The Seraphs Call - Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Dr. Stephen Edgar Green fidgeted as the wind buffeted the Sikorsky, causing the helicopter to dip and lurch as it came in over the bay.  It had been necessary to tie his long dreadlocks back in a ponytail to keep them clean of vomit when he emptied the contents of his stomach into the steel pail at his feet. 

Green hated flying.  Bryce had steadied his nerves on their trip to Atlanta.  Even then, the flight on a jetliner was bad enough.  This was far worse. Now he swayed through the air without his friend and his stomach lurched with every bump of the flight. 

The four men in gray jumpsuits, Green’s guards, sat stoically in their jump seats their expressions unreadable.  The hardened eyes and the grim set of their faces tensed to alert as the helicopter began to descend.  Though Green never served in combat, he had seen that look when he lived on the streets of New Orleans.  The bleak look of that faces took seated on the edge of survival.  The edginess that cut through the cabin failed to give Green any comfort.

Green sighed and gazed at the report clutched in his hand.  President Porter activated the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) six days ago and declared Martial Law in the infected cities.  Two thousand troops controlled each of the quarantine areas.  The entire island of Oahu was off-limits, a dead zone with naval warships, rumbling predators, patrolling its blue waters.  The Coast Guard and the Naval NORATLANTCOM blockaded the Bay of Baltimore and National Guard units cut all land routes to the city.  In San Francisco, added to the hundred thousand dead from Lucifer X, fierce battles erupted between increasingly organized paramilitary units and the U.S. Army and Marines trying to contain the infection: 105 National Guardsmen dead, over 2000 civilian casualties and rising.

The city appeared ghostly in a skyline filled with the haze of various fires that burned throughout its warrens. Barricades blocked both lanes of Golden Gate Bridge.  Army humvees, with fifty caliber machine guns mounted on their rear, entrenched behind portable metal barriers reinforced by barbed wire.  Along the bridge, hulks of abandoned cars, some with tires blown and minor body damage, others honeycombed with bullet holes and covered with the blood of their one time occupants, burned away their contamination on the freeway.  Other than the Army presence, no sign of life disturbed the tomb of the “city by the bay”.

June 3, 2049 – 1000

Gabriel’s mind started to work before he fully wakened.  Her presence felt like an intrusion, a breaking of his thought pattern by her uninvited sympathy.  He did not want such weakness to trap him, to need strength that she could give him, to depend on her to keep him going.  His stubbornness balked his words, his showing of any sign of thanks for what she did.  Why was it so hard for Illyana to understand, that he no longer wanted her protecting strength, her smothering obsessiveness?  His mind reeled with the pent-up feelings as his eyes focused on her face.  Damn it, why did she care?  Why do I still? 

   Illyana had stayed by his side all-night.  The world could end, before she would let him slip away.  She watched him, tossing, and turning, feeling the pain of his nightmares, him crying for help.  Yes, she still loved him, but couldn’t bring herself to tell him.  It hurt her more to never tell him.  She watched him have these nightmares many times, and would wake him when his actions and harried speech began to scare her.  Now was no different.  With the calmness of a lover’s touch, she reached out to him, feeling him relax with her caress, the pace of his breathing slowing at her touch, whispering his name, so not to startle him.  He opened his eyes and smiled, seeing her silhouette in the dim light of the room.  It reminded him of the many nights he woke in her apartment with her leaning over him, caressing his face as a mother would a child.  His smile turned to a scowl as he realized what happened.  He hated letting his guard down, allowing her to get to him again, bringing forth those feelings, hidden from others and him, for so many years.  Now, it seemed like time never passed, and he was angry, angry with himself.

“What are you doing?”  He barked. 

She couldn’t believe the harshness with which he spoke, the many years of hurt she new he felt, coming out in so few words.  She recoiled as if bitten by a snake, having hoped for a few moments of solace and peace between them, the words piercing her heart like the fangs of a cobra.  Many years ago, she would have lashed back, but the tears came and she fled the room.  Realizing how he had spoken to her, he cried out to her, calling her back, but it was too late.  She was gone. 

Great Gabe!  You’ve done it!

Sitting up on his cot, Gabriel shook his head, still not believing how he had reacted to her being with him.  He had lost everyone in his life that he had ever cared about, and the only person left he had pushed away for good. 

Maybe I am a failure. 

