The Assumption Code: Book 1
Copyright © 2017 Melodee Elliott
melodeeelliott.com
Published by My Chair Publishing LLC
ISBN-13: 978-0-9986067-1-2
Dallas, Texas
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
Acknowledgments
To Lorie, dear friend and beta reader extraordinaire, thank you for being so gracious. I appreciate your friendship, honesty, and insight.
To Luann, my editor, thank you all for helping me elevate this book to its potential.
For mom, thanks for your support. And dad, thanks for being my fan and the inspirational creative writer you are.
Dedication
To anyone who makes a difference in this world for the better and to those who want to, this story is dedicated to you.
CHAPTER ONE
As the needle pierced Margi’s cheek, she felt something like hate. And she realized in that moment that hate was always only cliché. A motive always lurked. And it still lurked, because she could only find hate.
Her flesh crawled against the pain. The nanobots were taking their positions. Or was that wishful thinking?
The doctor massaged the tissue along her laugh lines. They had an agreement to call them that though they were in places where no one laughed. She, alone, could see them. And of course, anyone with a high-def monitor the size of a refrigerator. The older Margi got, the bigger the television and the more detail an audience saw. Yes, hate described it best.
“There. No one will know,” said the male voice. She looked into the mirror that the doctor held to her and matched the gaze of her reflection. Confident and approachable as expected.
“They’ll settle into place over the next twenty-four hours,” Dr. Howard continued as he busied himself with disposing of the syringe now emptied of the robots.
“Already looks better,” Margi said. She posed in the mirror at various would-be camera angles, lest she be caught off guard in the days to come. The perfect angle was demanded at all times.
The doctor reached for a plain cardboard box and gently pulled out a white globe the size of a softball.
She leaned in to get a better look as he cupped it in his palm.
He lifted the honeycomb-patterned dome from the base and set it aside, then entered a code of numbers to the workings inside. He swiped the dome’s edge with glue and sealed the whole globe shut. The smell of the glue stung her nose, and she leaned back.
“This is the emanator. Before going to bed, press this.” He tilted the orb to point at a button on top. “It sends an energy wave on a harmonic between the nanobots under your skin and your delta sleep waves, kind of like your Wi-Fi. The emanator simply enhances your body’s natural healing abilities.”
“Delta sleep waves?” she asked.
“Yes, the delta sleep wave is your deepest sleep pattern. You didn’t know your brain produces energy waves?”
“Not when you say it like that,” she replied in awe of the contraption. “This isn’t going to interrupt my sleep, is it? I’m on the air at o-dark-thirty.”
He laughed. Margi liked that in him. He had a natural bedside manner. She knew he would be her partner in her quest to deny age its quest.
“No. In fact, you should feel more rested. The body is an amazing machine,” he replied.
She chuckled. “Machine. Except you can’t trade it in.”
The doctor glanced sideways at her and turned away. He nestled the emanator in the box and handed it to her. “The effects should last upward of one year. Remember, this is a confidential trial. No one must know.” He glared. “And I mean no one, not even my nurse.”
“Of course,” Margi said, bristling from the reprimand if only to herself. She was a professional.
The doctor’s demeanor eased.
She held the box firmly as if it might slip through all ten fingers.
He escorted her to the empty waiting room. “She’s good to go,” he said to the receptionist and waved to Margi as she slipped into the hallway.
She emerged on the sidewalk eclipsed into shadow by the towering skyscrapers that housed the greatest commerce the world had known. Hurried pedestrians interacted like schools of fish in the city current’s ebb and flow. She wanted to stand there and watch the choreography of the workaday world swirl around her, producing the vibrancy that made New York City the beacon of hope for so many people. She would have it no other way.
A bus passed by with an image of her on its side. The banner read Rising in New York City. Acceptable, she thought. She wondered how many more years she had at the station. The banner should read Replaceable in New York City.
She hailed a cab and sat quietly in the backseat, staring at the box as she rode along. That little box cost thirty thousand dollars. The bumps in the road jostled the contents inside the container. The shifting weight of the globe was similar to that of a crystal ball with its center being the heaviest. Amazing, so much potential in such a little object.
The driver glanced suspiciously at her until meeting her gaze, and both looked away. She rested the back of her hand upon her face. Her skin felt fine. A little warm but fine. The driver glanced again. Nothing new.
