“I’m impressed,” Samantha applauded, relieved by their remarkable escape.
She patted Tom on the shoulder and smiled at his magnificent flying.
“Fantastic,” Marissa chimed in. “Were those magnetic vector field decouplers that you deployed back there?”
“Exactly,” Tom proudly remarked.
Samantha surmised the decouplers’ purpose. “I see what you meant by horseshoes now. Those magnets you deployed must have had enough magnetic force to destabilize the striker craft’s engines and drag the vehicle with it as it headed toward the ground. Ingenious.”
Tom smiled and nodded his head in agreement. “Where to now?” he asked, looking at the dashboard.
Samantha typed in the coordinates she had overheard from William. “Time to pick up a few more passengers,” she then replied.
Tom raised an inquisitive eyebrow in response only to be met with Samantha’s cynical smile.
***
“That’s odd,” Tom commented after about another 10 minutes of flying, looking at the dashboard. “We’re almost over the area now, and it seems our flight path is being automatically diverted. Could you type in those numbers again?”
Samantha complied but the ship again made an unnatural adjustment to its course.
Tom stared at the dashboard and watched his ship change direction. “Whoever’s at those coordinates,” he said aloud, “certainly doesn’t want us or anyone else to find them. It looks like they have some remote device that is able to supersede the stratoskimmer’s controls and divert our ship if we fly too close.”
“Try the electric smog,” Marissa suggested. “Maybe that will jam their divert signal.”
“Great idea,” Tom agreed, pressing a button on the dashboard.
Smog began to spew out from the ship’s underbelly and engulf the entire stratoskimmer, completely obscuring their view out the windshield. This time, however, Tom watched the digital readouts on the dashboard as their ship flew directly towards the designated coordinates without further interference.
As the ship landed, they felt a slight jolt letting them know they were safely on the ground. Because Tom only deployed a small fraction of the smog he had previously released, the sizzling smoke began to rapidly dissipate. As their visibility returned, they realized that they were surrounded by what appeared to be an array of both modern and more classic-styled military tanks. More began to appear out of thin air until at least fifty completely surrounded their ship.
“It looks like someone’s giving us a welcome party,” Tom commented. “But if they thought a few holograms would scare us away, they’re certainly mistaken.”
The tanks immediately fired upon them. Before Tom could react, the stratoskimmer was knocked to its side as the incoming projectiles exploded upon impact. The ship shook as each new volley of attacks continued to make contact.
“I thought they were just holograms?” Samantha said, taken off guard by the inexplicable authenticity of their attackers.
“I’m taking us out of here,” Tom yelled as he flipped a yellow switch and began to repolarize the engines.
Samantha reached over and flipped the switch the other direction as another direct hit almost threw her out her seat.
“We’re going nowhere,” Samantha exclaimed. “Not unless we have Alex.”
Chapter_26
With both hands, Jules began to scratch his scalp as an irritating itch spread across his head.
“Are you alright?” William asked, watching Jules scratch behind his ears like a dog inflicted with flees. Usually direct and precise in his actions, Jules’ incessant scratching seemed markedly out of place.
“Let us not be distracted,” Jules chastised, ignoring the question. “It is of utmost importance that you continue to fly this stratoskimmer as long as possible without detection. We’re almost in Georgia, and the last thing we need at the moment is to be spotted.”
“Not much of a conversationalist,” William grumbled.
He continued to fly the stratoskimmer towards The New Reality’s main headquarters as instructed. Though he had some idea of the plan, he still didn’t understand why it was necessary that they execute it in Georgia. He simply surmised that when Alex found the lock, Jules would be able to utilize his key wherever he pleased.
“Well I hope you have some sort of strategy about getting into the main headquarters because that thing is locked down tight,” William commented.
“My boy,” Jules boasted. “I’m at least 10 steps ahead of you.”
He then stopped itching and to his surprise found a large clump of hair in his hand and noted his fingernails were slightly bloody from scratching. William looked over towards him and asked, “What? Do you have lice or something? Try shaving your head. That worked for me as a child.”
“I will do no such thing,” Jules snipped. “I certainly don’t have lice or any other vermin on my person.”
“Suit yourself then,” William said, turning to look out the windshield. “We have clippers in the back amongst the first aid supplies.”
Though indignant at William’s suggestion, the amount of hair in Jules’ hand did surprise him. And Jules couldn’t remember having ever scratched himself so much as to draw blood. He then began to fidget and scratch his back as the irritating feeling marched like ants on his skin and spread across his body.
“As I said,” William commented, “clippers in the back.”
“Please,” Jules retorted, “just keep to the flying.”
“I’m a little disappointed in you,” William said slyly. “I assumed a man of your intellectual caliber would have planned at least 20 steps ahead—or perhaps 15.”
Jules went to respond but began coughing.
“Swallow some lice?” William egged on.
“Listen here,” Jules chastised, a little red in the face after the coughing spell. “My plans at this point are of none of your concern. All I ask is that you fly me to my destination and then be off to do whatever it is that you do.”
He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “And with regard to my planning, I can sum it in one word.” He paused a second and then said, “Expectation.”