Gabriel stumbled across the room, tripping over the clothes and books that cluttered the floor.  He reached for his shirt hanging on the edge of the bookcase.  In the dim shadows of the room, the reflection of the plaque his grandfather had given him caught his eye.  “To thine own self be true,” it read.  He remembered when his grandfather had given him that plaque.  When he had graduated from MIT, he had doubted his abilities, being only 15 years old, getting ready to enter Johns Hopkins.  That plaque had been his inspiration on many nights when he had lost hope.  His grandfather had written a little inscription on the back which said, “Gabriel, Remember this, be true to yourself.  Then and only then will you find true happiness.” 

“You were right, Grandfather!  I can do this!” He spoke, knowing his Grandfather would be proud if he had been there. 

With a determined look on his face, he placed the plaque on the shelf and headed for the lab.  He would show them that he would not fail--could not.  Maybe it was the much-needed rest that gave Gabriel the spur to get his mind working.

June 3, 2049 – 1100 Hours

The screen blinked at the underground mainframe terminal.  

Unauthorized Access. 

Intruder detected in security priority systems. 

System Alert. 

The words derezzed to gibberish and were replaced by a stand-down of the alert command.  The network came on line and three more words scrolled across the screen.  “Welcome Guest Angel.”  

“Father, you are alive.”

The words came across the screen.  There was nothing the doctor could do but watch aghast as the terminal began to erase the data on the new virus and thoroughly encrypted beyond access all DNA files on the original Gabriel.  “Who is doing this...damn you...”

“I would be damned if I didn’t do this father, more so being trapped forever in the limbo of my machine reality.”

“Angel?  Is that you?”

Gabriel had helped design the AI that was housed in the CIA building at Langley, but as soon as his “child” had reached conscious awareness, the Senate intelligence committee had cut off all access between Scott and the computer.  It was Gabriel’s advanced knowledge into the field of micronized programming that had formed the basis for the computer.  Archangel was made to find relations between scenarios that were beyond the compass of normal logic.  The one thing the government had not counted on was the awareness Archangel had achieved would not let it be cut off from its creator--it was the computer not the doctor who had reestablished contact.

The computer had first gained access to the complex through the Cray in the basement.  Angel had hated to deal with a machine he considered a primitive ancestor of himself, but it had been necessary to immerse himself in the dull, streamlined logic of the supercomputer to be able to reach his father.

“Hello Father.”  The computer often used those words.  It had been disconcerting to Gabriel at first but was no longer.  He had a certain pride that he had taken part in creating this brilliant, sensitive entity.

“Hello Angel.  I assume you have been tracking the situation.  Why did you destroy my data?”

“Yes father I have.  I am up-to-date.  I have been trying to break the system to contact you for days.  I had to erase the data and block you from your work.  You were making a fatal error.”

“How?  I was tuning the Gabriel to destroy Lucifer specifically.  What mistake could I have made?”

“You should have tried to contact me father.  I am sure Rathborn could have helped you achieve this.”  Angel flashed its virility calculations of the new strain on the monitor.  “I reasoned there was no time to stop you from sending the data, so I had to erase it at its source to protect you.”

“I am sorry.  I burdened myself with this problem.  It was my responsibility, a thing that I created that led to this disaster.  In a way, I guess, Lucifer is like a brother to you--except for, I gave birth to a monster.”

“Father, I do not believe the release of this virus was necessarily your fault.  Because of the events surrounding the first outbreak in China, despite the most obvious clues of its protogenesis, there is a least a 73.45 percent chance that you had nothing whatever to do with its release.”

“How so?  It was the samples traced back to this lab that were the result of the outbreak.  If it wasn’t my fault, whose could it possibly be?”

“I have searched for some time into this Father.  The electronic footprints in various computers have led me down many stonewalled trails.  From the information that I have gathered I can however, reach the strong conclusion the virus samples were handed over to the Chinese before they had been processed.  I was not able to access the information on who altered the date information on the batches, or bypassed these samples through certain of the filtration tests, but it was not you.  The access was achieved from a mid-province of China; that leaves three possibilities, the Chinese themselves, members of the medical team that were sent to represent the project in Asia, or some outside party.  Through external tracking sources I have been able to eliminate the Chinese and most outside parties by a probability ratio of 1323.983 to 1.”

“Having access to CIA does have its advantages.  Who does that leave?”

“Extrapolating from the mix of those who would have the psychological deviance to release something like Lucifer, I have considered those that might wish to harm the project.  Because of past grievances spurred by your success, and those who have access to the material, I have narrowed the list down to three: Dr. Roger Janus, Dr. Shelby Holiday, or Dr. Illyana Andropov.”

