A cornish legacy, p.5
What Legends Become, page 5
He climbed the short steps that led to the main part of the house. A quick glance out the glass doors showed that his father and Michael were still talking. Granddad Huey’s room was just before the ladder that led to his topside room. He could quickly grab a copy of the GHOST and then go to bed without anyone being the wiser.
It was a plan. And he would begin it tonight.
Chapter Four
JSIN
The air from the ventilation kicked in. Alpha Zero, designation JSN-001, stood near the bars of his cell and waited. It was time. The midday allotment was on its way. Beyond the reinforced, titanium-steel alloy doors, footsteps approached. Hard soles. So, a guard then. Another set fell softer on the metal plating of the corridor. No cane—that meant a medstudy today.
Alpha Zero backed up a pace from the bars and glanced at the mirror that was set into the wall and protected by a fused pane of glass. Cyan eyes within a bronze face stared back at him. He touched his cheekbone under his right eye. The scar was gone. A small red mark was the only indication of the surgery that had happened three weeks prior.
That surgery had turned his eyes from hazel to cyan—stripped him of the melanin and added collagen to his stroma to help stabilize the neural implants. As he lay in recovery, his handlers spoke of the heightened vision. And he had to agree. His eyes were able to pick up almost every wavelength now. His world became a riot of colors and lines, as if everything was super-embossed upon each other. Yet cyan was unnatural.
He turned away. He had been through seventeen surgeries that he could remember; ten body enhancements giving him stronger muscles, denser bones, and much more; and thousands of injections of the serum. The biofeedback was supposed to keep him from questioning what they were doing; yet seven months ago, that had all changed. He began to remember the procedures, the surgeries, the indoctrination. Only, he couldn’t tell anyone.
He touched his throat and cleared it. A guttural vibration was the only sound that issued from his mouth. Once, long ago, he could talk. Now, though, he couldn’t remember the sound of his own voice.
Serum Seventy-seven had rendered him mute—permanently. Yet as he meditated on that thought, maybe it wasn’t the serum. What if it was a surgery he hadn’t yet remembered?
Alpha Zero stretched his neck to each side, loosening the tight tendons. Those thoughts could be visited later. He relaxed his shoulders and let his arms dangle to the side and rest against his bare thighs. The black underclothes they provided barely warded off the chill of the room—more of his conditioning.
The door at the end clanged open. Within moments, the guard stood at the bars with his meal tray. Medstudy Jankins motioned Alpha Zero closer.
“Move to the bars.”
Alpha Zero stepped forward and slid his arm through the opening without being prompted.
The medstudy arched his brow at him but said nothing as he placed the hypospray against Alpha Zero’s skin. The serum burned into him, heating his veins. “You may consume your meal now. Examination three-four-seven will commence in a half hour.”
His meal tray was deposited on the floor. Alpha Zero waited until they backed up and walked away before he bent down to retrieve his food.
The Juliet Serum Initiative’s logo was stamped on the metal lid. Alpha Zero frowned at it. This was the first time something like this was given to him. Another test, then. He retreated to his bunk and sat cross-legged on the hard cushion.
A spicy aroma wafted from the meat substitute that was rolled in a rice flour wrap. Small strips of green and orange vegetables stuck out the ends. Alpha Zero unwrapped the meat-like dish and poked through the ingredients. Nothing stood out. He picked up one sliver of orange and tasted it—carrot. Then he did the same with the green one—cucumber. Nothing was on them. A pinch of the meat revealed it to be three varieties of smashed beans with rice. Nothing indicated any other foreign ingredient.
He rewrapped his meal and began eating. Maybe they had learned the last time they tried to get him to ingest one of their substances. He had thrown the food across the cell and into the corridor. For two days, he had refused to eat a meal. It was worth the punishment he had endured.
From what he could hear while he was being subjugated to rigorous and seemingly endless experimentations, the substances were a concoction of various poisons and tranquilizers. Their hope had been to see how his body would break them down. They hadn’t counted on him being so cautious.
