Echo Effect
Robert D. Armstrong
ECHO EFFECT is a work of fiction. None of the characters nor events represent the likeness of actual events or persons.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
© 2016 Robert D. Armstrong
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Table of Contents
The Wild 70’s
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
The Wild 70’s
In 2070, the question of whether or not we were alone in the universe was finally answered.
In the worst way possible.
A colossal spacecraft of unknown origins exploded above our atmosphere, bombarding the planet with debris and killing hundreds of thousands. Despite the devastation, some craters contained wreckage of ultra-advanced technology, just begging to be reverse engineered. The infamous Star Rust race was on.
The world scrambled to gobble up what game changing scraps they could find, by any means necessary, but one reclusive Asian nation received a far larger share of Star Rust mana than any other.
Soon, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea housed the last major deposits of alien tech left to mine. Those smoldering craters outside of Pyongyang were now the most valuable real estate on the planet. With the whole world at each other’s throats and all eyes on them, North Korea’s paranoia was justified for once.
In 2074, North Korea struck first. With China and Russia busy hacking each other to bits over some Star Rust crumbs in Mongolia, Pyongyang focused most of their nuclear arsenal on the U.S. mainland.
Thanks to advancements in missile defense systems, many lives were saved. The so-called “Wet Firecracker War” saw only a few thousand casualties from nuclear volleys versus potentially millions.
However, the North Koreans went back to the drawing board, and were readying a new batch of devastating weapons, promising to penetrate the American defenses.
Chapter One
“It’s come down to this.” Vala muttered.
She stepped through the dark, wet alleys of inner city Munich, Germany. Being a military brat, she had some experience overseas, but she was never alone. Her holographic eyeglasses were her only guide to a street address that fell deep in enemy territory.
Most people were indoors at that hour of the night. All except for the hunters.
She’d done her homework though. This part of town was Revenant territory, a low-level gothic gang. They were little more than a ragtag group of upstarts, dopers, and vandals, but dangerous in numbers nonetheless.
Her only saving grace was the acid rain, and she’d timed it just right. Her special hooded cipher mask protected her more than the Revenants’ rags, allowing her safe passage. She navigated the streets with confidence, even with a bit of swagger in her stride, but it was all an act. Normally, she would never be there.
Like most major cities nowadays, facemasks were mandatory when outside. Designer brands such as Calvin Klein all had their own lines of facial filtration devices known as ciphers. Billboards littered cities with models posing in stylish ciphers that matched their outfits.
She passed by a group of linkers across the street, huddled together under a bus stop canopy. The glass roof was broken on one side and water poured through it. Vala didn’t make eye contact with the technology addicts busy living in their virtual reality worlds. Out of her peripheral vision though, she couldn’t help but see one of them broadcast a holo image of a thirty-foot dragon.
The image was believable and terrifying despite being fantasy. More than likely, they were using drugs as well, so the hallucinogens were intensifying their experience. One of the linkers had a seizure while the others simply laughed.
Technology had become the most addictive drug on the planet, far exceeding the war on illegal drugs during the previous century. The fixation on smart phones and videogames was just the primitive beginning. Linking allowed people to relive the old world, living out any fantasy through powerful, yet affordable VR (virtual reality) setups in every home. Holographic devices later took center stage, and the obsession intensified even further.
The hologram in Vala’s eyeglasses was useful, projecting her destination just ahead. It was a rather unsuspecting shackled gate running down a long, dark alley. Bet I could simply climb over it. She approached the gate, looking through to see if anyone was there. She glanced to her right and left as shadowy forms darted across the alleys. The rain was letting up. The vandals were stirring.
A demented laugh erupted not far from her. It echoed off the buildings. “Let’s go.” she whispered.
She quickly banged on the gate, a cold chill running through her body. Drawing in a great breath, she shrieked down the alley. “Nur die Harten kommen in den Garten! Nur die Harten kommen in den Garten!”
She knew the Revenants would hear her call out, but she hoped someone behind the gate would answer first. It was a risk she had to take.
Vala shoved some loose strands of her dirty blonde hair behind her ears as she rattled off the phrase.
Only the strong survive. Her mysterious contact was quite insistent about giving the code before the guard even spotted her. Her accent was solid, not exactly local, but convincing enough. Outsiders were prime targets, so she had practiced.
A middle-aged man slowly appeared behind the gate, casually wading through the dark mist. He seemed out of place. He was attractive with thick white hair and a well-manicured beard. His clothes appeared homely and modest, yet well kept, almost like a worker in the fields from the early 2000s, but there weren’t many fields around anymore. He smiled as he unlocked the gate. Vala bounced up and down on her toes nervously.