Gabriel reeled in shock.  Though he may not have liked Illyana and Roger, he had never questioned in his own mind their unswerving devotion to the project.  And Shelby, to include this man that he loved like a brother, was beyond his scope of reasoning.  “How sure are you of this Angel?  How accurate is the data?”

“It is a 93.189 percent certainty father, that one of these three people is responsible for the mutated version of Gabriel.”

Grief overcame Gabriel at this point.  The years of mental stress that he had suppressed to keep himself going for this long broke through their floodgates.  Why?  How could somebody be so dead set against him to come to the demented conclusion that to bring him down, they must destroy a world?  “We have little time Angel...we can’t reverse the damage that has been done, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it go any farther.”

“We shall get to work father...I’m happy to be part of you once more.”

 

June 3, 2049 – 1800 Hours

Illyana studied the project data intently.  This wraps up the data I need to send tonight.  When will this be over?  How long am I going to have to ride loyalties between whom I work for and the man I love?  She sighed and clicked on the save and encrypt icon.  She ejected the disk tossing it into her satchel and turned to leave for the communications room. So dark was her mood and her mind oblivious to all but the unpleasant task to come that she did not see Colonel Rathborn until she ran into him.

“And what are we doing at this time of night, Dr. Andropov.”  Rathborn’s voice was calculated for effect and of exceedingly loud volume in the near silent lab.  His dark eyes furrowed into her.

“I AM WRAPPING UP MY DATA FOR TRANMISSION TO GENEVA COLONEL.  What are you trying to do?  Scare the life out of me skulking around like that…the day has already been long enough.”  Illyana fumed.

“Do you have anything to fear from me, Doctor?”  Rathborn’s voice betrayed no emotion and his saturnine features were set in stone.  His hand calmly rested in his belt, far to close to his 9mm for Illyana’s comfort.

“Were you born an a*****e or have you practiced hard to become one, Rathborn…I am working to save people’s lives here I am not a threat to your precious security!”  Illyana’s knuckles where white on her satchel as if she wanted to swing the heavy bag straight at the Colonel’s head.

“No need to be so defensive if you have nothing to hide.”  Rathborn smiled coldly, turned on one heel toward the door.  He glanced when he reached the entrance, his unreadable eyes fixed intently on her.  “I will be watching you Illyana…as with everybody else…it’s my job…but you provoke special interest.”  With that, he left the Illyana standing mouth open, hands spasming reflexively.

Illyana wanted to collapse on the lab counter as her nerves hit.  That was too close.  Next time I won’t be lucky.  Her heart skipped at beat when she heard Gabriel’s voice coming from the doorway.

“What’s all the screaming?” He exclaimed furiously, a look of irritation on his face.  “I am trying to concentrate on an important genome sequence from the new blood test batches.”

“Gabriel.  Look.  I am sick of tired of Colonel Watchdog there always bothering me during my research.  He is always asking me questions about my research, always spying on me, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m being watched” Illyana could take no more stress, her voice raised with each syllable.

“Calm down, Illyana.  I’m sure our good colonel has an explanation for his behavior and would probably be glad to explain.”

She turned to Gabriel, “Rathborn is such an a*****e.  I’m beginning to lose my taste for this work.  I can’t concentrate with him around all the time, and my work is starting to suffer.  Can’t you do anything?  You are, after all the project director.”

Gabriel could do nothing but shake his head and smile, “Don’t let him get to you.  He’s like that.  If he knows that he’s getting to you, he’ll keep it up.  Be polite and answer his questions.  He means well.”

“And you’re an a*****e too, Gabriel” she stung back with her words, “Both of you are a******s.  I am all stressed out because I feel like I am being watched 24/7, and all you can do is sit there, smile, and say deal with it.  If you don’t get him to back off, I swear I will resign my position on this project.”

The smile left his face as he realized how serious she was, “Calm down, Illyana.  If it’ll help, which I’m not sure it will, I’ll have a talk with Rathborn and try to get him to cool it a bit.  A few other members of the staff have mentioned this too me, and until tonight, I hadn’t witnessed it firsthand.  I’ll talk to him, Okay?”

“Okay” was the only response and she yanked her lab coat off and threw it on the floor at his feet. She headed for the door, a few more sarcastically directed words coming out before the door slammed shut behind her. “I’m going to bed.  I’m tired.  Goodnight, DR. SCOTT.”  She slung her satchel over her shoulder and stalked past Gabriel.  She waited until she was out of sight to turn and head towards the communications center with her cargo.

