Revolution of the Gods: The Battle for Sol Book One (2 page)

The trains brought new detainees through the Oakland Naval Supply Center where they were shuffled to the main entrance at the corner of Peralta Street and 3rd Street. The former post office on the corner had been retrofitted as the temporary Oakland ROC Command. Every day the displaced Israeli hoped to see someone he knew. He realized it was a futile endeavor but he maintained hope nonetheless.

Early one morning around 2 a.m. Ben noticed a tall man standing in the line. Most of the people entering the center nowadays were usually sick, malnourished, or emotionally distraught. Many times it was a combination of all three. The man Ben intently analyzed possessed none of these attributes. He appeared in very good health.

How fascinating.

The guards were consistently broadcasting the same exact instructions that Ben had heard himself over the loudspeaker when he first arrived:

E
very time he woke up, everything around him was always the same; a cylindrical chamber filled full of liquid in which he floated upright and surrounded with holographic displays projecting diagnostic images of a human body. More often than not, a man in a white lab coat would be staring up at him when he came to consciousness. He had no memory of who he was, where he was or why he was there. Yet, there he was, completely submerged in a gelatinous greenish fluid that made him feel paralyzed.

During his increasing spurts of consciousness, he struggled to observe his surroundings while he was lucid. Although he was waking up more frequently, it was not until the last couple of days that he was able to actually see beyond the liquid and into the laboratory. He managed to make out what looked like a command array located about 40 feet away. It was a cluster of bio-medical displays that were monitored by technicians wearing some type of bio-suits.

On this particular morning, while he was in the middle of an effort to concentrate his focus, a group of eight military officers entered through the bulkhead door of the laboratory with one of them walking up closely to the chamber. Even though the subject was fully immersed inside this tube, he could clearly discern the conversation going on outside of it.

I can hear them!

“How is he progressing?” queried General Bracken, provisional commander of the facility.

Bracken was in his early 50s and stood 5 foot 9 inches, but he walked as if he were a giant. His slitted gray eyes were like two thin pieces of steel flanking his flattened nose and strong chin. The commander’s balding head was normally covered by his hat and his thick officer’s coat concealed a slightly overweight midsection. When he spoke, the general’s voice was deep, raspy and crackled as a result of loudly barking orders over the years.

“The maturation cycle has been markedly improved with this subject,” Dr. Hauer calmly and confidently replied, walking through the bulkhead behind the military brass.

Although he seemed like an unassuming older man, Dr. Hauer was the lead researcher on this project and the foremost world authority on mutative genetic science. His wide blue eyes contrasted sharply against his pale white skin and silky straight alabaster hair. With a thin angular build, he was a few inches taller than the general and much older, but not even Bracken knew exactly how old.

“How long before we have definitive results?” Bracken asked, turning around to face Hauer.

“Within 48 hours,” the doctor assured, with a trace of annoyance.

The general walked over to the chamber and peered up at the latest product of the GEO Project. The Genetically Enhanced Operative Project had been initiated almost three years ago but utilized decades of prior research to accelerate a new cloning procedure for potential future combatants.

Bracken observed the very tall muscular specimen floating seemingly dormant with dozens of wires and tubes attached all over his body.

“Alert us immediately when you achieve emergence,” Bracken ordered, concluding his rare visit to the laboratory. With a glance at his entourage, Bracken’s men fell in behind him and marched out as quickly as they had entered.

Dr. Hauer immediately walked over to the chamber and began accessing the holographic controls. With the push of a few keys, several diagrams of the subject superimposed on the chamber casing with elongated strands of DNA data correlating to displays of his body. He looked at the man floating in the chamber and thought about the things that had happened so long ago.

“What are the current readings on the frontal cortex firings?” Hauer asked one of the technicians.

“We have the highest levels thus far. Exceeding expected projected delineations,” the technician puffed as if he had something to do with the results.

Dr. Hauer glared into the chamber at what seemed to be a perfectly normal human male roughly 30 years of age but really only three years old in the doctor’s time.

Perhaps you will be the one.

S
eventy miles northeast of the Oakland ROC daily life held a distinct contrast in Sacramento. This area was designated as a NAU ‘Protected Commerce Zone’ or PCZ. Although the people in the Sacramento PCZ enjoyed limited forms of their old freedoms, very few considered themselves actually free.

These NAU zones combined various infrastructure related industries and businesses, as well as the local banking mechanisms located in strategic cities with the highest asset value. The workers that lived within the these zones experienced a more comfortable existence but were still highly controlled.

The hustle of citizens on the roads and sidewalks, going to and from their jobs and destinations, no longer existed. The traffic consisted primarily of windowless military cargo vans transporting workers to their jobs in specified sectors of industries deemed vital for NAU infrastructure. And it was the scientific community that possessed the highest number of citizens within most PCZs.

Courtney Leroux, a tall brunette in her early 40s who wore thick black rimmed glasses that obscured her hazel eyes, was originally from North Carolina. She moved to Sacramento after completing a five year stint in the genetics program at Duke University. The Jackson Laboratory had opened its larger California facility back in 2009 and quickly established itself as the epicenter for cutting edge genetics research and that’s where Courtney was destined to establish her career.

Dr. Leroux considered herself fortunate to be selected for the institution’s Computational Biology and Bioinformatics research department. After the NAU formed, the Jackson Laboratory was repurposed for a specific subclass of genetic research and Dr. Leroux was eventually designated lead researcher in the field.

Other than the strict curfews, Dr. Leroux’s daily life in the new NAU reminded her a lot of when she lived on campus in her dormitory. All of the scientists working at Jackson were now housed in the downtown Capitol Towers building which had been a residential apartment building prior to the economic collapse and superflu pandemic.