As he chewed his bite, he reached out and traced the logo. JSiN. Jay. Sin. Once, a few years back, there had been a medstudy named Jason Richards. Alpha Zero had developed a rapport with the man, yet the medstudy was transferred within a few months. Orders had been issued that no one was to interact with Alpha Zero after that.
He took another bite and ran his finger over the embossed letters again. Jason. That would be his name from now on. No more Alpha Zero. He would call himself Jason after the friend that had been taken away from him.
Who would he tell it to, though? He glanced up at the camera in the corner. There was no one for him around here. But one day . . .
Jason took another bite. One day, though, he would be able to leave. He’d be what they want for right now. But the man in his dreams said that the day would come when he would be able to leave. He just had to wait a little while longer.
Jason drained the small cup of water, and then replaced the lid, collected the tray, and set it outside his cell on the metal plated hallway. He could do what the man said. He had endured this long; he could endure a little more.
Hard soles sounded outside the closed hatch. They were coming back for him. Time for his neural biofeedback and more experimentation. Jason closed his eyes and sent his thought to the dream man, asking for strength to endure another session.
Quiet and long moments passed before the hard soles echoed down the corridor. And the tap-tap-tapping of a cane followed. Jason backed up a step and waited. Fear began to eat away at him; yet he controlled his expression, keeping that fear buried deep down.
The guard walked into view, bent and collected the empty tray, and then stood to the side as the medtech approached. Her cane tapped against the bars of his cells as she hobbled into view. Her white hair pinned tightly at the back of her head nearly stretched her face. Yet Jason believed nothing would ever erase the deep wrinkles of age on the woman. Her ice-blue eyes studied him before she turned to a second guard who appeared.
“Take him to Medlab Twenty.”
Jason fought against the tremors that threatened to overtake him. Medlab Twenty? He had only been there once before, yet it still lived in his nightmares.
The door clanged open. Jason stood as still as possible as the second guard clamped fusion cuffs around his wrists before prodding him out into the corridor. The medtech’s mouth was drawn in an evil sneer as Jason passed by him.
Jason sniffed as her scent reached him. The stench of death lingered on her—the smell of decay, of something rotting within. He glanced at her, and her eyes hardened even more. She was dying. That was what he was smelling. She was sick, a growing cancer within her.
Was that why he was being used and manipulated? Was she trying to cheat death? Afraid of her own mortality?
Those thoughts flew through his mind in that brief second of meeting her eyes. Then he looked away. There was more to all this, and he would find out. He only needed to bide his time and wait for his opportunity.
Her cane began tapping as she followed. “Add twenty cc’s of Paxolin-X. He’s beginning to awaken.”
Jason closed his mind to her words. It didn’t matter what they did to him. It never lasted. The dream man had said it wouldn’t harm him for long and to suffer just a bit longer. Then all would be made right.
The corridors flooded hot, then cold, then frigid as they wound their way through the labyrinth of the foundation’s research facility. They halted him outside a narrow doorway. His breath hung in a white vapor as he waited for the codes to cycle through the locking program. Then he was ushered into the small, dark room.
Her cane tapped away as she retreated to the overlook area above. The lights blossomed to a bath of dull red. Before him on a solid platform was what he feared. The cuffs were removed, and pulse rifles aimed his way as the guard motioned for him to climb into the elongated cylinder that stood on the platform.
Jason swallowed. His hands barely shook as he climbed inside, sliding his body down through the narrow opening. Once settled onto the cold, metal surface, automatic manacles snapped over his wrists, biceps, thighs, and ankles. The guard fastened a respirator around Jason’s mouth and nose. Then the cover slid over the opening, encasing him in darkness.
Jason’s heartbeat skipped. Outside the cylinder, the monitor registered his reaction with a beep. A medstudy’s voice reached him.
“He’s showing apprehension but calmed down almost immediately.”
The intercom hissed before Medtech Bastion spoke, her voice sounding even more aged than her face through the staticky feed. “Good. He’s learning to control those reactions. Proceed with the experiment.”