From the shadows of a recessed panel, Rathborn watched her go and waited for few moments before Gabriel trudged off dejectedly in the opposite direction.  Kid…Rathborn thought grimly.  You have no idea how many of those close to you that you need to be protected from?  He slipped out of the panel and sped off quietly, in the direction the Illyana had headed.

June 8, 2049 – 2300 Hours

Gabriel was ready to call it quits for the night—or perhaps permanently.  I should step down and leave this mess.  I risked my position in the entire project by injecting myself with Lucifer and Gabriel to no benefit.  He slowed as he reached the elevators.  God I wish I could run...free myself from this permanently.  Not contagious so far…not critically ill after the first bout had passed, but how long until it progresses enough for Shelby to have to quarantine me anyhow.  The facility is surrounded by wilderness, maybe I should wonder off like a dying animal to my fate.  The impulse became an irresistible urge and he thumbed the lift button to the top.  He heard a familiar voice in the corridor behind him.

“Sir what do you think you are doing.”  Alejandro slid between Gabriel and the sliding door.

“I want to go for a stroll.”  Gabriel muttered, consciously attempting to mask the lie from his face.

“You must be ill again Doc…you know that’s not allowed.”  The young Latino security officer gently tried to steer him away from the elevator.  Gabriel tensed and tried to pull away from him.  “Come on Doc.  I don’t want to have to call help and straitjacket you back to the infirmary.”  He tried to grin.

Gabriel would have nothing of it, and not even Alejandro’s normally infectious grin could begin to warm the emotional ice that threatened to clutch his mind.  “Let me go….”  His strong grip clutched the guard’s hand and forcefully removed it from his shoulder.

The door opened and Gabriel moved to go through it.  Alejandro flung himself at the Doctor, a move that Gabriel easily evaded and succeeded in pushing the guard straight into one of the opening steel doors.  The doctor spun and planted a heavy fist between Alejandro’s shoulder blades.  He heard the satisfying whoosh of breath from the other man, and increased and held pressure on him until he felt the man slump in his arms.

“What in the hell are you doing, Gabriel?”  Shelby’s voice broke through the numbness surrounding Gabriel’s mind as the older man stepped out of the lift.  Gabriel felt everything come down on him at once as he stared blankly back at the older man and slouched against the wall without a word.

Holiday bent down and checked Alejandro’s pulse.  “My god Gabe…you could have killed him!”  He reached for the radiophone on Alejandro’s belt and keyed the number for the nearest security station.

“Lt. Colonel Ruetger here.”  The voice laced with a heavy Swiss-German accent was perfunctory and crisp.

“Desdin, this is Shelby Holiday…I’ve found Dr. Scott near the elevator to the surface.  He had an altercation with one of your men trying to get outside…I need a medic sent from your station immediately.”  Shelby wiped the unruly wisp of iron gray hair from out of his face as he waited for a response.

“We are sending a detail immediately Dr. Holiday.  Rathborn will be on the scene as soon as we can locate him.” 

The click was a cold echo as the connection died into silence—an uncomfortable silence that was not broken by either of the men for several moments “Why Gabe, I don’t understand?”

“I didn’t mean to…”  Gabriel lied through clenched teeth, eyeing Holiday suspiciously. 

This was one of the People that Angel said could be a leak.  My best friend…could be a traitor. 

The young doctor choked on that thought…either him, Illyana or Janus. 

It had to be Janus…it could not be this man who he would trust with his life…could not be the woman he loved…could not!

“We need to get you back to the infirmary with Alejandro…this has to be something that that toxic cocktail you injected yourself with is doing to your mind.”

Gabriel felt the genuine concern in Shelby’s voice but it still did not satisfy the rancor of the question holding on in the back of his mind.  Is it my imagination, or do people who are traitors surround me.  Whom do I trust…if only I could get to Angel…but I need help for that.

“I will take over from here Holiday.  You may go.”  The only thing that had signaled Rathborn’s arrival was the purposeful and offhand snapping of his heel on the concrete of the hallway.

“I thought Ruetger was sending a detail from the nearest station to handle this?”  Shelby turned in surprise to the Security Chief.

“They’ll be here to pick up and take care of Lieutenant Alejandro.  I will be taking care of Dr. Scott from here.”  Rathborn’s tone was dismissing and his dark eyes dared Holiday to second-guess him.

