The Embers of Hope: A science-fiction thriller (Hibernation Series Book 2)

by Nick Jones

  ‘But what?’ Nathan asked.

  George emptied the dregs of a bottle into a glass and knocked it back. ‘The Histeridae. It’s hard for me to be near it again.’

  This was his routine. From seven till midnight he would drink until he could no longer stand. Nathan knew the window of opportunity was small. George began looking around for another bottle.

  Nathan thought back to the night he had arrived. Mohanty had gotten drunk and said something, words that echoed in Nathan’s mind ever since.

  ‘I loved Jacob’s daughter,’ Nathan said quietly. ‘You said that when it comes to the Histeridae, death is a very relative term, and that gave me hope that she might be alive.’ As the words left his mouth, he knew how crazy they sounded. He felt like a desperate man, one who had journeyed miles to hear a phoney mystic tell him whatever he needed to hear.

  George didn’t appear to be listening; he was up and searching drawers and cupboards. He turned to Nathan, brow narrowed, eyes tight with suspicion.

  ‘What have you done with it?’ he asked, sharply.

  ‘You can have it later, after we’ve talked.’

  George rubbed a hand through his thin white hair. His eyes continued to search the room. The alcohol was George’s own recipe. Nathan had found an industrious set-up in the basement dedicated to its production. Beers and wines were batched in small quantities, more of a hobby. The main event was a homemade still used to make the strong green liquor he favoured. George had let slip that the next batch wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks. Nathan had found and hidden, nine bottles.

  He watched as George – realising there wasn’t a drop to drink – became a different man. He began pulling books and boxes off shelves, hands shaking. He turned to Nathan, eyes shimmering with rage, and screamed, ‘You don’t understand. I need it!’

  ‘Calm down.’ Nathan stood, hands raised. ‘I told you, you can have it later.’

  George snarled and ran into the kitchen. After more crashing and shouting, he returned, face flushed red. His lips trembled as he shook a bony, outstretched finger at Nathan. ‘What gives you the right,’ he hissed, spitting the words like venom, ‘to keep it from me?’

  Nathan sprang up and lunged. George’s face became fearful as he was lifted up against the wall. ‘What gives you the right to keep the truth from me?’ Nathan boomed.

  George’s eyes flicked towards the stairs, towards Nathan’s room and the Histeridae.

  ‘If you can use it,’ Nathan snarled, banging his fist against the wall, ‘then you can tell me if she’s alive!’ Nathan took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. He released George and began to pace the room. ‘I know you can do it.’

  George was shaken, but appeared to suddenly regain his focus. He steadied himself against the wall. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words came slowly as he pushed away tears. ‘Jacob was a friend, my best friend, and he was killed, and now his daughter, too.’ His eyes locked with Nathan. ‘But I should never have said what I did. I need to explain why I can never use it again.’

  Nathan took a step back and placed a hand gently on George’s shoulder. ‘Just tell me the truth. Tell me everything. Start at the beginning and let me decide for myself what to do.’

  He guided the old man to a seat near the fire in the centre of the house, the place where he had first been given hope.

  ‘Death is relative,’ George said. ‘Those words weren’t mine, they were said to me a long time ago by a man named Victor Reyland.’

  It was obvious that George was drifting into the distant past, a place buried and forgotten. ‘That was around the time it all went wrong, when the project went off the rails.’ He continued: ‘That’s when we learned what the Histeridae could do, what it was really capable of.’

  Outside, the wind howled as if nature itself was concerned that long-forgotten secrets were about to be revealed.

  Chapter 3

  Oxford, England.

  2053

  The lights were kept low. Apart from a table in the corner, the room had no furniture and no distractions. Two men wearing lab coats faced each other. On the floor in front of their feet were two lines of sticky tape. One line each, a few feet from where they stood. In an adjacent room a team of four observed. Two were glued to their screens, the other two jostled for position at a small observation window.

  ‘If I win, you won’t even know it,’ George Mohanty said, a mischievous look spreading over his face.

  Jacob Logan nodded politely and replied, ‘And if I win, I will never let you forget it.’

  The ability to mentally connect with the artefact was rare. George had been pleased when Jacob Logan had worked out; he’d liked him from the start. Jacob said the artefact, with its unusual red markings, reminded him of a Histeridae beetle and suggested they name the project after it.

  The pair had been on the project for nearly eighteen months and, after what seemed like an age of testing, validating and red tape, were finally getting to put their theories into practice.

  George watched as strange lights spiralled and danced around Jacob’s head. He glanced briefly at the window to his right and felt sorry that the technicians couldn’t see the spectacle; the light show was for the operator only and part of the strange connection that formed between the mind and the artefact. It was beautiful, alien, yet somehow familiar; like the aurora borealis, it shimmered in lapping waves across his vision. He was transfixed.

  The Histeridae glowed a little brighter as Jacob took a step forward, his foot now an inch from the line of tape. George smiled. Jacob looked down at the tape and then back at him.

  ‘You can’t stop me, George,’ Jacob said, shaking his head. ‘I’m going to step over that line.’

  George offered his hands as if feeling for rain. ‘You do whatever feels right.’