Hot fluid cascaded into the cylinder, covering his body, scalding him. Jason flinched at the sensation. But the manacles held him in place, minimizing his movements and preventing him from forcing the cylinder open in order to escape the pain.
“He’s fighting against the pain. Registering beta three and beta two. Bounced twice into alpha.”
The fluid began to cool. A hiss sounded beyond his feet, and more thick, scalding liquid flooded in. Jason closed his eyes against the force of the flow as it filled the tube he was in. Sounds outside his prison reached him, enhanced even more by the viscous fluid. His respirator rasped with his heavy breathing.
“Begin at three mils. Increase by a factor of three every five minutes for thirty minutes.”
An electrical discharge zipped through the fluid and against his body. Jason arched against the pain.
“His vitals are stationary. Still at beta three.”
Another round of discharge entered his body.
Medtech Bastion spoke again. “Initiate the serum.”
He couldn’t see the probes—not in his narrow confinement. But he felt them. The sharp instruments slid into his body—neck, arms, hips, legs, feet. Even his spine was pierced from probes underneath.
Agonizing pain surged through him. His mouth underneath the respirator opened in a silent scream. And as suddenly as it began, the pain ended. The serum still pumped into him, yet a gentle light lowered onto him, warming him like a soft blanket.
“Ma’am, he just entered gamma state.”
“Good. What level is he at?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Jason barely opened his eyes as the medstudy replied, fear lacing his voice, “He’s off the chart, ma’am.”
Stephen waited, lying prone in the cramped maintenance ductwork above the command hub’s main room. The skeleton crew, as his father referred to them, worked quietly at their monitors. Most of the room was encased in the dark dusk of the night sky that entered from the high windowpanes. In one more week, they would enter their dark season, and it was beginning to show.
A woman stood and whispered down to her coworker. “I’m heading to the commons. Want anything?”
The man rose from his chair. “It’s a slow night. I’ll come with you.” He turned to their companion on the far side of the room. “Hansen, you want anything?”
“Yeah, man. Bring me some of that vanilla spice drink.”
Stephen’s mouth watered at the thought of the delectable drink. He should have grabbed himself some before climbing into the ductwork. It would probably be gone by the time he made it back to the commons—the price he paid for this excursion.
The door hissed closed as the two left. Hansen groaned as he stretched in his chair before standing and retreating to the extreme far side where the holographic table stood. Stephen waited and listened. A series of clicks indicated that he had activated the table. He glanced at his wrist monitor. This was the last security check of the outer perimeter before the morning crew took their stations. And no one would ever expect anyone but the technicians to be in the room. Why would they? There was no reason for anyone to slink around—no one except for him.
Hansen began humming quietly. Now was Stephen’s chance.
He lifted the grate and set it to the side. Stephen poked his head out of the opening and quickly scanned the room. It was clear. Hansen’s back was turned.
Stephen gripped the edge of the opening and flipped through. The sharp edge bit into his fingertips as he hung there, judging his landing. He let go and silently dropped to the floor. Hansen was still engrossed in the readouts.
Within seconds, Stephen had his copy of the GHOST out of his pocket and inserted into the mainframe by the wall. It cycled through the codes in two seconds. Stephen grinned and slipped his data crystal into the slot, downloading the information. As soon as it was completed, he disconnected the GHOST, pocketing both the hacking chip and data crystal. He pulled himself to the top of the tall mainframe machine and used it as a launching point. Stephen jumped up to grab the edge of the ductwork opening. It wobbled a bit and issued a soft pop from his sudden weight.
He pulled himself up and into the narrow venting. The cramped confines barely allowed him to move the grating back into place. It squeaked as it slid into the grooves, and Stephen froze.
Hansen whirled around. His gaze flowed around the room, over the walls, and then traced the ductwork. He frowned but turned back around to the table. Stephen blew out a silent breath and rolled his eyes. Too close.
