Incursion (The Narrows of Time Series Book 2)

by Jay J. Falconer

  The woman walking around the stage raised a glistening, machete-length knife above her head as she moved with a theatrical prance across the front of the platform. Then she unleashed some type of martial arts sequence—kicking and punching her way across the stage, spinning the knife around her wrist. Her moves were precise and calculated; she had clearly practiced for years. She stopped at the edge of the stage, bent down and took something from one of the men in the front row. She stood up, holding what Lucas thought was a piece of paper. She stared at it for a few moments, smiled, then folded it and stuck it inside the front of her top. She turned and resumed her martial arts performance.

  Her black leather pants and a form-fitting, low-cut top caught Lucas’ attention, as did her pair of four-foot-long blond braids that hung just below the bottom of her well-defined ass. He assumed the chick was Kristov, the babe Freebo and Cary had been gossiping about a few minutes earlier.

  No wonder Freebo couldn’t take his eyes off this stunning beauty—it would take a blind man to resist her flawless beauty. Lucas knew he’d be defenseless, too, if he were ever to meet her up close. He wondered what Rico would think of her. Would he think she was—

  Freebo stepped in front of the window, sliding in from the right. He stared right at Lucas with his glassy, bloodshot eyes, and uneven smile. “Hey, Doc!” Freebo shouted through the glass.

  Lucas wasn’t sure what to do. He thought about running, but decided against it when the entire assembly in front of the stage turned in unison to look up at him.

  TWENTY

  Lucas drew in a deep breath and nodded, hoping his reaction appeared natural to Freebo, and everyone else. It seemed to work.

  Freebo opened the door to the left to the window and held out his hand, palm up. “My name is Freebo. Glad to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Lucas said, gripping the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. He decided to play along. “I’m Dr. Yakberry. Sorry I’m late.”

  Lucas expected the half-lit guard to follow the handshake with the science riddle Cary had drilled into Freebo’s head, but the stoner just smiled. “It’s all good, Doc. Follow me. We’ve been expecting you.”

  The aroma of a marijuana-like substance lingered behind Freebo as he moved, invading Lucas’ nostrils like a tunnel rat. He wondered how this man figured he could get away with lighting-up while on duty. Certainly Kristov would smell it, too.

  Lucas followed the guard down several steep-angled catwalks that snaked their way to the bottom floor.

  Freebo stopped halfway down. He turned to face Lucas, his eyes full of panic. “Shit, I almost forgot. Doc, I have to ask you this question. Just got to get the words unscrambled in my brain, first.”

  “Go ahead,” Lucas answered.

  Freebo’s face contorted in on itself like a mobile home imploding under the stress of an EF-5 tornado. “Why can’t the energy of a zero-point . . . uh . . . constant. . . . Fuck me. I knew I’d mess this up.”

  Lucas put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Do you mean: Why can’t the zero-point energy of a vacuum be interpreted as a cosmological constant?” He was about to answer the question, but Freebo didn’t wait for it.

  “That’s it. Damn it. I knew you would know it. Thanks for savin’ my ass. You’re the bomb, Doc.”

  “Glad to help,” Lucas replied, trying not to laugh. Freebo turned quickly and resumed his march to the bottom floor.

  When Lucas stepped onto the dirt-covered floor, he craned his neck to locate the door where Freebo had first greeted him. He found it up high. It looked tiny and isolated—much like how he felt at that moment. Later, if he needed an exit, that would be the way out, he thought—though it would be a tiring ten-story climb.

  The members of the armed brigade split in half, forming a perfect seam down the middle. Freebo marched forward through the gap, heading for the raised stage where Kristov was standing.

  Lucas followed, avoiding eye contact with the members of the platoon, fearing one of them might be acquainted with Dr. Yakberry and alert Kristov to his unplanned ruse. A lingering thought kept flaring in the back of mind: Was this awe-inspiring gathering just another test—a Baaku test—one designed to further test his character? But it felt real and authentic. Just play along, he told himself. Just in case.

