Authors: S.L. Dunn
“It’s strange,” Ryan said as he sat down and stirred milk into his coffee. “I’ve never heard of a technology like this Vatruvian cell. Synthetic cells and so on.”
Kristen stared at him with a penetrating dubiousness. “No kidding, we’re just past the cusp of creating it.”
“Yeah, true. It’s scaring the hell out of me. I really think you’re doing the right thing. How do you plan on getting the word out at the convention?”
“I suppose at the end of my presentation I’ll include an announcement that we’ve surpassed single-celled organisms and launched into creating mammals in one single year of research.”
Ryan smirked. “I can’t wait to see how that goes over.”
“It won’t be pretty,” Kristen said. She was midway through a gulp of coffee when she saw one of the workers behind the register waving for her attention.
“Would you mind turning up the volume on that TV beside you?” the worker called over to them.
There was an old chunky television mounted on the wall above their booth. Looking up at the screen, she at once understood his request. Kristen stood and turned the volume all the way up. The headline on the local tri-state news broadcast read:
JETLINER CRASHES IN ALBANY MINUTES AGO.
An anchorwoman in a purple blouse was talking frantically from a street corner as indistinguishable charred wreckage smoked and burned several hundred yards behind her. Emergency crews and first responders were running around by the dozens in the background.
“We are just getting word that the plane came down in three parts,” the anchorwoman said. “Three
separate
sections. The fuselage appears to have crashed in one piece here in this neighborhood in Albany. There are reports that the turbines landed in surrounding towns. I am being told the jetliner caught fire during its descent. A number of buildings behind me were crushed by the impact. We have yet to receive any information on whether people were inside the destroyed houses. We can only hope they were empty. An onlooker here in Albany managed to capture the crash on video.”
As she spoke, the video feed of the news broadcast cut to a low pixel recording someone captured on a camera phone. Against the clear sky, a burning mass plummeted through the open air. Three of four people in the video were screaming in dismay as they watched it unfold before their eyes. The falling jetliner in the grainy image looked more like a fuming and blazing meteor than a passenger plane. As it fell against the clear blue backdrop, it belched a trail of black smoke that billowed wide in its wake. Just before it hit the ground, the falling inferno vanished behind the shingled rooftop of a house. The camera shook as a feint boom could be heard from the plane meeting with the ground somewhere out of the recorder’s vantage point.
The newswoman continued, “We have reports that one of the turbines crashed down in the town of Latham and the other turbine landed in Menands. Both towns are north of Albany. The US Air flight eight-thirty-two had taken off without incident from Montreal. It was bound for New York City.”
“Cindy, has any information yet surfaced on what could have caused this accident?” a man with a Windsor-knotted tie asked from the studio desk.
The anchorwoman held a hand over her ear and nodded, listening to his question over the calamity around her. She vehemently shook her head. “Not currently. All we know is that the plane apparently came apart and caught fire. The airline and the FAA have yet to make any official statement, except to recognize that the plane was indeed US Air flight eight-thirty-two—”
“Sorry to interrupt you Cindy, but we have just received a statement from the Department of Homeland Security. Their press secretary has stated it is
unlikely
that the accident is connected to terrorism. I will repeat: at this point it is unlikely this tragedy was the result of terrorist action.”
“Mother of god.” A worker in a white apron had come over under the pretense of refilling Kristen’s coffee. He took his time to watch the report as he tilted the pot into her mug.
“Yeah.” Kristen nodded. “Awful.”
“Sounds like it got shot down if you ask me.”
Ryan looked up at him with a questioning expression. “I think it’s a little early to suggest that.”
“Think about it. A plane loses radio contact en route to New York? Do you really think they’re going to let a plane that’s gone black come anywhere near the city?”
“True,” Kristen said. “But they didn’t say the plane lost contact.”
“And why would they?” the man swilled the coffee in the pot and watched the television skeptically.
Kristen shrugged and took another bite of the bagel, though her mouth had gone dry and her appetite had vanished from the image of the plane’s fiery descent.