A small fleet of white vans would be waiting in front of the lobby at 5:00 a.m. each morning, seven days a week. Dr. Leroux and her colleagues caught glimpses of the outside around the apartment building before being escorted into the vans by armed personnel. It was a brief chance to observe the world before beginning their highly regimented day at the lab.

The trip to the lab this morning was silent as usual - the scientists were instructed not to converse personally or professionally. The silence did not bother many of them as they were most often singularly focused on and consumed with the new directives assigned to their individual departments at the lab.

The van came to a stop in front of the Jackson lab, jarring Dr. Leroux from her contemplation. She attended to her pony tail and straightened her glasses before filing out of the van with the five other researchers, all of them clad in their white lab coats. Before reaching the front door to the lobby, one of the security guards walked hurriedly in her direction.

“Dr. Leroux, Administrator Pennington would like to see you in his office as soon as possible.”

“Okay Tony,” she politely responded.

What is it this time?
She wondered as she entered through the mirrored glass door to the lobby and walked across the pristinely polished marble floor toward the executive elevator.

Courtney pressed her palm on an opaque white bio-metric panel which produced a bright horizontal light beam that went up and down twice scanning her right hand and enabled the panels to slide open. When the elevator reached the third floor, she checked to see if her coat was buttoned to the top and brushed off any potential lint before she exited and turned right, heading down the hall. She took a subtle deep breath before walking into Pennington’s office.

The administrator was a short, older man that had spent the better part of four decades as a corporate bureaucrat. He and another man in uniform were both seated, awaiting Dr. Leroux’s arrival.

“Good morning Dr. Leroux. I would like for you to meet General Straka, the military liaison for Project Splicer,” Pennington said as the doctor entered the office.

“Nice to meet you Dr. Leroux,” Straka said while remaining in his seat and nodding his head.

General Straka was a ruggedly good looking 48 year old native of California. His tan complexion was accented with dark brown hair and light brown eyes. General Straka’s most prominent characteristic was his pronounced baritone voice. When he spoke it seemed inherently more impressive in his deep, rich tone. Even though he had been the military liaison to Jackson for over two years, this was the first time Dr. Leroux had met him in person.

“Dr. Leroux, can you have your current findings ready for presentation by 0600 hours?” asked Pennington.

“I believe so sir.”

“Splendid! You will be briefing General Straka and a panel of additional officers in a teleconference. You may utilize the staff for your preparations and let me know if you need anything.”

“Yes sir.” Courtney replied, doing her best to offer a reassuring grin as she nodded to both of the men and walked out of Pennington’s office.

Why are they requesting a briefing so urgently?

Once she arrived back in her lab, the doctor sat down at her desk feeling completely overwhelmed. The main laboratory was a large open space populated with the latest in conventional and experimental genetic research equipment: DNA/Automated Sequencers, Multiplex PCR Thermocyclers, Mass Spectrometers, Protein Sequencers and a collection of newer non-commercial tools of the trade. She stared at the various scientific utensils and thought about how much knowledge she and her team had gathered.

“What’s wrong?” Doctor Blayr Hewlett asked. Blayr and Courtney were very close. In fact they were intimately close despite the fact that Courtney was technically a married woman. Over the years after she arrived in Sacramento alone, Courtney and her husband grew further and further apart to the point where they both silently acknowledged that their marriage was over. They just never made it official.

“The briefing has been moved up and scheduled for 6:00 a.m. today,” Courtney informed.

“Are you prepared?”

“As much as I can be. The question is are they ready?”

“Our research must certainly possess a purpose for which they understand better than us,” Blayr reassured.

“That is what troubles me the most. I'm not sure what frightens me more. The fact that they initiated this project or how the result will be utilized. Blayr, I know you can appreciate the ramifications of this data.”

“We would be well served to not discuss the particulars,” Blayr reminded her.

“I know. Well, I will let you know how things go later today. I love you,” Courtney whispered as she stroked his hand carefully.

“I love you too.”

Courtney wiped her eyes to prevent a full flow of tears. When she regained her composure, she focused her attention to the task at hand. She had previously compiled the data in a presentation in order to be prepared on a moment’s notice. Her forethought was paying a huge dividend this particular morning as she called over her assistant to perform a final review of the data.

A
fter General Bracken’s early morning inspection the lab had emptied out with only three technicians remaining behind at the bio-medical array. As the GEO continued to float in the chamber, he had no explanation for why his perceptions were becoming exponentially more acute. But through the liquid he could now observe his entire surroundings with complete clarity.

The maturation chamber was in the center of an immense laboratory. Resembling the cargo hull of a container ship, metal bulkheads reaching 30 feet high supported the polished steel walls that were crisscrossed with a plethora of pipes and wires. Two glowing power reactors were located behind his chamber with hoses of various sizes and colors connected to it. In front of him and to his left, he vividly observed the technicians; one of whom was analyzing a diagram of his full body readout on a wall viewer.

For the first time in his brief memory, the thought of getting out of the chamber crossed his mind. At that instance, tiny electrical arcs momentarily sparked from his fingertips. The technician in front of the diagram swiftly alerted his coworkers to the full body readout that had registered the event.

Let’s try that again
, the GEO determined.

With his focus simultaneously on the bio-medical array, the dozens of needle electrodes in his body and the chamber lid, he exerted a more conscious effort.

Suddenly, an enormous burst of energy emanated from within the chamber and webbed through the room, disabling the terminals and throwing the technicians violently backwards. The electrodes immediately retracted from his muscles and ejected into the green gel just before the lid flew open, hissing from each side with its hydraulics spewing exhaust.