He wiggled his way around and began the long crawl toward the back of the building. His wrist monitor beeped its warning. The security loop he had installed earlier and had used again was about to expire. He had three minutes before his presence would be detected.
Stephen suppressed a growl of frustration at his father who had redesigned the security program last week. It made getting in and out of the buildings more difficult now. Not impossible, though.
He pushed open the hinged grate that led outside. The lip above the opening, designed to keep water from leaking in, provided him a handheld as he dangled his body out of the passage in order to close and secure the grate. Once it clicked back into its locked position, Stephen let go and let himself slide down the slightly rounded twenty-foot wall to the ground. He landed hard, and a small plume of dust shot up around his legs, coating his black pants.
He glanced around as he dusted his pants off before hurrying between the main security building and the command building and onto a covered pathway that led to the center of the compound. And if anyone saw him there, especially Sierra or his father, they would think he couldn’t sleep and took a late-night stroll through the area.
Stephen smiled as he gazed around him, taking in the few people who strolled along the various paths. Once he viewed the information downloaded, he would be one step closer to freedom. He slid his hands into his back pockets and ambled down the dark walkway. Soon, he passed from the covered pathway and onto an opened area, giving him an unobstructed view of the dusky sky above where the faint lights of the aurora borealis were fading.
The Groove, with its pine trees standing sentry around the cobbled circle, was unoccupied. Cold air bit into him as he sat on the bench under an archway. Hidden from view, Stephen pulled his small datapad from the side pocket of his pants and inserted the data crystal.
Undeciphered code streamed across the screen. He curled his lips. Hacking was not his favorite pastime. It was boring, uneventful. And yet he was having to do it at every turn in his life.
Stephen slipped the GHOST from his pocket and slid the chip into the side slot of his datapad. It was an older model built to handle data chips. Yet he had dismantled the datapad and built a new processor for it. Now it could operate like the newer versions and still use the more antiquated storage devices.
The program took a bit longer than usual. After ten seconds, the screen shifted; and files flooded across the screen. Stephen swiped at the files, closing most down, opening some, and accessing the subfiles within.
There! He opened the second subfile and frowned. Intech Juliet Serum Initiative. Medlab Twelve-twenty. That made no sense.
Stephen quickly scanned the file. So, Medlab Twelve had moved from Washington forty years ago and was now located deep within the Midland Expanse, a non-GFT nation. He scrolled down. Active war but a cold war. Negotiations in progress to combine Midland Expanse with the North Continent Territory, sans Alaska Country.
He minimized the file and opened the recent military file. GFT had lost three provincial lands in the recent years. One ongoing war with the Southern Asian Continent. Stephen harrumphed. That continent was nothing but a desert—a dry, bone-filled desert. What was so important about that place?
He shrugged and reopened the first file. It would be doable. He could travel down the coastline to the Westland Coast, then cross into Midland at their junction. He would need to have a citizen card created, though. And the program he held in his hand would allow him to do just that.
Stephen closed the files and searched for the supply run schedule. Tomorrow, they planned a scheduled run to Yukon to the Food Bank Division and Citizen Mainframe in Canadian Province. It was a game plan.
A small amount of guilt rose in his chest at the thought of leaving his family. But he forced it down with a scowl. They would be okay. They would heal. And he would have his freedom.
He quashed the annoying warning inside his head. What he was going to do wasn’t dangerous. No, not at all. It was exciting. Right?
“Right.” Stephen answered his internal question. His voice mingled with the wind and blew away from him. Yet the nagging feeling of danger still remained.
Chapter Five
BEYOND ALASKA
Stephen waited at his doorway. Granddad Huey’s footsteps clicked against the floor. The door hissed opened, then closed; and the sound of his grandfather’s boots faded. He waited for a moment longer. His mom’s movements indicated that she was collecting the supplies she would need at the library excavation. Old tomes, their pages fragile and brittle, were found in a buried section. His mother’s excitement was barely contained when they had contacted her last night. She was one of the few historians who were trained in repairing and preserving antiquities.