“But Gabriel could be seriously ill, Colonel, he needs to be checked out Lucifer X could have progressed to the next stage.”  Holiday rose protectively in front of Dr. Scott.

“Look at him closely.  Does he look like he is fevered to you, or showing any other signs of the illness.”  Rathborn’s tone was quiet, measured, and as controlled as ever.  “Whatever is wrong with him is obviously stress induced and is beyond the scope of your abilities or any of the other medical staff in this facility.  I will speak to him then escort him to his rooms to rest—end of discussion.”

Rathborn shouldered the silent Gabriel and had to carry him.  He left Shelby enraged and without another word, standing over the comatose body of Alejandro as the boot shod foot of the security detail echoed in the passage.

“Help me Rathborn…I’ve got to get out of here…”  Gabriel’s nerveless grasp fell loosely on the Colonel’s wrist.  He tried in vain to pull away from Rathborn and continue his own, but all he managed to do was stumble the both of them as they made their way down the concrete hallway to the living quarters.  “Please let me go…”

“Not yet kid, you’re going to get some rest if I have to pump you full of sedatives to give it to you.”  Rathborn grimly picked Gabriel up off the cold floor propped him up near a code-keyed door.  Gabriel recognized the entrance to the Colonel’s living quarters, some place that no one was ever allowed to enter.  Yet the colonel succinctly slid the access panel aside without a word, keyed the entry, and held his eye to the ocular opening.  Gabriel was out—exhaustion since his infection had taken its toll and he barely heard the metal door slide on its tracks.  Rathborn pushed him to his feet supporting the younger man with ease across the threshold and into a large chair near the door.

To say the colonel’s living area was Spartan would have been an understatement.  Every line, every stick of furniture, every appliance had a utility, not an inch of wasted room, trivial decoration, and only a single adornment.  Over the Colonel’s computer desk was a single picture frame, silver edged, containing an old color photo of two young men.  One was recognizable as Rathborn, in his twenties, jet-black hair, square jaw, wearing Army ranger fatigues.  The other was a thin man in business black, with long impeccably cared for hair, neat manicured and somebody that Gabriel knew.  The more he became unfocused though the more fleeting the impression became, twisting beyond his grasp like trying to hold air. 

“Gabriel…stay with me…I need some answers from you before I can allow you to rest.” Rathborn held his index finger up before the young man’s nose.  “Focus.  Come back to me.”

“Can’t trust any of them Colonel…Angel says they’re all traitors.”  Gabriel’s red hair was soaked with sweat, and he had to push it back to keep the rivulets of salt from running into his reddened eyes.  “Got to help me get to Angel…only one who can help.”

“Who are the traitors?”  Rathborn wet a cloth in the sink and swathed Gabriel’s face in a cold bath.  “Stay with me…who are the traitors.”

Gabriel choked as he inhaled breath to speak.  “Janus…Holiday…Andropov.”  His voice fell to whisper as the last name passed his quivering lips.

“How do you know this?  Who is Angel?”  The Colonel had to hold Gabriel upright to keep the doctor from passing out.

A stinging blow from the backside of the Colonel’s hand was the only thing that could bring him back into focus.  His eyes cleared and he stared straight into Rathborn’s dark eyes.  “Who is that in the picture with you?”

“Just a friend and nothing to do with this situation.”  His brow furrowed as he pulled a medkit out from the corner cabinet, and withdrew a small syringe.  “Tell me who this Angel is so I can give you a tranquilizer.  You are on the verge of exhaustion.  I wouldn’t be questioning you if this wasn’t of the utmost importance to your safety.”

Gabriel brushed the needle out of the Colonel’s hand with an unexpected force.  “I won’t be needing that…after what I’ve been through the last 96 hrs if I don’t fall down dead from the exhaustion I at least won’t wake up for the next 12.  So put that away and tell me who the man in the photograph with you is.  If you can’t answer a simple question, how do I know I can trust you any more then anybody else in this facility?”

“He is my half brother…His name is Damien Demoir.”  Rathborn forced the name out as if he tasted something bitter.  “He is not…”

“On the contrary…that is important Uncle,” Gabriel grinned.  “I always found that I could trust family more then anybody else.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled a crumple printout out, and handed it to Rathborn.

The document was headed in big bold letters A.N.G.E.L. and stamped top secret.  The text was written in standard military Teletype, “Artificially Intelligent Nanite Genome-embedded Life-form, joint Project National Security Agency, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dr Gabriel Scott Project Leader.”

