314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (20 page)

Vess
enjoyed Oliver’s phrasing. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“Am I right?”

“In a way, yes,” said Vess. “Although, it’s not as diabolical as you make it sound. Giving up faith is a step forward for the human race. Just like we stopped believing in Hades, or Zeus, or Odin, or any number of the old Gods, the current deities people cling to will die in time. We’re not suffering any delusion that we can eradicate all belief in God around the world, but if science is able to provide us with an explanation about what happens when we die…” He shook his head and smiled before saying, “It doesn’t take a scientist to recognize what sort of affect that might have on society.”

“So why March 14
th
?” asked Oliver. “What does doing it on that date, at 3:14, do for us?”

“It’s just marketing,” said
Vess. “Most people are familiar with the numbers because of their relationship to basic math, but the history books don’t have much regard for the date. When you hear the number, it doesn’t immediately conjure up any recollection about an important event. But we’re going to change all of that. Soon, whenever someone hears the numbers three-fourteen, they’ll think of what we accomplished. The name of our company, and the date and time that we performed our experiment will create instant immortality for us. Mankind will never forget us.”

“Wow,” said Oliver. They were moving slowly through the ship on account of
Vess’s disability. “Were you the one that came up with the idea to use the date?”

“No,” said
Vess. “Oddly, it was Einstein that suggested it. As much as the man tried my patience, I’m willing to give him proper due. Three-fourteen was his idea.”

“I didn’t know he had a mind for marketing,” said Oliver as he opened the door that led into the loading bay where the
CORD was located.

“Don’t give him too much credit,” said
Vess with a snort. “March 14
th
is his birthday after all.”

Oliver laughed and asked, “Is it really? I had no idea.”

Vess snickered as he nodded. “The wily old bastard was intent on figuring out a way to make sure people remembered it.”

“I would’ve thought he grew up with the dates switched around,” said Oliver. “Wouldn’t he have written March 14
th
as 14-3?”

“Yes, but back in those days he was keen on considering himself an American. Plus, he loved the mathematical significance of his birthday when written down in our style.
Also, good luck finding the 3
rd
day of the 14
th
month, or the 31
st
of April. If you want to turn 314 into a date, then March 14
th
is your only option.”

Oliver allowed
Vess to enter the room first. The door opened to a catwalk that looked down on the bay where the CORD was kept. Oliver expected the old man to be pleased, but Vess turned to him with a scowl.

“This isn’t right,” said
Vess.

“What’s not right?”

“This,” Vess motioned down to the level below. “All of this. What is that curtain?” He pointed at an enormous curtain that was currently bunched up and tied, but could be guided around a half-moon rail to shroud the CORD during the experiment. “And what is that box there?” Vess was referring to a stopgap measure that had been installed to regulate the flow of radioactive material. The original CORD hadn’t implemented such cautions, because people at the time weren’t familiar with the damaging effects that radiation could have on the human body. The stopgap was simply a container that could keep anyone on the ship safe from the uranium. When the stopgap was cut off, the CORD would be fed the radioactive material, a process that Oliver and the engineers at Cada E.I.B. began to refer to as ‘Cutting the CORD.’

“We followed the directions
that we…”

“I don’t care,” said
Vess. “You have to fix this. We have to try and make the room look as much like it did as possible.”

“We can’t,” said Oliver. “The stopgap measure can’t be replaced. I can have the curtains taken down, but the…”

“Who authorized these changes?” asked Vess, incensed.

“The Accord,” said Oliver, referring to the board of scientists that he’d assumed
Vess was a member of. They were the collection of scientists that decided which projects Cada E.I.B. funded. “We built everything according to their plans.”

“Those idiots,” said
Vess, seething with anger as he grinded his grip on the railing. “They ignored everything I told them. They don’t understand. Goddamn it!” Vess made a fist and slammed it down, causing the hollow rail to hum.

“I can take the curtain down,” said Oliver. “But there’s nothing I can do about the stopgap mechanism.” He glanced at the orange box that was positioned to the left of the
CORD. It was about two feet high, and rectangular shaped, with black hazard stickers on each side. The reinforced box was an integral part of the CORD, and removing it couldn’t be done before the experiment was meant to begin.

Vess
pointed to the corners of the room, where cameras had been set up. “And those have to go.”

“Sir, The Accord is going to want to be able to…”

“I don’t care,” said Vess definitively. “I’m here, and this is my project. You work for me. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” said Oliver as he avoided looking into the old man’s eyes.

“I was there the first time the CORD was activated,” said Vess. “I’m the only one that’s ever seen this thing work, and I’ll be damned if they think they’re going to tell me how to do things. We don’t need these safety measures. I’m the only one that’s felt the effects, and I’m not dying of cancer. I’m as healthy as I ever was.” He looked at Oliver, as if expecting the young man to nod in agreement, but his new assistant just continued to avoid his gaze. “Look at me.”

Oliver did as he was told.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I…” Oliver stammered. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I’m ninety-three.”

Oliver was surprised, and couldn’t help but scowl in disbelief.

“Yes, that’s right.” Vess was amused by Oliver’s reaction. “Ninety-three.” He raised his arms out to the side to present himself. “I don’t look that bad for being so old, do I?”

“Ninety-three?” asked Oliver in
surprise. “How is that possible? I wouldn’t have guessed you were more than seventy.”

“Seventy?” asked
Vess as if offended. “Do I look that old?” He glanced at his hands, which weren’t as wrinkled as a man of seventy would have. Then he poked at his cheek, which drooped. “I guess my skin’s been pulled down a bit, and my joints are suffering more and more by the day, but you can thank gravity for that.”

