Chapter 13
When I awoke, I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move. I tried again, feeling pressure on my wrist and ankles, my hips, and around my head. I was tied down—flat—on a hard table; bright, impersonal neon lights beamed into my eyes. A shadowy figure leant over me, just a dark undefined shape; an ambiguous shadow. I couldn't see him, the lights were too blinding. I blinked my eyes again, trying to wake from this strange dream. My arms were restrained--my shoulders and back sore on a cold surface--all these sensations were too vivid, too real for it to be a dream.
“It's awake now,” the voice said.
“Do what you want with it. It's served its purpose,” another voice said.
I tried to look at him. My eyes were adjusting to the blinding light. The shadows of Dr. Svoboda and my father were receiving detail, taking the familiar features that I was familiar and comfortable with.
It was a large laboratory. In horror, I realized there were many others in the room as well. In long, neat rows, there were giant glass cylinders, lit from underneath, and inside were naked humans floating in liquid. There were tubes fed into the cylinders. My head was held tightly by a metallic brace, but in the slight amount I could turn my head, I strained my eyes to look on either side as far as I could. The rows of ominous humans floating in jars were on all sides. I realized that different rows had humans of different ages in them. Some rows had adult men, some had adult women; while others had children, and right in front of me, as I looked beyond my shackled feet, were giant jars like the others, they looked empty. Then I realized at the bottom were tiny babies, curled in fetal positions, floating just above the sickly glow of the lights at the bottom of the jars.
“What is this?” I blurted out.
They just looked at me.
“What is this?” I blurted out again, crying.
“That,” my father said, walking towards me and looking at me, “is none of your business.”
“How can you say that? Dad, what's going on?”
My father was walking away, but then he returned, with an annoyed look on his face and said, “Do lab rats have the right to ask questions of the scientists experimenting on them? Do plants being genetically engineered have requests for what type of foliage they will have? No, I don’t think so.”
“In mother’s name, please tell me—please!”
“All right, all right. I suppose you are slightly more intelligent than a lab rat. I guess I could spend a few minutes with you. You are a genetic experiment—part of Project Cleanse. Are you satisfied now?”
I looked at him. I couldn't speak. My vocal chords were working, but it was all too much. The emotions were paralyzing my throat.
“You see, you are not my son. I have no son. You are grown from a jar, just like the rest of our genetic farm here. Do you understand?”
“But our family—mother,” I said, choking.
“Yes, I was quite proud of that. Would you like me to explain to your lab rat Dr. Svoboda?”
“I do not feel this is necessary,” Dr. Svoboda said.
“Go on, Dr. Svoboda, explain how it works to our little experiment. We can give it that much. Despite it being an abysmal failure, it does have a certain intellect.”
“You see, you were grown here," Dr Svoboda said, "we're going to repopulate the Earth after the final cleansing of the planet. Over the last hundred years, we've worked hard to create the perfect genetic formula for the new human population--free it from the genetic mish-mash that has the world in its current state. It was long ago that the World Government realized that this was the bane of Earth’s history and development.”
Dr. Svoboda sighed in disgust, looking away from me, turning to my father and saying, “Really, I find it quite ridiculous to be explaining myself. It is obviously a failed attempt. I don't want to treat it like a colleague.”
The doctor walked away to another table, examining the rows of jarred humans, busying himself in other matters. My father stood looking at me. His stare was cold, no longer feigning interest or concern for me. I looked at him. He too turned away from me. He went to speak to the doctor. “So, is there any point in keeping him alive?”
“I would like to examine the brain, while he is still alive,” the doctor said.
I closed my eyes tight, hoping to open them and wake up in my barracks, my safe little sterile apartment; but it was not to be. I opened my eyes to see the same rows of naked humans floating in glass cylinders.
“What about mom! How can you betray her memory this way? How can you do this to your own son?”
Brad Jonz laughed as he heard this. He walked back over to me.
“Listen son,” he said. “Don’t kid yourself; those are not real memories.”
“What do you mean?”
“There has been much research into the human brain here. Dr. Svoboda is in charge of all scientific development, but there are many departments—genetics, chemistry, mechanics, it is all quite interesting. We are doing fascinating work here.”
“How do you get people to work—their morality—they”
“We do not involve every individual scientist in the global plan, silly son. That is for us to control, just like you. We've made an attempt with you, the first accelerated growth genetic human creation; we've attempted to control you through subtle, obviously too subtle, means.”
He poked one of his fingers at my forehead.