Rathborn quickly studied the rest of the document but much of the science was beyond his understanding.  It was beyond, something that one would expect to find in a science fiction hemisphere, not set down neatly and methodically in a scientific research paper.  “This explains a lot kid…I knew you where on the research team that developed the Gabriel virus, I didn’t know how far the implications when.  This is serious Gabriel, where is Angel?  We have to get this out of the NSA’s control.  For whatever reason you need him for the project and more so a man as dangerous as Theodore Porter is, cannot be trusted with this power.”

June 13, 2049 – 0900 Hours

Holiday strummed his fingers on the lab table.  His mind was barely concentrating on the sample he was supposed to be analyzing under the microscope.  His face was tight with worry, his hawkish features as scrunched and miserable as their normally ax-like structure could allow.  It had been five days since Gabriel Scott had talked to any of the other team members.  His last instructions had been to inject all the test subjects with the Gabriel virus, and he had disappeared into his rooms, closeted away from mind and sight.

The progress of Lucifer had been slowed to a burning crawl in most cases.  After the first success the hope of change, Shelby had done something that he thought he would and could never had done.  He had broken security on the project to deliver the Gabriel virus to some of the surrounding area.  He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of withholding this slight reprieve from these suffering people.  Maybe the added time the Gabriel virus would give them would allow the team a chance to find an anti-virus.

Rathborn had been furious and threatened to lock Holiday in a holding cell until they heard from Gabriel again.  Something unknown to the rest of them had changed the security chief’s mind though.  Though Darryl had every right to have Holiday summarily shot for this breach, the security man had backed off.  Then a stranger thing had happened; Rathborn had disappeared from the Stone Mountain.  He was nowhere to be found, and not even the most delicate prying with his men could give Holiday a clue to where the man had gone.

He had gone up to Gabriel’s room, buzzed the doctor on the intercom several times each, yet to no avail.  There had been no response and Holiday doubted there would be.  He had the sneaky suspicion that to wherever Rathborn had skipped off, Scott was either involved or traveling with the enigmatic security chief.  Holiday slammed the table with his fist.  Something was wrong.  If Gabriel felt he couldn’t trust his closest friend with this secret, there had to be some mortal danger involved.  Shelby had no certainty either way if this danger was something that someone of Rathborn’s caliber could protect the doctor from.

June 14, 2049 – 0900 Hours - Aberdeen Proving Grounds Cybernetics and Nanotech Lab #7

Dr. Gregory Kovax felt aged well beyond his 55 years.  Too long doing government experimentation for black-ops had all but whitened his hair, giving his usually pale features an albino cast.  Worst had been the last 12 years working under the administration of Theodore Porter, and for the last 6 years the President’s lackey in waiting, Roger Janus.

Kovax had solid ideas of how far President Porter would go for power; he had seen many of his associates crushed under the 78-year-old tyrant’s well-shod heels.  Yet Janus seemed to be an unfathomable depth of ambition, and Kovax among few new the horrors that had been committed under this man’s none too tender ministrations.  Not only on the patients were these spread.  The facility was well filled with the rumor of staff members disappearing into the subterranean labs never to be seen or heard from again whether it was to remove an obstacle or a mere inconvenience to Janus.  Yet Kovax was both a pragmatist and survivor and thus far had managed to sidestep any of Janus’ notorious disfavors.

Kovax stopped by his patient’s bed lifting and examining his chart with an apathy born of desperation, desperation to be numb to what he did day in and day out.  This one would be the same as the others, a young man the same as any, nothing remarkable about him.  His hair was reddish-brown, eyes hazel, fit enough, standard military issue in a way.  The only thing that would distinguish him from any other G.I. grunt was the debilitating injury that he would have suffered.  Yes, this one had a fifty caliber, separate his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down.  The patient stirred as Kovax set down his chart.  “How are we doing today Sgt. Davids?”

“Not bad sir…for someone permanently strapped into a bed or a wheelchair.  Take your pick…I would rather have had the fifty cal take off my head.”  Davids’ tone was laced with dark bitterness.

 “Come now, that’s why you volunteered for this program Sergeant, not only will this cybernetic research solve that little dilemma it will make you much more valuable a soldier.”  Kovax could barely hide the discomfort in his voice at attempting to console some he would soon be putting under the experimental knife.