Oliver didn’t say anything, but just continued to gape at the man. He couldn’t fathom that
Vess was as old as he claimed.

Vess
sensed Oliver’s disbelief. “Hard to believe, I know, but it’s the truth. I was forty when I took part in the first CORD experiment. No one’s certain what happened that day, and despite my best efforts I can only remember bits and pieces of it, but the experiment stopped the aging process in me. I was the subject of an awful lot of studies over the years, but it was only recently that they’ve come even close to figuring out what got triggered inside of me that day. Apparently, my body started producing an excess amount of an enzyme called telomerase, which is how cellular structures can prevent themselves from dying.”

“That’s incredible,” said Oliver.

“Yes, it is, and we’ve never been able to recreate what happened that day. And if you don’t do as I say, then we won’t be able to recreate it today either.”

“Ninety-three?” asked Oliver again in awe.

Vess laughed and nodded. “Yes. For most of the time I looked like any other forty year old, but my skin eventually gave in to gravity, and the cartilage in my joints continued to wear away. There’s no getting around that part of aging. But beneath this drooping exterior is the mind and spirit of a forty-year-old, I assure you.”

“Did you make it to heaven?” asked Oliver with reverence, like a former atheist that had suddenly found God.

“I don’t know,” said Vess. “I can remember everything leading up to the moment we turned the machine on, but then there was a span of time that’s lost to me. The next thing I remember is waking up as the machine was powering down. I’ve spent my entire life trying to recreate what happened that day, and I’m not going to put up with anyone standing in my way.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” said Oliver. “I can have the curtain taken down, but there’s nothing I can do about the stopgap. The
CORD won’t work without it. It’s designed to prevent radiation from leaking. They even made us use an external power supply for it in case the battery fails.”

“Do whatever you need to,” said
Vess. “When we set sail tomorrow, I want this room to be as close to perfect as you can get it. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” said Oliver. “I’ll do what I can.”

Branson

March 13
th
, 2012

4:20 AM

Charles Dunbar awoke with the knowledge that a child by the name of Ben Harper was in the room next to him, and that Ben was in danger. A group of people had forced their way into the room, and were planning on hurting the helpless child.

Charles leapt from his bed, convinced that he was the only one that could save Ben. He put his ear to the wall and listened to the commotion next door, and was certain he was right. He could hear a slew of people yelling in the next room, but also heard the gentle scratching of Ben’s fingers against the wall between them.

“You sons of bitches!”
Charles was about to run out of his room, but then he went back to the kitchen to find a knife. He was in only a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, but there wasn’t time to get dressed. He rifled through the drawers of the small kitchen before settling on a dull steak knife. It would have to do.

On his way back out, he walked along the side of his bed to reach the wall that separated him from Ben. He put his hand on the wall and said, “Don’t worry buddy, I’m on my way.”

It was chilly out, and the hair on his arms stood tall as the wind struck him once he opened the door. For a moment, he considered how crazy the situation was, but he didn’t give himself time to debate. He knew that Ben’s life was in danger.

He walked over to the room beside his, and thought about what the best way to handle the group inside was. Charles wasn’t sure how he knew about the people in the room, or why he was certain they had weapons, but it was an infallible truth. He raised his hand to knock, but then paused and wondered to himself if he’d taken a sleeping pill. A few years back he’d been prescribed a sleep aid, but had reacted poorly to it. His wife found him sleeping on the kitchen floor one night, and he had no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

Charles shook his head, confident that this wasn’t the result of a bad reaction to any medication. Ben Harper was in the bathroom in this room, terrified and hoping that Charles would save him. Charles had never been more certain of anything in his life.

He knocked on the door, and waited with the knife behind his back. He was sure they had weapons, so he needed them to open the door without any expectation of being attacked. His heart was thudding, and he felt the knife’s handle grow slick in his sweating palms. He smiled at the peephole as he swallowed hard, nervous and jittery.

A black woman opened the door. She looked to be in her early to mid-thirties, with dreadlocks and wearing several necklaces made of wooden beads. She smiled and said, “I’m sorry for the noise.”

She didn’t have a gun, so Charles decided this was his best chance to attack. He needed to surprise the group and get to Ben.

“I’m not going to let you hurt Ben!”

Charles charged at the stranger, knocking her back as he plunged his knife deep into her belly. She gasped and tried to fight back, but Charles easily pushed her toward the bed inside. A thin, white woman with bobbed black hair was also in the room, and she screamed out, “What are you doing?” Charles pushed past her, still gripping the handle of the steak knife that was now inside the black woman’s gut. He forced the woman to the bed, and she fell backward while trying to claw at him. He tugged at the knife, desperate to pull it free, but it was slick and the serrated edge caused it to stick inside of her.

One of the large men in the room cursed as he grabbed Charles’ shoulders and started to pull him back. Charles struck the man’s ample gut with his elbow, causing him to exhale, but not retreat. The bushy haired, bearded man with the glasses was intent on stopping Charles, and wrapped his arm around his neck. Charles gasped as the big man squeezed, and then he finally released the knife as he tried to get his fingers beneath the fat man’s arm.

“Hold him still,” said one of the other two men in the room.

“I’m trying,” said the fat one as Charles thrashed in an attempt to get free.

Charles saw the second man standing in front of him. He had a shaved head, and there was a tattoo of a snake near his ear. The man clenched Charles’ shirt, and then reached back to strike him. Before Charles could react, the man
hit him hard enough to knock him out.