“Very well. Can I have your name?” His English held only the slightest hint of a German accent.
“V-Vala Thomas,” she squeaked out, checking over her shoulder the whole time.
“Right this way.” He ripped the gate open. She stepped inside quickly, almost before he could close it, then brushed up against it. The man paused, peering down at her before closing the gate.
“It’s fine. You’re safe now.” He locked the gate and shoved his hands inside his pockets. The older gentleman’s indulgent voice and relaxed shoulders were almost convincing enough to ease her anxiety.
Vala followed a couple of paces behind him through a door. He closed it behind her and locked it. This muted the haunting sounds from the dark dwelling outside. The room they entered appeared warm and comforting, like a cozy, small town doctor’s waiting room. He stopped, motioning his hand toward a row of dark cherry wood chairs.
Vala gawked around at the eerily peaceful setup. She paced slowly back and forth, peering around before sitting. It was quiet with very faint jazz playing in the background. She noticed the room was very tidy, and the white tile floor was spotless. It felt like a safe haven compared to the alleyways.
A few magazines littered one of the chairs. She sat down and thumbed through them while waiting, attempting to calm her nerves. The publications were all outdoorsy fishing and hunting magazines. Of course, the dates were all nearly forty years old. The first one she grabbed was Deep Sea Digest. She thought about driving her uncle’s boat when she was in her teens. They weren’t allowed to fish, but it was fun to get out on the water.
Since the 2040s, even sport fishing was illegal in most countries, thanks to generations of overfishing. Much of the world’s cornerstone diet of seafood was extinct. People were forced to raise clones in gigantic farms run by government mandated corporations.
In supermarkets, those fish clones were known as Gens—Generation 1, 2, and so on. The first generations were usually horrible. They typically suffered from genetic mutations, some had extra fins, while others even had two sets of eyes. Usually, each generation lasted about three to six years before a new one was developed. However, the latest didn’t always equal greatest, and in some generations, cost effectiveness was more important, sacrificing quality.
She sighed at the faces of the fishermen in the magazine. They looked happy. She wondered if they even had a clue that their children wouldn’t be afforded the same luxury as them. Something as simple and inherently human as fishing would be gone forever. Even the sky behind the fishermen looked different then—clear, vibrant, unassuming.
Vala tossed it aside and gazed at a thirty-seven-year-old wildlife magazine. She’d seen videos online of elephants, but now she wondered what it was like seeing those last wild elephants in real life. The title of the main article was “Goodbye, Old Friends” featuring the last seven wild elephants on Earth.
A billionaire name Simeon Bullock hired a team of mercenaries to protect those last few for several years. To his credit, he spent millions of dollars trying to sustain them. It worked for a while, but the ivory soon became too expensive until the elephants were betrayed by their own guardians. All slaughtered for a bit of ivory, silencing them forever. Elephant clones were introduced later, but they all had genetic defects, namely weak hearts and joints.
“Vala?” A man startled her as she put down the magazine. “Oh, yes.” She scrambled to her feet.
“Those magazines are a bit out of date, yes? I like to remember those days.” This time, it was a younger man, dressed like a doctor in a lab coat, that greeted her. He was the same height, but he had pale skin and dark hair.
“Come on back.” He flicked a well-manicured hand towards some side door while never taking his eyes off his holochart. They strolled down the sterile and too quiet hall until she couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“So…it’s just the two of you here?” she asked.
“No, it’s just me at this facility,” he hummed in a comforting voice far too old for him.
“But...” Vala squinted, recognizing his voice from before. It was the same as the old man.
Cilans. Genetic mimicry masters. It was said there were less than thirty in the entire world. She paused for a moment then took a big gulp.
He guided her to a small lab area with a large dentist-like chair. “Have a seat,” he calmly said, walking over to the counter and rummaging through a cabinet.
Vala sat down and attempted not to stare at the man, but he just seemed so different from before. Everything about his altered physical features appeared so natural and convincing.
There was a long pause. He studied the ceiling, placing his hands on his hips and sighed.
“So, Vala. I’m curious, and I have to ask, what exactly would make you want to go through with this procedure? You seem like a nice, intelligent young woman. Is it for Star Rust contacts? Ego? You have to understand, the people that usually come to me are much...different,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Different in what way?” She twirled the loose string from her jacket. Her foot shook as she planted down her weight, stopping it.
“Mercenary companies with a lot of cash, mostly. They’ve sent over some of their people... I’ve had a couple celebrities and an aging Brazilian supermodel recently,” he said.
“I’m looking for someone.” He studied her with a slightly puzzled look. He turned back around and washed his hands. Then, he arranged a set of vials on a tray.