“Expectation?” William scoffed. “I thought you’d devise something more elaborate.”
“And that’s where you stand to be corrected,” Jules informed. “You see, expectation drives one’s actions, morals, and the even economy. It’s not the truth that matters. It’s what one perceives to be the truth that counts. The great sociologist William Thomas said, ‘The situation that men define as true will become true to them.’”
“And your point is?” William asked.
“It is not what I plan to do that counts,” Jules said with an air of confidence. “It’s what The New Reality and Myra Keres believe I will do that matters.”
“If you say so.”
“When beliefs alter the facts,” Jules continued, “the truth is no longer relevant and becomes simply a matter of one’s own interpretation. Bias then influences events and the future is thus shaped by present expectations. Simply put, it’s a two-way street whereby cause and effect are blurred and at times almost indistinguishable from one another. That’s reflexivity in its most simple terms.”
“I beg to differ,” William interrupted in a matter-of-fact delivery. “I am hungry. Therefore I will eat something. Direct cause nets direct effect. Hunger means eat.”
He then looked next to the dashboard to see if it contained any food. Opening up each compartment, he found only a couple of first aid kits, outdoor survival equipment, and a few handheld weapons.
“I wonder if these first aid kits have some grub?” he said aloud while rummaging through the first bag he pulled out of the compartment. “They’ve got to at least have one morsel of emergency ration in here.”
Jules immediately took note of the two electric pulse guns and the stun grenades. “I think you may have overlooked the most important find in that compartment,” he commented, referring
to the weapons.
“Oh, no I didn’t,” William responded, taking out two dusty emergency rations from the bag. “I knew something would be in here.” He turned to Jules. “You want one of these?”
“I’ll pass,” Jules responded. It wasn’t that the rations looked entirely unappetizing. In fact, he would eat anything if necessary without complaint. Rather, his stomach began to ache the moment they took flight and the pain continued to escalate the longer they flew.
“Suit yourself,” William said, ripping open the wrapper and devouring the brown food bar inside of it.
“We must be approaching Georgia by now,” Jules said. “What’s our estimated time of arrival?”
“See the compass here,” William gestured to the dashboard. “I set it to point at all times to the main headquarters. The closer we get to our destination, the closer that little dot edging down the crosshairs moves to the center.”
“So you’re saying that we’re on autopilot?”
“Yes indeed,” William responded with a mouthful of food. “However, when we begin to descend into the lower atmosphere, I’ll take over the controls and hopefully fly us under stealth. At least that’s the plan.”
“What if we’re detected,” Jules asked, “and perhaps shot down?
“Hopefully the emergency gravity decelerators and foam safety net will activate,” he commented. “If they don’t that’ll be the end of that.” William then opened the second ration. “So where exactly do you want to be dropped off? You better let me know soon before we fly past our target.”
Jules smiled as he looked over at William. “My boy, I never said I wanted to be dropped off.”
William chewed his ration while glaring at Jules. “Well then. How do you expect to get on the ground? Teleport?”
“Expectation.” Jules said with a large grin as he pulled the red release handle on William’s seat, instantly encasing him in a transparent bubble. Before William knew what had just happened, he and his seat were ejected through the floor and out of the ship.
“Son of a b—” was the last Jules heard from William as he was jettisoned out of the plane in the emergency ejection seat.
Looking at the compass, Jules saw that he was nearing the building. Expectation. He took control of the ship and angled it downwards. With only limited flying experience, he knew at least one thing—and that was how to steer the stratoskimmer.
With The New Reality in his crosshairs, Jules understood the most expedient yet dangerous method of infiltrating the building would be by a direct approach.
“Come and get me,” he shouted as the building with its gold dome became visible.
Chapter_27
Myra bit her nail, unhappy with the news. She attempted to quell her growing paranoia but couldn’t deter the increasing sense of doom that began to stir inside of her.
“I assure you,” Kevin vowed, “that we have everything under control. Neurono-Tek has been successfully shut down; the most elite WOG squads are now securing the area.”
He attempted to place his arm around her shoulder, but his gesture was sloughed off with bitter indifference. Myra detested the fact that Samantha Mancini had escaped and decided to take it out on Kevin.
Is she somehow working with Alex and Jules?
Do they have the key?
Just as they were about to approach the door to the main lab in the New Reality headquarters, Myra abruptly stopped walking. “Let me get this straight—you say that both Alex’s fiancée, Marissa Ambrosia, and Samantha Mancini not only escaped from an elite WOG tactical team, but they also singlehandedly evaded over 20 of our best attack planes, including the striker craft, while using a mere transport vehicle?”
Kevin knew she made a valid point, but before he could mount a tangible rebuttal, she looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “If this is the case, then I can assure you of at least one thing—”
She paused momentarily to emphasize her point.
“Things at this moment are certainly far from under control.”
Before Myra could turn to open the door, Kevin gently grasped her elbow. Knowing he could not repress her fears with simple assurances, he instead said, “I will secure the entire perimeter of Neurono-Tek for 20 miles, immediately erect a bio-gate around this building, and send in 50 attack planes to patrol the air above us. I’ll have this building surrounded by so many WOGs, not even a fly will get in unless I personally authorize it.”