“There is an area, right here which can send messages to the brain as you drift off into sleep. I think you will find this part quite fascinating actually. You see, we have combined our neurological expertise with the advances in computer technology. After all, they both relay impulses as data to transmit messages, information. Computer technology is really just a less-polished version of the neurological system. But circuitry has been advancing greatly recently. While we're still far behind the complexity of the human brain, we can add a little patch here or there—maybe enhance, add value to the data stored, the processes activated—in the human brain. Well, there's a chip in your brain. It is attached to the area of your brain which relays messages as you drift off to sleep. It activates at night, and sends you a simulated memory of mommy, of daddy, of family life, and all that crap.”
“You mean, you mean my family memories are not real?”
“Fascinating, isn’t it!”
“Then, who are my parents?”
”You have none; aren’t you listening!? You are the first living experiment done here in the laboratory. Our scientists have grown you here in these cylinders. It is quite beautiful actually.”
His tone became almost loving, caring.
“We have examined the genetic code and given you perfect genes. We cannot create DNA strands artificially, but we have managed to splice strands from various DNA samples. We have been able to select characteristics, which would be preferential; features that are common to the most successful ethnic backgrounds--along with other genetic characteristics that you would know nothing about. Other worldly you could call it." He laughed out loud. "To grow, to reach the adult form you have now didn’t take the same time as a regular human being. It's approximately ten times as fast as the old-fashioned natural growth. You were only released just before starting police academy. The earlier memories you have were triggered by the chips in your brain.
“It's funny actually, the way the brain works. I remember you reminding me of things in the past that we didn’t even give you simulated memories for. Isn’t that funny? I suppose the actual simulated memories we installed acted as a catalyst for your brain to enhance and expand this artificial world—or you’re just a bullshitter.”
He laughed again.
“Anyway, I took on the role of your father because we wanted to keep tight wraps on this project. The less people that know the full story the better. I have to admit Tyler; it has certainly tested my patience; you and your sensitive, questioning ways. I thought that your loyalty would come with all the memories we implante
d, but obviously, we made a mistake. There has to be more extensive control of the brain. We are working on a complete information system with a complete memory package, along with military training and behaviour control--or maybe the opposite--no artificial memory and full education from inception. It's all part of the experimental process. So you see, my dear Tyler, you have served your purpose. We have learnt much. We'll do better with future prototypes. But you're quite useless right now.”
“You, you monster,” I said.
“You see, you see, that is what annoys me. What kind of a soldier is that? You have a superior genetic makeup, but your constitution is weak. We HAVE to do better.”
“Why, this mission? Why did you send me out?”
“Why? That’s a funny question. We had to at least test how you'd perform in the field. We invested a lot of time in you. We didn't want it to be a complete waste. Early on, I could see how flawed you were, but with all the time and energy expended by myself and Dr. Svoboda and his team. We had to at least run you through a couple of tests, get as much information as possible, to help in the continued development of this project. We have to remain focused, not flush every bad experiment prematurely. It wouldn't be professional.”
He spoke as if it were all so obvious, as if he was merely stating facts.
“You didn’t do that badly actually, apart from breaking our latest vehicle. Anyway, that's all immaterial right now. You should be proud that you were the first working artificially created human being--well, a hybrid really--but you couldn't understand that. Now, you can be the first artificially created intelligent being who is dissected alive. Like I said, we have to make sure we get the most information possible from all our experiments. The doctor wants to examine your systems for any abnormalities. It's the inevitable conclusion.”
"You've always been like that Brad Jonz," Dr. Svoboda said, sarcastically emphasizing my father's name.
"What on Earth do you mean by that?"
"I wasn't really thinking about Earth, but that's another story--eh Jonz?"
"If you have a problem--out with it Doctor!"
"Don't get defensive. It's just--you've always been like that--having to talk too much--boast to someone. You think you'd learn."
"Are you trying to blame ME for past failures?!"
"No, forget I said anything," I heard the clicking of Dr. Svoboda’s heels as he came towards me. It felt like hammers beating on my forehead, "Can I get on with it now?"
"Yes, yes," my father said, walking away, "do what you have to do."
Every sound, every sight, every touch, was agonizing to my frayed and tortured senses. The emotional pain was beyond what any physical torture could inflict.
Dr. Svoboda was staring at me.
“Doctor, please, this is inhuman. It is wrong!” I pleaded.
"Inhuman. Interesting choice of words. Perhaps you're right."