  The last section of the mob parted, allowing Freebo access to the four-step incline that led to the stage. Freebo turned and whispered into Lucas’ ear. “Doc—when you meet Kristov, keep your peeps off her cleavage. It’s a killer, I know, but she’s not real keen on pervs staring at her assets. Got it?”

  Lucas nodded as Freebo turned and walked up the ramp. Lucas decided to follow him, though his legs seemed to be resisting his brain’s command to move. They stood firm for a few seconds, before he managed to wrestle control and step forward.

  Kristov stood at the top of the ramp with her hands on her hips, studying Lucas’ every move. He wasn’t sure what came next, but figured he would just wing it if the goddess wanted to test his scientific knowledge or just talk shop. After all, he was a semi-famous scientist in another life.

  “Doctor Yakberry, I presume?” Kristov asked, aiming the blade of the long-handled knife at Lucas’ chest.

  “Yes. And you must be Kristov,” Lucas answered, using the tip of his index finger to nudge the point of her blade away from his body. “That really isn’t necessary.”

  Kristov grimaced, then turned to Freebo. “Did you clear him?”

  Freebo hesitated, then looked at Lucas for a full second. He cleared his throat, before answering his boss. “Uh. Yes. He answered the riddle perfectly. It’s all good, Commander.”

  Kristov circled around Lucas’ back, then leaned in close to his head. He could feel the warmth of her breath tickling the hairs on his neck. She smelled his skin, then touched the biggest scar on his cheek with the softness of her hand. She whispered in his ear, “Yakberry, huh? What kind of name is that? Artillian or Terran?”

  “With all due respect, Commander, does it matter?”

  “No. Just curious. Where are you from?”

  “Lots of places, but I’m here now and I’ve got a job to do.”

  Kristov completed her circle, stopping in front of him. She stared at him for a good fifteen seconds, tilting her head once as if she were examining the pores in his skin. “You’ve seen some action, but it was a while ago. Your scars look old.”

  Lucas sorted through his memories, trying to formulate the proper answer. Then he remembered something that Zack had told him. “Yes, I was on Avanti Prime, during the first Krellian assault.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. Nice work, Doc.” A few moments later, she said, “Okay then, let’s get started.” She motioned for Lucas to follow her toward the four hooded prisoners resting on their knees. He did.

  She stood in front of the largest captive, using the tip of her knife to lift the man’s chin. “We caught these rebels trying to infiltrate our facility on Level 3. They obviously underestimated our security measures.”

  She pulled her free arm back, then released a blow to the hulky prisoner’s head, sending the man flopping onto his right side. He lay motionless for a two-count, before she kicked him in the ribs, sending a gasp of air out from his lungs. He tried to say something, but his words were muffled and disjointed, as if something were obstructing his voice.

  Kristov kicked him again, this time in the face. “Lucky for us, Doc, they just volunteered for your realignment procedure.”

  Lucas had no idea what she meant by realignment procedure, but played along anyway. “Excellent. They look like healthy subjects. They’ll do nicely.”

  “Cyrus expects results. Today. You know the consequences if you fail.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  She motioned for Freebo to step forward. He did. “Take the doc and the prisoners to the lab.” He nodded once, then stepped back.

  She looked at Lucas. “Everything is ready, just as you requested. Your protocol notes are s
tored in memory buffer 2, data channel 12.”

  “Excellent. I’ll get started right away,” Lucas answered, waiting for Freebo to move past him.

  Freebo helped the four prisoners to their feet. Two masked soldiers from the front row of the brigade joined the stoner to escort the prisoners off the stage to the right. Lucas followed.

  Eleven lengthy corridors, two flights of stairs, and fifteen minutes later, Freebo opened the door to Yakberry’s lab and entered, with Lucas behind him. They were followed by the four prisoners and the two guards. The lab was maybe twenty feet square and stuffed with stainless steel equipment, plus a pair of centrifuges, some metering and calibration equipment, beakers, flasks, burners, and what looked like a pair of deep-well examination tables. A six-by-six metal cage stood to the left; its walls stretching from floor to ceiling. An eight-foot utility table stood isolated near the back wall. To the right was a defibrillator, microscope, and some other odds and ends.