“That’s a first. Well, actually second then... Now, I’m a businessman first and foremost, so pushing you away is not good business for me. It doesn’t make sense, right?” he said with a smile.
“Not really, no. I’m paying you good money.” She cut her eyes at him.
“So having said that, I will still say this. With the money you’re spending with me, you could hire some of the best trackers on the planet and save yourself a lot of pain,” he said.
“Trackers can’t get inside where I need to be... What kind of pain are we talking?”
“Well, to start, about 8% don’t survive this initial operation. Then, an additional 13% die within the first year. If you survive that you’re looking at a mid-fifties lifespan at best. This procedure which you’re paying a hefty price for, is incredibly taxing on the human body,” he said in a serious tone raising his eyebrows.
“I have a rare genetic degenerative spinal condition, so quality of later life isn’t my concern.” Vala said.
“Did you consider using your heap of cash for experimental treatment possibly?” he glared at her.
“That was the plan originally. Not anymore. Listen. What will this transformation allow me to do exactly? I know the general idea, altering skin and hair colors, but I want to hear the details,” she said.
“Well. Ok. Yes, of course. One moment,” the doctor said. He walked around and arranged some of the vials on a tray beside her chair. They were different colors—some very bright, almost neon. He wheeled forward a chest-high machine with tubes draped around it and began unwrapping the hoses.
He pressed a button, then a tanning bed-sized structure cascaded from the wall with a reflective surface. A hatch opened on the side of the metallic, shiny cocoon. Vala squirmed while the Cilan calmly prepared the life-altering procedure.
She stared at herself in the reflection, “At least I can hide my freckles.” She only had a few dots below her dark green eyes, sprinkled evenly about on her smooth olive skin. Her lips were full and her nose pointed up a little more than she liked. She didn’t like people staring at her nostrils.
“Well, first you’ll have increased reflexes and awareness to start. It’ll send your muscle fibers into a stronger state, much like humans from twenty to thirty thousand years ago. You’ll be faster and have more physical endurance.”
“How long does all this take?” she asked.
“About four to six weeks. You’ll be completely down for the first week. Then, the obvious skin, eye, and hair alterations will begin to surface by the third week. Those can be changed on the fly. With training, you can alter the color of any organic tissue on your body within seconds. You can look older or younger than you are, if you wish, and even a different race in many cases,” he said.
“I’m guessing the Brazilian model didn’t come here to look older?” She laughed just a little too hard.
“No.” He chuckled.
Anxiety glued Vala to her seat. The stale statistical odds jumped out and seized her throat.
“So will I be awake during this?”
“Yes. The first four days are the fun part. Basically, I’m going to saturate your entire body with a host of unregulated chemicals, which fill your pores with cancer-causing serums. It can best be described as burning. Everywhere you have skin, you will feel a
burning sensation during the skin treatment. You can’t move and there is no relief. I can’t sedate you either or your heart will stop,” he said casually.
“Is that how patients die? Cancer?”
“Some of them. The problem is your body will be more resilient in many ways, so this slows the disease, and death. Imagine a champion horse with cancer. He’ll fight it a bit longer, but the end result is the same usually.”
“Ohhhh—my—God.” Vala slammed her hands over her face. Fighting back the tears, she gulped and counted to ten. She knew Michael wouldn’t want her to do this.
He stopped his preparations, genuine concern on his face. “Vala, are you sure? I can’t stop it once it starts,” he said.
She closed her eyes and muttered “Michael...” She was already dying on the inside.
“Y-Yes,” she stuttered. After a moment’s pause, she summoned the courage to continue.
The doctor stared at her, clucking his tongue. “Positive?”
She set her jaw and locked eyes with him. “I’m sure.”
He tucked his hands down into his lab coat pockets and wagged his head slowly. “There is only one thing I can imagine that would make a normal human being subject themselves to, this type of torture. I felt it once...”
He paused for a moment, examining his shoes. “Even though it has been a long time. I... remember.” He grinned and his gaze drifted off to some faraway place.
“What would make a normal person do this?” Vala asked.
“Love…” the doctor said.
Vala dropped her head slightly and glanced away, uncomfortable that the doctor could see her intentions so clearly.
“The army... They lied to me about him. I’m going to find out what happened. That’s why normal trackers won’t touch it. This is a military-related contract.” She spit out the final words. Her eyes watered as she sat up straight despite the stresses that surrounded her.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Well, Cilans like myself are in high demand for Star Rust contracts. Everyone wants those alien materials now more than ever. Delivery, stealing, whatever... Just get out there and get your name known. It’s all about favors. Maybe this could get your foot in the door so you could find information.”
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