Though Myra was still outraged by the blunders, Kevin’s strong reaction did provide her with some relief. Wanting to berate him further for their current situation, she found herself more enamored with him than angry. It was certainly not his fault for the improper execution of his plan even though he was the one in charge and rightfully culpable for his department’s mistakes.
Myra momentarily let slip a small smile. She knew Kevin would stand by her no matter what.
“We did recover the crown delivered to Alex by Albert Rosenberg,” Kevin then said with a slight grin.
“Have it brought here to the lab when it arrives,” she responded in a softer tone. “And let me know immediately if the ISA ascertains any further information about the whereabouts of Jules or Alex.”
“Yes ma’am,” Kevin responded, as he gave her a wink and walked down the hallway.
“President Keres,” a man behind a long granite table respectfully greeted as Myra entered the lab. “Madam,” he nodded as he smoothed out his long lab coat with his hands in order to appear more presentable.
Myra walked into the massive room furnished with numerous long countertops filled with high-tech equipment and tools. It seemed that every inch of the area was completely inundated with some sort of project or apparatus. Even the glass cabinets and closets along the entire lab’s perimeter were overflowing with supplies.
“You’re not going to believe what I’ve discovered,” he continued.
Dressed in a white lab coat, the slightly overweight man wore dark sunglasses and had his black hair slicked back. With his deep, captivating voice and pleasant demeanor, all the other technicians in the room seemed to enjoy his presence.
“Frank, what is it that you so urgently wanted to see me about?” Myra asked approaching the table. She looked around the room shocked by the massive stockpiles of supplies crowded around her. Having never bothered to visit the lab previously, she now finally understood why their research stipend had been so exorbitant.
“Let me show you,” he explained. Pushing some equipment to the sides of the table, he revealed a shield that had been hidden underneath. He looked up and attempted to speak. However, as the first word approached, he took out a handkerchief and covered his mouth while coughing uncontrollably for a few seconds.
Two other technicians in the room joined in as they, too, sounded if they were about to cough up a lung.
Bending over, Frank placed his right hand into the air as if to politely ask Myra to wait a moment for him to catch his breath. After inhaling deeply, the redness in his face subsided and its normal hue returned.
“Sorry,” he said, bringing up the first words. “It seems like some of us may have caught a bug today.”
As he placed his handkerchief back into the lab coat, Myra noticed that, unbeknownst to him, a few small drops of blood speckled the cloth.
After regaining his composure, Frank raised the shield in both hands. Black strands of hair fell from it as he brought the shield over to her. “This is the most remarkable discovery I’ve made in my entire life. It’s simply unbelievable.”
He began to sweat with the mounting excitement. “Now, you said this is supposed to be the shield of Achilles?” he asked.
“That’s what the former president of Neurono-Tek believed,” she responded, much less excited than he with the artifact. “In fact, Albert displayed this item as the centerpiece amongst his ancient Greco-Roman collection.”
“As it should,” Frank responded, as the sweat began to accumulate on his brow. “However, it isn’
t Greek.”
“Then what is it?” Myra asked, surprised by the glibness of the response.
“I don’t know. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. In fact, I had to dig through countless history books for research.”
Myra looked around the room at the seemingly endless piles of modern equipment. In disbelief that something in this massive stockpile would not provide more useful information than an old textbook, she said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“This is no joke,” Frank insisted. “Watch this.”
He then walked over to the door. As it dematerialized, he placed the shield in the doorway. Taking away his hands, the shield levitated in the air without assistance.
Turning back to Myra, Frank said, “I can assure you that I’m doing absolutely nothing at all to keep it suspended like this. The shield is somehow doing it completely on its own and without any detectible means of power generation.”
“Then how’s it doing it?” Myra asked, suddenly interested with the artifact.
“I don’t know,” Frank explained, slowly rocking the shield out of place. With the artifact in hand, he brought it back over to the table and laid it on the only vacant space available. “That’s why I went back to the textbooks.”
Taking a glass pad from the table, he then began to punch in a few commands on it. There appeared a holographic marble statue of a nude Greek god with a cloth around his waist leaning over a large anvil. With misshapen feet, he held onto a walking stick for support.
“His name is Hephaestus,” Frank went on to explain. “Known as the god of metallurgy and blacksmiths, he is believed to have been born lame and unable to walk. As written in the epic Greek poem The Iliad, it is said that Achilles’ mother, Thetis, beseeched him to construct her son invincible armor after his had been taken by Hector of Troy who killed Achilles’ good friend Patroclus during the Trojan War.”
“But how does that matter?” Myra asked.
“You have to know the back story,” Frank responded, holding back another coughing spell. “Hephaestus was also believed to have manufactured the Greek god Hermes’ winged helmet and sandals, Aegis’ breastplate, Helio’s chariot and Ero’s bow and arrows. But what makes this mythology even more interesting is that among all his creations, the greatest inventions were known as automatisms.”
The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2) Page 20