  “Home sweet home, Doc,” Freebo said, swatting his hand against the surface of closest examination table. The table rang out with a sharp ping. “Which two do you want strapped down? I’ll secure the others in the holding cell.”

  “Let’s unwrap them first. I need to see what I have to work with. Start with the one Kristov punched. He’ll probably need some medical attention before I can get started.”

  “You got it, Doc.” Freebo grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him forward. “I was hoping Kristov would assign me this duty. I’ve been wanting to watch this transmutation first-hand for a while now. I’ve heard rumors it gets pretty intense right before their DNA is realigned. We can always use more inventory, especially ones as big as this dude.” Freebo grabbed the man by the neck and yanked his head close to his mouth. “Say goodbye to your old life, asshole, assuming you’re strong enough to survive the pain.”

  Freebo slid the hood off the man. Lucas recognized him. It was Zack.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Blood dripped from several wounds in Zack’s face. His cheeks and forehead were swollen red, and his mouth was covered with a two-inch-wide gag.

  Lucas was about to say something, but stopped when Zack flared his eyes at him, as if to say, “Act like you don’t know me.” Lucas took a moment to think, drawing in a staggered breath.

  Freebo laughed. He stepped closer to Zack, leaning in chest-to-chest, craning his neck to look up. “Talk about your sorry-looking humanity. Someone must have beat him with an ugly stick.” Freebo tore Zack’s shirt off, revealing the abundance of scars across his chest. “This cocksucker’s seen some action, that’s for sure.”

  Lucas grabbed Freebo by the arm and ushered him back a few feet. “Keep a safe distance. I don’t need to be patching you up, too.”

  “I’m not scared of him.”

  “By the looks of him, you should be. You see those scars? It means he’s no stranger to pain. He’s a warrior—a survivor.” But what Lucas really wanted to say was, “—someone who eats punks like you for a snack.” But he didn’t.

  “You want him on the table?”

  “Not yet.” Lucas figured Rico was one of the other hooded prisoners. “Let’s inspect the rest of the inventory.”

  Freebo positioned himself between the second and third prisoners. He stood them up before removing both of their hoods at the same time.

  The first was a female with short-cropped frizzy hair. Her nose was hooked and her eyelids puffy. She wore no make-up, which might have helped as she wasn’t very attractive; she’d showed a lot of wear and tear. She was shorter than Lucas, maybe five-foot-eight, but she had broad shoulders and her muscles were easily twice his size. She, too, was gagged.

  “Excellent specimen. She’ll do nicely.”

  “I thought it was better if they were fat,” Freebo said.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Yes. That is true. But for what we have available, she’s acceptable.”

  Freebo nodded slowly. His eyebrows pinched. “Okay, Doc. It’s your rodeo.”

  The third hostage was a man. Same height as Lucas, dark skin and eyes, thick eyebrows, shoulder-length blond hair with dark streaks, and a slender nose—tears ran down his cheeks. Certainly not Rico.

  “And the last one?” Lucas asked, figuring the final detainee was Rico.

  Before Freebo could respond, the lab door flew open. Kristov walked in, accompanied by two additional guards. Their faces were covered with full facemasks, just like the other two guards who’d helped Freebo escort the group into the lab.

  “Is there a problem here, Yakberry?”

  “No, Commander. I was just inspecting the condition of the specimens.”

  “This is taking too long,” Kristov said. She walked to the fourth hostage, standing a foot in front of Freebo. She pulled her knife back and then thrust it forward, ramming it into the belly of the masked man.

  Lucas gasped.

  She used both hands to pull the knife up, gutting the man from stomach to chest. Blood and tissue spurted out as she withdrew the weapon. The body fell over. It wasn’t moving.

  Zack twisted his body, tugging at the hand restraints, then made a charge forward.

  Freebo rammed the butt of his rifle into Zack’s abdomen, then used an uppercut maneuver to smash it into his forehead. Zack stumbled backward before dropping to the floor.

  “What a pussy,” Freebo said, spitting on Zack’s face.