They arrived at her building and the doorman opened her cab door. “Good evening, Ms. Hall.”
“Cheerio.” Margi waved to him as she entered the rotunda with a model’s walk and a hostess’s smile. She stopped at the concierge to retrieve her dry cleaning, then stepped into the elevator. The mirrored surface displayed her machine from all angles. She crept in closer to the wall and smiled as if to view any changes to her face. She saw none and was satisfied that her picture wouldn’t be plastered all over the Internet, captioned “Bionic Woman” or some such nonsense.
She retreated into the sanctuary of her apartment as the sunset cast its glow across the expanse of space. The colors of the horizon drew her to the window wall separating her from the heavens and the nearby Central Park.
As the sky in the distance melted into the ocean, Margi’s attention rested on the rim of their merging. Only when the ocean seeped into darkness and reflected the stars did she become aware of the beacon on a ship coming into harbor, drawing her inside of her living room.
She prepared a meal from her chef’s meal service. The orb—the emanator—still rested dormant in its box atop the countertop, waiting. She returned messages on her smart phone for invitations—obligations rather. Always an event, another speech, another autograph signing. People everywhere.
The clock’s digital lights let her know that a night’s rest was waiting. While New York City came alive, she readied herself for bed, drew the shades, a
nd cradled the emanator in her hand, examining it and the glued seal. She ran her finger along the edge of the base, looking for a way to gain access to the workings inside but saw no screws, no button to release it. She supposed that the doctor would have no need to make adjustments to the code he had entered. Wouldn’t want to buy a whole new base if the emanator wore out. Maybe it would work such wonders that she would have no need to buy a new one if it did.
Did she feel the nanobots move under her skin? No. No movement. She set the orb upon her nightstand and pressed the button. A faint blue light circled atop the globe.
She remembered the same excitement from a childhood birthday when she received a badminton set. Yet she had no one to play with. Before the dog had eaten the birdie, she would lie in bed at night and toss it in the air to float down into her hand. The weightlessness defied time. That was how she felt now, waiting for what may come. Tomorrows were good.
She hoped she could have a dream at least from her delta waves. She had forgotten to ask about dreams. She turned out the light, pulled the sheets under her chin, and drifted off.
* * *
A rhythmic hum permeated the air. She breathed deeply and smelled electrified alcohol. Pressure mounted on her wrist.
“Rivner.” A tender male voice spoke nearby. A hand rested upon hers with a touch becoming more real to her as her senses awakened. Her eyes blinked open.
A young man stood by her bed. Not her own bed, but one with a rim that looked like a solidified oil slick with pastels swirling its length. A woman hurried between the bed and another console. She muttered nonsensical things.
The man smiled at Margi and leaned over her. As he did, the pendant light shined behind him, blinding her. Then she felt his kiss and jerked her head only to discover it braced.
The man placed his hand upon her forehead. Though she didn’t understand any of the words he spoke to the woman, the tone of irritation was unmistakable. The woman scurried to the other side of the room and returned with what looked like a pen.
She pressed it against Margi’s neck and injected the contents deep inside. As Margi’s awareness faded, she heard words come from the man.
“Welcome back, love.”
Margi lost consciousness.
* * *
The dreaminess of thought gave way to awareness as she found herself staring at an all-white room. She didn’t know how long she had been looking into space. The nurse, whose back was turned, mesmerized Margi with her movements as she organized the various tools and objects on a cart.
Margi tried to lift her hand that was now strapped to a railing. She looked at her arm as if it wasn’t her own.
The nurse wheeled around and rushed to her, first checking the monitors, then Margi. The woman smiled and pressed a button on a nearby console. “Stavon. She’s awake.”
The words were at once comprehensible. Margi lay still and gazed at the room. A recovery room. But from what? Had the emanator malfunctioned? How would someone know if it had?
“Where’s Dr. Howard?” she asked.
“Who?” the nurse replied. “You mean Holan. You’ll see him soon. I understand you have an event with him.”
Margi scanned her memory. To do so was difficult since she had so little sensibilities for the moment. A schedule of events was her life, yet she didn’t recall an event with any doctor. For a moment, she felt the panic of not being prepared for an interview. Then, she remembered the young man calling her Rivner.