“What would you do if you were the government?” the worker said with a thick Long Island accent. “Even if they did shoot it down, it’s not like they would ever admit it. And if terrorists had actually done it, they probably wouldn’t admit that either. It would cause a panic, you know?”
“That’s a scary line of thought. I don’t think shooting down commercial jetliners is outlined in the homeland security handbook,” Ryan said. “Or covering up terrorist attacks.”
“Maybe.” The worker wiped his hands on his apron. “Can you imagine if it was goddamn terrorists again? I mean, Jesus
Christ
. I’m glad the government took action if it was. The plane was coming here. I can’t imagine another attack.” He seemed visibly shaken by the idea as the television replayed the descent of the plane again.
Kristen watched the inferno silently and pushed her bagel away. “I can’t imagine it either.” She paused for a moment, considering if the question on her mind was inappropriate. “Were you in the city on nine-eleven?”
“Yeah.” The worker’s response was cold, his tone exact and his eyes still on the broadcast. “I used to be a bike messenger downtown. I was in the crowd watching the smoke of the north tower when the second plane hit. Nightmare.”
Kristen nodded slowly. “That must have been a truly traumatic experience. I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. I’m glad I saw it firsthand. I’ll never forget the way all those innocent people died in the name of who knows goddamn what? Thousands dead because of some convoluted brainwashed bullshit. It’ll stay with me, you know? It won’t just become an old news headline—some dutiful moment of silence. I lived through it. I’ve seen the height of the world’s insanity.”
“I think it’ll stay with everyone,” Kristen said, remembering vividly where she was on that September day so many years ago. She had been in a chemistry class with much older kids when the principal had made the first announcement of an attack on the World Trade Center. Neither she, nor any of her classmates grasped the magnitude of it at first. The teacher had wheeled in an old television on a cart, and they watched the news silently from their desks. He had told them to be quiet, because they were watching history. A soft-spoken girl in her lab group had a parent in the twin towers on business. It was a sobering moment when she was quietly ushered out of the classroom. Her expression was numb, vacant, as the principal had walked in and told her to come with him.
The day had been sunny and warm, as fair as any.
It was strange, the little details one recalls. What Kristen remembered of the darkest hours of recent humanity: blue skies and cancelled after-school sports. She was thankful she did not have to witness the carnage firsthand. “It’ll certainly stay with me,” she said quietly.
“That’s good to hear.” The worker lifted his shirtsleeve and showed them a tattoo on his forearm of an American flag set over the words:
Never Forget September 11, 2001.
He left the sleeve rolled up and looked at Ryan. “You want a refill?”
“I’m all set, thanks,” Ryan said.
“All right, well, take it easy you two.”
“The engines came off in the middle of the flight?” Ryan glared at the burning wreckage of the broadcast as the worker walked back to the counter. “I’ll admit he has a point. That certainly doesn’t sound right.”
Kristen shrugged. “I wish they’d stop replaying the video. Do they realize there are people out there who had family members on that plane? I wish the media would show some respect for once.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “What could cause a plane to come apart at thirty thousand feet?”
“Who knows?”
They watched the broadcast as little more information came in. It seemed as though no one could yet postulate as to what happened to the jetliner. Kristen reluctantly checked the time on her cell phone and sighed. “I should probably be on my way to Midtown.”
“Okay.” Ryan turned from the television. “When should I head down there?”
“In a couple hours. I’ll text you when I know what time the Vatruvian cell presentation is scheduled. The convention is at the Marriot Marquis in Times Square.”
Ryan nodded.
Kristen looked back to the television. It was clear there were going to be no new developments for the time being. The worker had brought up a good point. Planes did not blow up out of the blue. As the broadcast now depicted a mile-wide tower of smoke rising from the neighborhood in Albany, a missile or bomb did seem plausible.
“Okay, I should probably be going.” Kristen reluctantly drew her attention away from the news and drummed her fingers against her thigh. “I really appreciate that you’re coming.”