He remained expressionless. As he stood over me, staring at me like an object, he reached overhead. I continued to plead to no avail. He pulled down an apparatus connected to a hydraulic arm. There were several different coloured lights coming from the apparatus. He positioned it over my head. The doctor touched buttons on the apparatus, and it started to whir. The different multi-coloured lights disappeared and all the energy focused on one red light beaming down on my forehead. It was hot and getting hotter. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
“This will hurt considerably,” he said to me. “But there's no alternative. You see, I want as little damage to the brain as possible. So, no mind altering drugs. This laser will disintegrate the bone from your frontal lobe. Unfortunately for you, it has to be done gradually. It is a pity you have to die in such a painful manner, but it's for the greater scientific good.”
He began to busy himself with preparing his dissection tools. There was a sterilization unit beside me, and he was making sure he had all the necessary equipment. The buzzing laser was getting hotter and hotter.
“What’s that?” Brad Jonz said.
I heard muffled noises, a commotion outside the giant metal slabs; the security doors to the laboratory. Over the intercom, I heard a frantic voice, “Dr. Svoboda, this is General Jonz. Open the doors at once, there are hostile troops out here.”
“Voice simulation,” Brad Jonz yelled suddenly, "de-activate the automated security access."
“What's going on?” Dr. Svoboda cried.
“My voice--it'll allow entry.”
But it was too late. The doors opened.
"Don't worry, I'll shut them out," Dr. Svoboda said.
The security doors strained to close, making a painful whirring sound.
"They jammed--something's in the door!" Brad Jonz cried.
I strained to see what was going on, but my head was held rigid by a metal brace. The red beam was burrowing into my forehead, getting even hotter. Dr. Svoboda slapped repeatedly at a control panel.
“Why did you let them get in, you idiot?” Brad Jonz cried.
Dr. Svoboda ran towards the doors at the other side of the laboratory. Through the jammed doors, I could see Martina’s head sticking through. A laser fired just over her head. It was Brad Jonz firing. All his talk of what a soldier he was, but when he was nervous, he couldn’t hit a stationary target. Martina squeezed through the doors and rolled on the ground, her weapon up in the air.
“Watch it Andy,” she cried, and I could see Andy hesitate before coming through the same hole.
“Hurry,” I yelled to her.
Brad Jonz fired again; this time his shot did not even come close to Martina.
"Where did they go?" Brad Jonz said.
"They dropped to the ground," Dr. Svoboda said as he rushed towards the back of the laboratory, "they must be down one of the aisles.
“Hold the doors! Hold the doors!” Brad Jonz cried as I could hear doors opening and shutting at the other end of the laboratory.
"I told you to wait," Brad Jonz cried as I heard the doors shut. "Damn controls!" I heard the sound of him frantically slapping the wall--then a laser blast--and Brad Jonz cried out in pain.
"Got'im!"Andy said.
“Quick, get over here!” I yelled, "get this thing offa me!" I struggled in my restraints as the pain increased by the second.
“Oh my God!” Martina cried as she ran over beside me.
“Move this God damn thing away!” I pleaded.
Andy leapt over and knocked the apparatus. The red buzzing machine was now pointed to a spot on the ground. Martina was looking at the controls and found the panel for the restraints that were holding me. With one big click all the restraints released. I stood up, adrenalin pumping through my system and yelled to Andy, “Give me that gun!”
He handed it over and I aimed it directly at the apparatus. I fired and it exploded into pieces cascading all over the lab table and floor. I stood there naked, armed, my chest heaving, my forehead pounding in pain; but it felt great just to be alive.
“Put this around yourself Jonz,” Martina said, throwing me a lab coat. “We just want to save your butt, not look at it.”
The security doors were whirring constantly, trying to close--banging against a metal bar.
“Get that bar out of the security door out. We need some time to think—regroup,” I said.
Andy went over, grabbing the bar out from the security doors. They slammed shut.
Martina and Andy wandered slowly around the lab. As they looked around, the incredible nature of the room was sinking in with deepening anxiety. The long, ordered rows of illuminated jars, with human beings of differing ages, floating, bobbing; somewhere between life and death, their expressions statuesque, the light ominously deflecting through the liquid, giving them movement between the light and shadow. Martina looked at me. Her fear, her inability to communicate, spoke volumes.
“How did you get here?” I asked her.
“This place,” she said.
Andy was walking slowly down the rows, staring a
t the tiny babies along the front row. He grasped his laser gun, as if he might have to use it on one of the cylinders. His jaw was tight, and you could see his teeth gnashing. It was a hard sight to accept.
“We’ll figure it out together. How did you get here?” I said.