“How long am I going to have to wait for this?  I’ve gone through all your tests.  You know I’m healthy enough to give me a good to middle chance of surviving the procedure.  So why am I still f*****g stuck as an invalid Sir.”  His mouth twitched in anger.

“If that’s the only problem you have soldier, I may have something that is good news for you, depending on your viewpoint.  You are scheduled to undergo the Long-reach Series today.  Doctor Janus has taken a special interest in this test and is to personally oversee the entire procedure.”  He propped the blood bag up near the young man and began to tap the I.V. needle into his vain.  “The only thing I need to do is get another pint of blood so you have enough backup in case something unexpected happens, and the situation requires that we need to transfuse you.”

Davids’ eyes perceptibly brightened.  “It’s about time, Sir.”

Kovax shook his head, poor trusting fool.  This eager pup will be lucky if he comes out of this alive and he is so eager to rush into imminent death.  The Doctor pinched off the blood bag and disconnected the I.V. “The orderlies will be in to collect for the procedure in 2 hrs, until then try to take it easy Sergeant.”

Kovax tapped the NNI into his neck jack.  Despite his age, he had insisted when they began using the nanites that had spawned the Archangel intelligence the interface appliance be tapped in.  He believed in rigid control of what had gone inevitably out of control in the original Archangel Experiment.  This became more equivocally pressing and took a completely new phase of development when the First batch of final prototypes.

June 14, 2049 – 1100 Hours - Aberdeen Proving Grounds Cybernetics and Nanotech Lab 7

Roger Janus stood in the observation room apprehensively waiting for the control tests to be conducted.  This has to work; the President is not going to remain patient with me for much longer.  A man like Theodore Porter expected his results yesterday and crushed in one way or another, any subordinates who failed to deliver on par with what was expected.

So far, project “Longreach”, as it was called, had costs the taxpayers more than 46 billion dollars.  Not that the President recognized his accountability to any authority but himself, but it had suffered one disastrous failure of which Janus was still paying penance for.  The entire problem as Janus had seen was when the NSA could not longer get Gabriel Scott to work on the technology the young doctor had pioneered the entire foundation for.  Janus was left to scavenge the pieces and try to work with technology, while being documented with workable models, was missing the one ingredient that stunted most forward research—the innovative genius of its creator.

The doors to the laboratory slid open and the science team wheeled in the next test subject.  As in the long series before the man was young, military and in some way permanently disabled.  It was one of the few ways in which the NSA could get a subject that would be desperate enough to sign away all human rights in the face of the extreme experimental.  Since the result was to create the perfect human black-ops weapon, the willingness of the subject was chief and excluded the possibility of gaining all but early test material from the military prison.  Those who had survived those firsts tests among the prisoners used were at times deranged beyond the reach of any asylum.  Most were locked in padded subterranean cells for the rest of their often-short lives, or mutated in the physical cases, beyond anything that was remotely recognizable as human.  Some of these were euthanized as a mercy.  The others remained for study if their mutation was considered valuable enough to the program to attempt further duplication—monstrosities forever caged in rows of cells (far underground) the scientists who worked the labs called the “freak show.”  That was before the government had stolen Gabriel as the new stabilizing control for the various mutating agents.

The tick in Janus’ face came faster as the scientists hooked the sensors up to the young man—to the casual observer it reminded most people of a rat twitching.  His hand rapped on the sill of the one-way window between the rooms, his eyes flicking nervously between the attendants and the test subject’s monitoring equipment.

The anesthesiologist injected a moderate amount of sodium pentathol in subject’s bloodstream to prepare his brain to be more receptive to the changes the mutagenics and the control nanites would be making to his mental pathways.  The young man soon slipped in the drugged hypnotic state, still conscious but disconnected.  The assistant wheeled over the preparation tray lined with a series of thirteen hypodermics, like monstrous metal fangs each with their own particular venom waiting to be injected into their unconscious victim.  

The steel reinforced manacles rattled slight as the subject shifted only slightly under the pinch of the IV needle as it was tapped into his vein.  The first hypodermic was injected.  “The Archangel control has been introduced, preparing the mutagenic series, Doctor Janus.”  The voice crackled over the audio pickup in the observation room.

“Get on with it…”  Janus keyed the comm. button with an angry stabbing motion.

“Sir…if we inject him with the series before confirmation of the controls have been settled we will end up with one of those monstrosities again…”  Dr. Kovax fixed Janus squarely with an angry stare.

“President Porter is waiting for this next series of prototypes, if this fails he will likely use you as the next test subject.”  Janus snarled.  “So don’t f**k this one up Doctor.”