“Absolutely,” Ryan said. He rose from the table and Kristen followed his lead out of the shop, giving the worker a friendly wave as she walked past him.
They slowed to a stop on the sidewalk as they neared an intersection.
“I, uh . . .” Kristen said with more than a trace of awkwardness. She tried to act cool, but was quite certain the attempt failed. “I’m pretty sure I’m starting to like you.”
Ryan smiled and laughed. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’m starting to like you too.”
“Good,” Kristen said and shrugged her shoulders inelegantly. “Good.”
“Look,” Ryan smiled down at her after she could not find any words. “You need to focus on the convention. Get that out of the way, and don’t think about anything else until it’s done. I’ll be there to watch the firestorm unfold.”
Kristen nodded. “Okay.”
Ryan leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you there, then,” Kristen said. They locked eyes for a moment, and she turned to walk toward the subway with a wave. Her mind was decided as she descended the steps into the subway station: it was time for a major career change. She did not care if she was having an early-life crisis or an overworked breakdown. The days spent pent up in dreary windowless labs and staring at endless computer screens of genetic sequences had to stop. She had lost her youth in the name of a head start, and that trail was now at an end.
The Vatruvian mice were the last straw.
As Kristen pushed into a stuffy train, she wondered if her actions at the convention might in some way provide the world with some
respect
for the incalculable power and elegance of science. But more likely, she knew, the infallible influence of ambition would act to silence her voice. For the moment, however, she decided not to care.
T
he unmistakable silhouette of towering buildings rose against the sharp contour of the horizon to the south. Even from his distance Vengelis could see that New York City was vast, its edifices tall. He squinted at the distant city’s profile before cautiously decelerating and soaring in an elegant arc toward its skyscrapers, his altitude shrouding his approach from any unsuspecting skyward eyes below. A surreptitious hand would be the one of choice for the time being.
Vengelis could not help but feel a small pang of conflict over allowing Hoff and Darien to venture out on their mission of inevitable annihilation. They, and he, would shortly become heralds of torment and death to these unwary people. The men and women far below were about to be swept up in a conflict based far away, a conflict in which they were in every way faultless.
But there was no other choice.
The danger of innocence is that it is eventually lost. In the end innocence is not enduring; rather it is a transient state that has yet to be exposed to all the aspects of reality. Vengelis would provide the people down in the city with the same level of mercy the Primus race had received at the hands of a more advanced species: none. Despite the invasion the Primus race encountered—a traumatic and scarring holocaust that tore through the fiber of their worldview—still the Primus stood. Stood more powerfully and proudly than ever before. In a way the forthcoming tribulation would be an enlightening experience for the adolescent civilization below, a chance for it to evolve and grow. Vengelis would alter their conception of their world much as a parent teaches a child to look before crossing the street. The child may not be aware of a speeding bus coming, but that does not change the fact that the bus
is
coming. No warning came for the young Primus race before the Zergos invasion of old ripped through Anthem. No hand of mercy was extended to his people as the Felixes slaughtered them in the present. Vengelis knew he could not allow himself the indulgence of compassion. Reality may be heartless, but it was better than false beliefs based solely on one’s tiny world.
And for the naive people far below, reality was banging at their door.
The strong command the weak. When pushed close enough to the brink, compassion, empathy, and morality were all just words. Power was the only balance—the only truth behind society’s falsehoods. If Vengelis had been stronger, at that moment he would be sitting on his throne. If the humans were stronger, they would have no reason to fear his wanton intrusion. But such as it was neither he nor the humans were strong enough in their own respective plights.
Pulling to a stop high over the enormousness of New York City, Vengelis lingered silently above the countless array of skyscrapers for several minutes, examining the teeming streets and rooftops. He had to admit the enormous glimmering city was attractive. But so too had been the noontime splendor of Sejeroreich. The meeting of their scientists, his single source of hope, was in one of these tall buildings below. The scientists would be tasked with finding a cure to the scourge of the Felix. Vengelis had no other option, and thus neither did they.