"This place Jonz--it's--"
"How didya get out Martina?" I grabbed her arm.
"I started waking up when you were landing the craft Tyler. I'm sorry--this place--it's freaking me out. I-I could hear you talking as we were landing, but I was so out of it. I could hear but it was like a dream still."
"When we landed, you were awake?"
"Well, kinda--but I was still out of it. It was only when Stoneman dragged me out of the back of the hovercraft that I was almost ready to speak--and then--"
"Then they turned on us."
"Exactly. I rolled on the ground and my eyes opened wide. I could see what was happening--but I dunno--it was just instinct. I faked like I was still out."
"That was a good move."
Martina laughed.
"I wish I could say I thought it out--but it was just instinct. The commandos thought all three of us were incapacitated. It was on oversight. I made them pay for that! Another hovercraft arrived. They loaded me in there and sent me off separately. They thought I was out, so they left me on the floor beside Stoneman--but I could see and hear what was going on. I overheard the coordinates of where you were sent. After your hovercraft left, the two remaining commandos, they didn't have a clue. They thought both of us were out cold. I managed to knock one of the bastards out, taking his laser gun. The other had no time to react before he found himself paralyzed and incapacitated."
"But how did you get in here Martina? How did you get in here? Not with your ID?"
"If you wait, I'll tell you Jonz! This place--it's freakin' me out. What did I do--oh yeah--I got hold of the telecommunications unit. I was able to find recordings of your father's voice. We returned to the main military port. I was sure someone would confront us, but it didn't happen. We blended into the mass of military crafts. This was definitely a renegade mission or else the military dispatch would know something was wrong. We would've been caught. It seemed the only logical solution. I transferred your father's voice recordings to a hand held unit from the hovercraft. Andy was recovering from his paralysis and I dragged him here."
"Whataya talkin' about Lever," Andy protested, "I was walking on my own!"
"Not at first Stoneman. Whatever--we made it to this zone here. I heard the coordinates before they took you off. It was away from the main military areas; a door without guards—you'd miss it if you didn't know it was here. It's a friggin' hiding place--for a few powerful madmen."
She waved her arms at the laboratory before continuing.
"I'm telling you, from the outside, it looks like it's just a storage closet; not even a guard out front."
"She's right," Andy said. "We even double-checked the coordinates. We couldn't believe we were in the right zone."
It was an ingenious hiding place for their insane project. The door wouldn't open without proper security clearance, but neither would any other door in the military sections. If any other personnel tried to pass and were refused, they would just know they didn't have clearance. They wouldn't know this unassuming door held the highest level of security possible.
"Anyway," Martina continued, “we used the voice recordings of your father's voice to fool the voice detection unit."
“Now—here we are—and where the hell is here?” She looked at me again.
I found my clothes beside the lab table. I shuddered when I thought about it.
“This is some sort of hideous project,” I said. “They are trying to create a master race; some genetic purity crap. All they've taught us--everything we thought was true--all lies?”
“Are all these people dead?” Andy said.
“You don’t get it,” I said. “They’re growing them.”
“Growing them!?”
“Yeah, I don’t know all the details,” I said.
“Let’s try and find out more before my friggin' head explodes with questions,” Martina said, trying to log onto a holographic information system interface near the dissecting table. “Make sure those damn doors are shut properly.”
"The front is secure," Andy said as he passed through the laboratory to the back doors. "The back is secure too. Sleeping tight General?" He said as he passed my father's prone body. "Svoboda got away?"
"Yeah, out back," Martina said.
“Access denied. Only Level One security personnel may access this system,” an automated voice said.
Martina slammed her hand on the laboratory control panel. “We can’t get in!
“We can’t, but he can.” I said, pointing to General Brad Jonz’s slumped body, and then the palm recognizer located in front of the holographic information system.
“I get it,” Martina said.
She helped me carry my father's body over to the palm recognizer.
"He's heavier than I thought," she said as we raised his body.
"I'll hold him," I said, "place his palm."
"Welcome, further verification required," the automated systems voice said, “Eye recognition required, place open left eye in lower right hand corner of logon screen.”
I picked up General Jonz’s head, opening his unconscious eye and held it in the logon screen. A faint green light scanned across his pupil, and then the system said, “Welcome to Project Cleanse, General Brad Jonz. Which module would you like to access?”
A higher definition, larger, wide-screen interface appeared. I had never seen a hologram with such clarity. On it was written the names to several modules of the system.
“Enter the history module,” Martina said.