  “Now we may proceed without any more delay,” Kristov said, wiping the blood on her knife across Freebo’s shirt.

  Lucas was stunned. Unable to speak.

  Kristov pointed to the vid-screen console behind Lucas. “Doc? You still with me? Memory bank 2, data channel 12.”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  She pressed the tip of the blade against his chest. “Do I need to remind you what’s at stake here?”

  Lucas snapped back to reality. “No, Commander.”

  “All right then, let’s get to it.”

  Lucas needed a moment to think. He turned to face away from Kristov, then walked to the widescreen console built into the polished surface of the work desk. He used the touch screen interface and pulled up the data channel. Yakberry’s experiment appeared on the screen. Lucas skimmed through the notes encoded by the real Dr. Yakberry. A minute later, dread took control of his body.

  “Fuck me,” he mumbled quietly.

  Apparently, Yakberry had created a polymorphic retrovirus that could simultaneously re-splice and re-sequence a person’s DNA, transforming them into something . . . unknown. The notes did not mention the end-game for this tech.

  Lucas had read about molecular bio-tech before, but he thought this type of viral transformation was purely theoretical. The doc’s research showed that exogenous DNA could be introduced into the subject’s genome by way of a new type of multi-vectoring agent that would trigger the transformation. The delivery system was based on Cyrus’ micro-bee drug technology, allowing Yakberry to program the nano-machines to target specific DNA checkpoints within adult cells. Truly ingenious.

  He was starting to understand the enormous potential of this research. Human bodies contain an array of undifferentiated stem cells that, when needed, can be genetically programmed and activated for indefinite regeneration and repair. After all, that’s what happens when your body repairs a cut on your finger, or when new blood is created after you donate a pint at the local blood bank. This new tech might even make it possible to regrow whole organs and limbs, and since they would be made from the donor’s own human cells, there would be no possibility of rejection.

  He kept reading and digesting more of the information. His mind continued to churn out dozens of potential uses of this tech, each one more incredible than the last. His eyes and brain froze when something occurred to him—something he never thought possible, at least not before today.

  If Yakberry had figured out how to create vast amounts of zero-age stem cells from regular-aged cells in the donor’s body, then he could—in effect—reset a person’s body back
to its original state at birth. Bodies would be kept in their most pristine state, meaning they would never break down or wear out, nor would they ever die. If someone happened to get injured, Yakberry could use this tech to grow a new limb or repair the damage. He could even use it to erase an invading cancer cluster or some other heinous disease.

  Lucas took another minute to finish studying the last page of research. The page was titled “Phase 2,” which discussed the possibility of creating a unique, neural-coded link between a central controller and the transformed subjects. That meant a single person would be able to control dozens, if not thousands of these genetically altered humans without interference—sort of like a telepathic fingerprint for secure access. Given the nearly infinite variations of neural patterns within the human brain, it would be impossible to fake or intercept, giving the controller a perfectly secure, yet unbreakable link to control his entire army of genetically-altered humans, all with nothing more than pure thought.

  But one burning questioned remained. What type of transformed human was Yakberry attempting to create?

  “Can we get started?” Kristov asked Lucas. “We don’t have all day.”

  “Sorry, I needed to be sure the protocols were aligned properly before we begin.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yes. Perfectly,” Lucas answered, spinning to face her. He wondered about the foreign DNA that Yakberry had used and its origin. He thought that the telepathic fingerprint might be a clue to the answer. The only species he’d encountered with that ability was the Krellian Empire—their physiology would have superior physical and telepathic characteristics. He figured it was some type of trans-genetic sub-splice. Possibly, a set of hybrid DNA strands, extracted from the foul, flesh-eating creatures.

  Then, another idea popped into his head. It might not be about creating zero-age stem cells or regenerating human tissue. Yakberry might be using this tech to transform ordinary humans into an army of controllable Krellian arthropods to do Cyrus’ bidding. He could then control them with just his thoughts, unleashing a brigade of mindless drones. Even worse, if Yakberry had managed to encode resistance to his father’s sonic pad technology, there’d be no way to stop the flesh-eating marauders. They’d be the perfect killing machine.