’t have come here, crying to you. If I knew where the Bore entrance was, I’d have just gone straight to the Bore and entered on my own. I—I just wanted you to know… I wanted you to know I don’t blame you. I blame myself.”

  Mike shook his head. “This isn’t all on you. I’m to blame here, too. You came to me, I was shocked, and…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  These were words Mike had never heard pass Moses’s lips the entire time they had worked together. Moses had been so sure of his dream, so sure he would win this fight. And now he was broken; he was sorry.

  Mike grimaced. “Why are you sorry? Because you had the guts to make the hard call and I ran screaming like a little girl? Come on, Moses. We both know you’re right, we know what’s coming. If nothing’s done, there is no future on this world—for anyone. We’re here, before the final fall. If we don’t stop it this time, we’ll only have ourselves to blame.”

  Moses blinked at him in surprise, his jaw agape.

  Mike sighed, meeting his partner’s eyes in apology. “I’ve been self-indulgent. Of course, we have to cut off the head of the serpent. It’s the only way. I just wanted someone else to do the dirty work; I want it to happen, but I want to keep my hands clean. I’ve been a hypocrite, wanting change, but I’ve not been willing to make the hard choices those changes necessitate.”

  Moses shifted forward, a hopeful light in his watery eyes.

  Mike asked, “Is the D5 team still operational?”

  “I-I don’t know. I don’t talk to them. They… they scare me.”

  Mike chuckled at this. Did a new Virus scare Moses? Nope. But a handful of unimaginative goons did.

  Moses sniffed. “You mean it Mike? You’d come back, help me out of this mess?”

  Mike smiled mirthlessly. “What else have I got to do with my time?” He rose from the cluttered, soiled couch he’d eaten on, got stinking drunk on, and slept on for months. “Let me go have a shower, clean up a bit and we’ll talk.”

  Moses wiped at his cheeks again, straightening his posture, glancing around the place. “Where’s Jamal?”

  Mike was surprised Moses knew he’d had a house man for cooking, cleaning, laundry and such, and that man’s name had been Jamal.

  “Can’t you tell? I fired his ass,” Mike said over his shoulder, already heading toward the bathroom for lots of hot water and soap.

  Moses called after him. “Maybe get him back?”

  FIRST, Mike told Zhang about his own Harmony House experiences, ending with his escape with Con’s help. It felt strange saying good things about his betraying, former good friend, but, Con had saved his life once. Yet, his friend had betrayed him and now Mike was relating this betrayal story to the man who he’d barely escaped with his life from years ago. His friend was now his enemy; his enemy now his only friend. The world was upside-down.

  Zhang’s only comment was, “This was the guy who rode your coat tails to becoming a rich man, then stole your wife?”

  Yeah, there was that.

  It had been hard, hearing Zhang’s plan, but once Mike was past his private fury over being part of the Harmony House experiment himself, he was able to see Zhang’s reasoning. It was true, the homeless had fallen so low, they were no longer a viable contributing factor to society beyond milking it whenever possible.

  In the end, he and Zhang had advanced man’s bid to reclaim this world. It was a tough call, but it had worked, and they had a viable virus capable of leveling the playing field. With the soul-sucking opportunists gone, there was a real chance for recovery.

  Zhang was right. If it was to survive, the earth needed a strong reboot from the scourge that was humanity's greed.

  If they worked their tails off, they could be ready in three years.

  Their target date was spring of 2046. Payton would orchestrate a pandemic at the Boy Scout Jamboree, just outside of Seattle, Washington. It was the most admired and respected international conference on the planet, well attended by scouts from countries around the world. The returning attendees would bring their deadly hitch-hiker virus home with them, ensuring the disease was worldwide within hours, its hosts dead within six days. Safely immune and ensconced on Vancouver Island, Zhang, Mike, and their loyal followers would witness maybe 95% of the world’s population succumb. It was a hard correction, but a necessary one, with not many having the stomach to see it through. That’s where Zhang, and now Mike, came in.

  During those next three years, Mike would also build on their original Peace Corp idea, starting by recruiting through fringe groups, the disgruntled, the disenfranchised. It was a task made in heaven for the D5 group—Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap—the former two-man division within New Earth now over thirty strong, and extremely busy. D5 knew the underground well and ran with their new assignment with characteristic enthusiasm.

  Sure, there were growing pains. When some recruits objected to the ultimate goal of the organization, it necessitated deep cuts. The good thing was D5 was talented at disposing of bodies—there was barely a blip when the occasional clash of philosophy arose. The D5 division had POE recruitment up and running and expanding within weeks, New Earth’s shadow army blossoming under the radar of local, national and international governments. The soldiers were trained in the prescribed doctrine and grew both in physical strength and in numbers. The name, Protectors of Earth stuck. The POE. Mike liked it. They would keep the POE immune, and ready for what came after.

  “Control the board and you control the game” became Mike and Moses’s tagline.

  And Mike now embraced the round the clock video Moses had on a loop in New Earth headquarters, so much so, he’d installed a screen at home with the same loop playing. It was his inspiration, his nudge when doubt arose in his mind. They were doing what needed to be done—it was that simple.

  At year’s end, Moses came charging into Mike’s office, his face flushed with excitement. Moses glanced at the bank of screens as he came in, scanning what Mike was working on. “Great timing. Did you see the latest news?”

  Mike barely glanced up. “News?”

  “Look at the newsfeed.”

  Mike did as he asked, switching one of the screens to breaking news. The news screen showed images of millions currently dying in Africa of the new “super bug, Ebola Venus.”

  He pressed his lips together in dis
gust and returned to his work.

  “Not a single first world country lifting a finger to help.”

  Mike muttered, “Apparently, their tolerance for charitable acts has finally been reached.”

  “Apparently. But that’s not why I’m here,” Moses said, his tone hushed with barely contained excitement, “The new virus is ready!”

  The final piece was ready. “Then we’ll have it added to the POE devices,” Mike replied smoothly, not looking up from the spreadsheets on his personal screens. The little voice in his brain, the one who hardly ever came out anymore, whispered, Tolerance reached, indeed.

  22

  INDIES: DAY EIGHT: WEN 2047

  WHILE DOM TALKED QUIETLY to the Raven guards, negotiating their safe passage out of Raven territory and back into Hume Park, Wren glanced at Coru, worried. He’d asked her to stay out of his head for now, that he had things to work out in private. She was honoring his request, but his expression and behavior were causing her alarm. Coru wasn’t himself. Something had happened while she was with Noah in the other room.

  It was as if the heart had gone out of Coru. Was it because there was now zero chance Professor Red was not his brother? Had he held out more hope than she’d realized? She’d seen Coru’s memories of his laughing, open-faced younger brother, and felt his love for Payton, his need to protect the naïve boy Payton had been before they’d jumped through the Bore together, bent on saving the world. That boy no longer existed. Their world no longer existed. Perhaps Coru was finally grieving the loss of his brother.

  She glanced down at the little boy holding her hand, his young mind filled with faith he would be protected by her—the nice lady—and by his father, Dom, the “Tallest, strongest, smartest man in the world!”. She smiled faintly at catching the child’s worship of his father. And yes, there was no doubt that Dom and Noah were indeed father and son. Dom would give his life for this boy. The fact Dom had brought the boy with him, was here, in the open with his most precious son, and about to cross dangerous ground with Noah, spoke volumes about Dom’s commitment to their cause. This truly was their now or never moment. They were all gambling their lives for a chance at a future. This was a one-way trip.