On top of the control panel was a scaled down replica of the giant hologram visual interface. I touched the history module and a new interface appeared with subsets of the history module.
“Let’s listen to the overview,” I said, hesitating, wondering how much information I really could take.
The system started the overview. The system's voice began describing what it viewed as the terrible state of human society a century earlier.
Ominously, the system's voice said: "It was then that work began on the Earth base and space station."
Proudly, the narrator described how "an elite team of experts worked secretly to produce the glorious results we now know as home."
"I may be sick listening to this," Martina said before the narrator said how "before Project Cleanse, the Earth was tainted with many weak ethnic groups. Once the chosen people were evacuated to the space station, the cleansing of Earth began. The only practical way to remove the existing Earth’s population was through the dispersal of strategic nuclear attacks. Systematically, bombs were distributed around the world with the goal of removing the existing flawed population. The chosen people would be safely housed in the space station, and supplied by the Earth base."
"My God, that's why we're all blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin," I said.
"There are so many more types of people on Earth," Martina said.
Coldly, the narrator explained how "years of constant bombings has made great gains in eradicating the flawed population that blocks a successful future for Earth, yet this population has shown stubbornness that continues to hinder Project Cleanse’s successful completion. Also, the population in the space station has shown genetic flaws during the years the society has developed. These two factors led the next generation of World Government officials to make certain alterations to Project Cleanse.
First of all, it was decided that the nuclear arms first launched in 2084 to remove the flawed population on Earth were not technologically advanced enough to properly cleanse the Earth. After attempts at recreating existing sonic bombs were unsuccessful, armament research returned to nuclear development. We created a more efficient nuclear device that can spread evenly and completely. It will
be far more effective at removing the existing Earth population. This bombing campaign will fittingly commence in 2184, the centennial anniversary of the commencement of Project Cleanse.
The second alteration to Project Cleanse was made due to the genetic flaws of some of the chosen people in the space station. While originally, World Government officials thought that selecting people from Earth’s existing population would be good enough to ensure genetic superiority for Earth’s new population—this was proven to be false. We have seen crime and subversive behaviour develop in our City Central area of the space station city. This is why the second alteration to Project Cleanse will be the relocation of City Central dwellers to Earth. They are now added to the rest of the flawed population which shall be removed during the centennial cleansing campaign.
Modern technology has also allowed us to make one more alteration to Project Cleanse. Advances in genetic and neurological engineering have allowed World Government scientists to refine the genetic selection process. Research has enabled us to splice DNA strands to select and guarantee genetic perfection. This technology has been coupled with growth acceleration developments to allow us to produce and grow genetically perfect human beings. Computer technology also plays a part in education of these new minds. We are able to implant circuitry to provide educational and behavioural aids for this perfect race of humans. In keeping with the spirit of our glorious pioneers, we will use this latest technology to create a perfect race of humans to repopulate the Earth—to reconquer Earth for the powers of good. This perfect race, along with World Government officials and top business leaders, will help us lead Earth to a more fruitful and harmonious future.”
For several minutes, no one said anything.
“This just can’t be real,” Andy said finally, jumping up and looking around.
“It can’t, but it is,” Martina said, leaning over in her chair and grabbing her head in her hands.
“Are you trying to tell me,” Andy said, “our government, our leaders launched all these nuclear attacks? It wasn’t any terrorists after all. This is some unholy scheme—can this be possible?”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything,” Martina said, her nerves frayed. “We’re all finding this out together.”
“I can’t help thinking of our nights patrolling City Central,” I said. “I can’t help thinking of all the people we met. Andy, do you remember the vets we met in that illegal bar? All the innocent people, just trying to make ends meet—all because of their genes—its insanity.”
“There must be some logical reason,” Andy began.
“Logic!” Martina said. “In this madness?! Look, they selected who they wanted to repopulate the Earth; then when they see the same flaws, the same troubles in society; instead of rethinking their plan—they get even crazier. Now, we’re going to grow perfect people—Lord God—it’s madness, pure and simple!”
“Did they start the Exodus to Earth—the resettlement of City Central dwellers?” I asked.
“Look if we can find anything in the system,” Martina said.
I went back to the main menu of the system.
“Here you can look at entries in the database by chronological order,” I said. “Let me order things in chronological order, see the most recent entries.”
“Try that one,” Martina said.
It was a report on the Exodus to Earth of City Central dwellers.
“So, it’s happened. People have been relocated to the Earth settlements in the safe zone,” Andy said.
“Yes,” I said, "look at all the recent entries--what do they have?"