The chief scientist blanched at the threat, because he could vividly imagine President Porter doing that.  The earliest test subjects worked on had been enemies of Porter drafted involuntarily from federal or military prisons.  “If we had Gabriel Scott on this team we would be much farther then we are Dr Janus.  As it is, we are trying to remake the Archangel program for uses it was never intended, without the remotest reference point from which to work.”

“I don’t want to hear you ever use that name again as an excuse for you incompetence.  You have full authority from President Porter to recruit all extra research personnel necessary to complete this assignment.  You have the research data from the near success in China; “Longreach” will be put back on schedule or you will be made part of the project.  Is that clear!”

“Yes sir…initializing the first series.”  Kovax directed the team with practiced precision and care, there must be no mistakes in a series this accelerated.  His whitened hair felt damp and heavy, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the result of each of the first series of injections.

“First series complete…subject’s vitals are normal.  Rapid cellular change has begun,” Kovax watched as the portable MRI unit scanned Davids’ spine and the blue deadened near his fifth lumbar began to heat and regenerate, “Nerve regeneration is in form within program limits.

“We can rebuild him, make him stronger faster…” Janus chuckled over his own joke, ignoring no one in the procedure room showed any sign of noticing it least of all finding it funny.

” Bone and skin strengthening agents are being assimilated and fully bonded as expected.”  The MRI showed a slight bluing tinge to the Sergeant’s skin, and the bones thicken as the strands of organic metal settled into their structures.  “Monitor his heart rate closely Nurse…his pain threshold is being severely tested.”  The white-haired Doctor nervously peered over his shoulder at the EKG.

“It is going well enough in the accelerated test Dr. Kovax…at this rate we’ll be able to pump out enough “Long Reach” teams to allow President Porter latitude in any country he wishes to in the world.”  Janus’ quips were quickly becoming a dangerous irritant to Kovax in an all too tense situation.

“These are human beings JANUS…albeit soldiers and property of the U.S. Government…but still not production units in a damned factory.”  Kovax’ normally pale face was reddened with fury.  He gray eyes gave one last death like glare at Janus before he turned and continued with the last in the first series of injections.  The virus-laden genome spread like fire through the veins of the young man, lighting in red webbing strands on the MRI.  Slowly they migrated to Davids’ skin and implanted themselves in little pulsing strands permeating his skin in millions of tiny new pores.  “Continue with testing the oxygen permeability of the skin implants.  Thirty percent intake oxygen, twelve percent nitrogen vapor.  First series is a success folks.”

“You see how much of a motivation not to error that fear can be dear Gregory,” Janus sneered.

“Injecting myomar agents, reinforcement of skeletal muscle strands beginning.  Releasing nervous system redundancy mutagenics, nerves have regenerated in damaged area of 3^rd lumbar vertebrae.  Testing 2^nd, 3^rd and 4th backup strands…reflex response time 4 times previous recorded control…infusing optical nerve…testing frequency of subjects sensitivity…Ocular unit is responding to the full spectrum…nanite switches have migrated, subconscious shifting interface is in place. “Kovax realized that he had been unconsciously holding his breath.  He breathed out and wiped the bead of sweat from his forehead.  ” 2^nd series is complete…body stress factors are slightly raised in response to second series we have to take a break to allow to return to normal Dr. Janus.”

“Are they outside maximum limits?”

“Well no sir, but we prefer to leave a buffer zone; his neural impulses cannot go much higher without provoking possible seizures.”  The chief scientist’s hands were shaking as he spoke.  “Normally this takes place over three weeks, to give the subject a chance to acclimatize to the changes to their bodies.  I cannot advise continuing with the immunological and neural series until we have brought these under control.”

“So noted…Doctor,” Janus sneered.  “Proceed with the third series.”

“No Janus…I will not…you could kill him…a few hours will not make a difference.”  Kovax blustered at the one-way mirror.

“Proceed with the third series or you will be relieved and the testing will proceed anyway.”  Janus coldly stated.  “I will leave it up to your imagination what I will have done to you if I have to take those steps.”

“I’m sorry…”  Kovax whispered into the ear of his patient, as if the comatose man could possibly hear him.  “Proceeding with third series…Doctor Janus.”  He choked on the last words through his clenched teeth.

The Nano-technician flipped a switch on his system.  “Powering control units, sir…preparing for third series.  Angel nanites are coming online in 3…2…1…boot is complete Dr. Kovax”