  Jacob stumbled and stepped forward again, his black leather shoes scuffing the edge of the silver packing tape. He sucked in a breath, sweat popping from his forehead in concentration. He lifted his foot, which seemed to hover for an age before landing beyond the tape. The rest of his body followed, looking every bit like a man walking against a fierce wind.

  The experiment ended and an excited voice filled the room. It was Sally, one of the observation team.

  ‘We are getting some astounding readings in here,’ she said, ‘off the scale compared to yesterday.’

  Jacob held out his hand, face glowing with victory. ‘Better luck next time.’

  George smiled. ‘You genuinely don’t know, do you?’

  Jacob’s expression changed. It said: I know I’ve missed something.

  George knew that feeling too, subtle and dark, like discovering there was a person hiding behind the curtains the whole time. Today it was Jacob’s turn to feel it.

  George asked Sally to explain the game.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied, instantly bouncing through the rules. ‘The point of the game was to see who could persuade the other to cross the line.’

  Jacob looked down and processed what he was hearing.

  ‘I fooled you, didn’t I?’ George said quietly. ‘Made you think it was the opposite, that in order to win you had to cross the line?’

  Jacob nodded.

  George walked forward and tapped Jacob’s shoulder playfully. ‘Come on, let’s have a look at what we’ve got.’

  Jacob followed him into the adjoining room. It was filled with floating projection screens and desks covered in coffee cups and seemed charged with energy. Four neuroscience graduates were gathered around a single screen.

  ‘Crossing the line has given us loads this time,’ one of them said, a beaming smile showing most of his teeth. ‘You used a completely different part of your brain – the activity was amazing!’

  George spent some time analysing the data, lost in the group’s fervour, so much so that he lost track of time. When he looked up, he realised Jacob was standing at the viewing window, staring back into the room. He joined him.

  ‘You okay?’ George asked. />
  ‘I really had no idea,’ Jacob replied. He added, without any bitterness, ‘You didn’t just make me do it, you made me think it was my bloody idea!’ He smiled. ‘You’re so much better than me, you know.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ George replied. ‘Anyway, it isn’t a competition. The fact that we can both use it is fantastic. If we keep going at this rate the first round of tests will be complete in less than a month.’

  ‘And then we get to move on,’ Jacob said, his own smile forming.

  They both knew what that meant: more funding and the chance to take their research into a different sphere. As their graduate team clicked and processed around them, the two scientists gazed at the Histeridae. It had stopped glowing brightly but its red centre was visible, even at a distance.

  It was busy, that swirling little shape, always busy.

  Chapter 4

  The bar was five minutes from their lab. The grads used it often, George and Jacob less so, but today felt like a celebration. George returned from the bathroom and hopped onto a bar stool opposite his friend. In the background, people played pool and chatted quietly while music played. The singer was wailing about letting someone go and fighting to get them back.

  Jacob dabbed his nose and pulled back the tissue. Specks of dark blood spread like slow explosions. He pushed the bloodied rag into his pocket.

  ‘Happen again?’ George asked. ‘You can’t hide it from me, you know.’

  Jacob shrugged. ‘Doesn’t hurt and my scans are clear. I have to try harder than you and then I end up popping something.’ He took a slug of beer, smiled and whispered, ‘It’s fucking amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ George agreed, enjoying the buzz of a second beer, ‘and every day it gets more exciting.’

  Jacob leant in. ‘What are we doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Joint persuasion.’

  This experiment required them to network their minds together and persuade multiple targets. The challenge was to achieve this without any of the subjects knowing. Based on today’s performance, George was hopeful.

  They sat in silence for a while, peeling the labels from their bottles. News displayed on the screens around the bar showed images of flooding and hordes of people in long lines. George nodded towards one. ‘We’re in our own little bubble in there,’ he said. ‘While the world goes to hell we get to play with mind control.’

  ‘Not so loud, big guy,’ Jacob hushed him. ‘Not sure the world is ready to hear that.’

  The world. George sighed. It was in a mess, a man-made problem kicked down the road, generation after generation. There was talk of zoning, of population displacement. Accelerated warming was out of control.

  ‘Jameson is likely to get re-elected,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Good job too,’ George replied. ‘We need someone like him, someone to show some leadership.’

  The UN had been granted new powers and treaties were being signed. If everything went as expected, the world powers would be required to work together in a way never seen before.

  Jacob chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘George, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure. Anything.’

  Jacob locked eyes with his friend. ‘I know we’ve talked about it before, but what do you think it is?’ His eyes searched for the truth. ‘I mean, really? Where do you think it came from?’

  George Mohanty took another swig of beer. He raised his forefinger and pointed directly up.

  ‘Come on, seriously?’ Jacob sneered and sat back. ‘Do you mean aliens? God?’

  George continued to point. ‘I’m not saying aliens specifically, but it isn’t from here.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘That much I do know.’

  Chapter 5

  Jacob felt every mile that separated him from his daughter. ‘I will be home for the weekend,’ he assured her, ‘maybe late Friday, but definitely home. Will you tell Mummy that?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy,’ his daughter replied. ‘But can we spend some proper time?’ It was her demanding voice, the one that left him defenceless.