"This one," Martina said, "Cleansing to commence as soon as Exodus is complete. This doc has details of the bombing. It can all be controlled by Brad Jonz and Svoboda. Look at the last line: There is no reason for any delay."
“Dr. Svoboda is out there,” I said.
“Do you think he would try to go forward with this plan on his own?” Martina said.
“Why not? According to this, all the launching controls are available at the Earth base. We have to do something about this now.”
“How many people are involved in this?” Martina wondered. “Look in the administrative functions, see how many users have this level of security.”
We searched for several minutes through the different modules of the system, until we finally happened upon administrative functions.
“There are only three users with this level of security,” I said.
“Your father, Dr. Svoboda. Who's the third?” Martina said.
“A Dr. Duval. I've seen him in the labs at the station. He gave me a physical once. I think he works for Svoboda.
“Probably one of the scientific team."
"My father said that most of the scientists didn't know the full plan."
"Let's worry about Svoboda for now. Try to add another user,” Martina said.
“Okay, here we go--New User," I said.
"Please place palm on pad," the system voice said, "now proceed to eye scan." It felt slightly warm as the scanner went across my eye.
"Project Cleanse has new conspirators--us," I said.
“What about the President?” Martina said.
I searched through the menu system again. I saw a political media control module. I went in. Inside of it was another module called presidential simulator.
“What is this?” Andy said.
Suddenly, the hologram in front of us displayed a perfect representation of the President. His form slowly turned, like a new product on display in a showroom. At first, it shocked me when his image came up; it was so life-like. It was like he was right there in front of us, floating, waiting for commands. On the side of his image were many menu options such as speech, movement, dress, facial expressions; everything needed to simulate the President.
“They’ve been simulating the President, maybe they took him hostage or something,” Andy said.
“Or maybe he’s just a simulation,” I said.
“That’s crazy,” Martina said. “They couldn’t get away with that.”
“This is crazy and the rest?--is what?!” I said, waving my arm.
“I know, but it’s just too much,” Martina said.
She started walking around the laboratory, but there was no comfort there; just more of a horrible reality none of us wanted to face. The eerie twirling of the holographic presidential body over all of us, in the center of the laboratory, added another layer, another burdensome fact, to an already macabre plot.
“Where do we go from here?” I said.
“We’ve got to see the President,” Andy said.
“Can’t you see, he doesn’t exist!” I said.
“What, now you’re making things up!” Andy said.
“Wake up,” I said.
We both got to our feet.
“Hold on guys,” Martina said, “let’s keep it together. I don’t need to deal with this crap too! There must be some way to get in contact with the President. We have access to a top security information system. I know the President usually only sees the public from the balcony of his high rise residence downtown; but this system—we have to look—it must give special access to General Jonz and the doctors. These are top decision-makers. One positive thing, the President does not appear to have access to this system, to Project Cleanse and all its details. I don’t think he is part of this sick plot.”
“I don’t think he exists,” I said.
Andy waved his arms in frustration.
“Well, I hope you’re wrong,” Martina said.
“I do too,” I said.
“Okay, then, let’s hope for the best,” Martina said. “Let’s try and work with the assumption that the President is alive and not part of the plot.”
“That could be very dangerous,” I said.
“It’s our only chance Tyler,” Martina said. “We have to try.”
I searched through the system, through the political media control module. In it, I saw a con
nection to a top secret access to the Presidential suite.
“This is how we have to go. We have to see if there’s anybody in power who can help us,” Martina said.
“All right, but I don’t think we’re going to find anyone there. We’re on our own.”
“You don’t have any proof of that,” Andy said.
“No, just going by what I’ve seen so far,” I said.
I looked at General Brad Jonz, the man I knew as my father, slumped in the back corner; suffering under the effects of a laser gun’s paralysis mode. He looked so innocent lying there. My thoughts turned painfully to my childhood, or what the circuits hardwired in my brain had given me as simulated memories. The memories floated in my head, suddenly feeling like intrusions, like poison placed there by a corrupt regime. It made me feel sick to my stomach; but somehow they were comforting. All my memories that comforted me turned out to be simulations. I couldn’t think about it, it was making me weak. I had to try and forget reality, save the comforting emotions that kept me from going insane. No matter how corrupt and misguided he was, I had to save the emotions that said he was my father, for my own sanity. We needed to do something with him. He would wake up soon.
“We’ve got to tie my father up,” I said.
Martina looked at me and said, “Do you want me to do it?”
“No, I can handle it.”