  He glanced around the empty corridor and then whispered, ‘Yes, Jenny. I promise. Okay?’

  She giggled, ‘I love you,’ and then the line was dead.

  ‘I love you too,’ he whispered solemnly.

  He missed his wife and daughter. He had always worked long hours, but when Jenny was born had vowed to do better, and for a while he had managed. After they moved to Brook Mill Farm, the three of them had been doing well, but then everything changed.

  All it took was one phone call.

  Victor Reyland had that effect on people, could turn your life upside down and then persuade you that ‘normal’ was overrated.

  For Jacob, time had a new reference and new meaning. Hours spent in the lab were somehow measured on a different scale, one that didn’t exist anywhere else. Veronica and Jenny were struggling to adapt. They all were.

  The Histeridae project had taken much – at times Jacob wondered if it was worth it – but it was a drug, a high that kept on giving. Mohanty was convinced they would receive the Nobel Prize for their work.

  He might be right, Jacob thought. They had unlocked the brain in a way that no one could have imagined – not in a thousand years – and might finally cure the last, stubborn brain diseases, those that continued to kill millions. That was reason enough. Wasn’t it? He thought about the Histeridae and wondered if Mohanty was right about that, too. Maybe it was a gift from the stars, a way to turn the lens on ourselves and reimagine what we’re capable of.

  George joined him in the hallway, lifting him from his deepest thoughts. ‘How do I look?’ he asked.

  Jacob stifled a well-needed laugh. George Mohanty, a small, rotund man, was squeezed into an ill-fitting suit, faded and baggy in all the wrong places. It looked like a rental and lacked distinguishable style. Beneath it was a cream shirt, gripped by a tie that cut into his bulging neck. His hair, normally wild, was scraped flat against his head and he was clean-shaven, giving him a boyish look.

  Jacob smiled. ‘You look like we need the money.’

  They did. Today was all about money. Since moving to GCHQ, things had become complicated and exciting in equal measure. Their research had gained interest from the powers on high and today they were discussing the future of the Histeridae project with David Jameson, the newly elected Secretary General of the UN. The pair had needed to pinch themselves when Reyland told them.

  David Jameson.

  Jacob remembered his election, a hard-earned victory built on years of experience in the hotbed of international policy making. He had a seemingly endless enthusiasm for innovation, which had made him the obvious choice in a world that had finally accepted accelerating climate change. He was a man people could get behind, someone who could lead where others had failed.

  The two friends walked in silence. Having spent the majority of the last two years in one place – their lab on level six – it felt strange to be wandering the corridors. George was optimistic, but Jacob knew Jameson could shut the project down in an instant. It was like that now. People made big decisions and then made them happen. The old ways of endless debate, council, referendums and stalling were over. There simply wasn’t time. In many ways that was a good thing, but it also meant if you got caught in the wake of someone else’s ship you could drown. Quickly.

  They arrived at a thick steel door flanked by two armed guards. Jacob was aware his heart was beating faster. After the obligatory scanning and security checks, the door hissed open and on the other side, straight as a pole, stood Victor Reyland. His eyes moved across the two men. Processing.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, clearly mocking their attempt at smartness. ‘You look every bit the negotiators.’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Ready for the biggest, most important conversation of your life?’ he asked, striding away.

  Jacob and George followed like obedient children, knowing they would never be ready.

  A hologram flickered into life. Green, blues and reds
joined together to form a lifelike image of David Jameson. He scanned the room. He was dressed in a smart shirt, unbuttoned at the top, casual trousers and deck shoes and seemed relaxed. The two scientists were seated around a circular table, facing his projection. It was the first time they had seen him up close.

  ‘Gentlemen. I wanted to thank you personally for your efforts.’ Jameson’s American accent was noticeably softened by years in global politics. ‘I would like to have done so face to face, but can’t be in two places at once. Not yet, anyway.’ He offered a half-smile. ‘Just know that I’m thankful.’ He approached the table and looked at each of them slowly, deliberately. ‘I can’t pretend to understand, but I am not exaggerating when I say your research may end up saving mankind.’

  The two scientists nodded. Save mankind? Jacob glanced over at George, who was concentrating so hard he looked like he might pass out.

  ‘I don’t say that lightly,’ Jameson continued, ‘but there is something happening here, something that can’t simply be explained away. It’s just too aligned to be anything but…’ He smiled again and paused, long enough for the two neuroscientists to wonder if they should say something.

  Jameson said, ‘I’m not sure I actually believe in fate, but this whole thing has me wondering.’ He frowned and then seemed to shrug it off, switching to another subject. ‘The Global Governance role afforded to the UN is not power. We don’t sit atop the governments and institutions of this planet. The UN is our conscience, our guide. The Earth’s future will not be decided based on power or gain, it will be decided by what’s right for all.’

  Jameson spoke with clarity and conviction, but Jacob was struggling to connect the threads. He squirmed awkwardly in his seat. What did this have to do with their funding?

  ‘Have you heard of the Baden Corporation?’ Jameson asked.

  ‘I have, Sir.’ George swallowed, his throat clicking loudly. ‘Big in Pharma.’