She was about to speak when the door swept open. The young man, Stavon as it were, walked briskly to her side.
He looked her over and gave a cheeky grin. “Why do you insist on returning to your original body?”
Margi didn’t respond. Am I dreaming? she thought.
The man’s brow furrowed. He turned to the nurse. “Bring me her logs.”
The nurse retrieved a wallet-sized device. He grabbed it from her and displayed its contents. What looked like graphs and charts of different colors spanned into space on what looked like a virtual monitor. Some images rotated; others rose and fell. He tapped on one chart, expanding it into symbols.
She was now sure she was dreaming. The notion gave her no comfort since if she had the wherewithal to know it, she should be able to manipulate the events.
He examined her as if to peer into her soul for a moment. He returned his attention to the virtual monitor and tapped on one symbol, and it displayed into multiple graphics.
She had no control of this dream. She tried to will herself to wake, feel her body lying in bed. No use. This was a real hospital. A high-tech one at that. Her breathing became labored with fear. She looked around the room trying not to let the movement of her eyes reveal her intention.
He placed his finger across an image and moved it to the picture of a man. Holan, Margi guessed. Data was just sent.
She wanted to ask if this was Dr. Howard’s lab—a secret lab. Did “no one must know” include everyone? Could she even ask? Surely he would come. And before this young man kissed her again.
Stavon pinched his fingers, and all images disappeared. His face narrowed with concern, which Margi recognized from countless interviews in her career as a hidden story—the story. His concern was now her concern, if he would only divulge it. She looked away from him.
She always knew the answers to questions before she asked them while on the air. Yet now she felt as if someone had forgotten to give her the script, as if everyone in the room was informed but her.
Stavon turned in haste and left the room. That scared her.
“What happened?” she asked the nurse.
The woman came to her with an ease about her and tucked the blanket around Margi’s sides, acting more like a handmaid than a nurse. “Can I get you something? You thirsty?”
“Yes, please,” Margi admitted. She tried to sit up and realized her arms were restrained. Shimmering bands of energy encircled her wrists. She flinched and felt the barrier without substance to fight against. She was staring at the bands when the woman returned.
“We don’t need that,” the woman said and pressed a button that released all restraints, including the rim at her sides, and some Margi didn’t know of, like the one across her thighs.
The nurse held a cup of pink liquid to her, and she took hold of it and almost drank before stopping herself. She sniffed the contents. It smelled pink and sweet like cotton candy.
“Do you want something else?”
“No,” Margi replied and sipped. The moment the liquid coated her tongue she felt both energized and relaxed.
She noticed the room now, with clarity for the first time. Her attention darted from place to place. The only color came from a soft glow of light washing over the ceiling and changing hue every so often. A row of slabs like the one she rested on lined a wall. A window on an adjacent wall revealed technicians sitting on the other side.
“Sometimes we need a little help coming back,” the nurse said and busied herself in checking the machines yet again.
“From what?”
“Meno,” she said with a lilt in her voice. She then paused and asked with a peculiar intention, “What is your name?”
“Rivner,” she replied without delay. This was the name that the young man had called her. She so desperately wanted to see Dr. Howard and wondered how her identity had been mistaken. That should never happen with her. She was known to most everyone in the region at the least.
The woman inhaled and stood tall. “Good. We’ll let you rest now. Ferli will meet up with you in time.” She looked at a technician through the window and motioned him inside.
Two of them entered the room and detached Margi’s bed from the wall. She felt it buoy and stabilize in the air. They directed the platform down a hallway and angled her through a doorway. She felt her slab attach to the wall and at once a slight feeling of vertigo disappeared. She was in a patient room, sparse as it was. It had a warm feel to it with a soft glow that swept across the ceiling, giving an ambien
t light that was not too bright to sleep and not too dim to see. This was definitely not a hospital she had ever seen.
A technician placed more of the pink drink on a side table.
“Is Dr. Howard coming to see me?” she asked him.
“We have no Dr. Howard.”
Her mind went blank.
The other technician stopped at a console on the wall. He touched a graphic and closed the door behind them.
Before she could sort her thoughts, a virtual monitor appeared near the wall before her. Music played as a building came into focus.
“DanuVitro” came a woman’s voice that sounded eerily familiar.
A woman appeared on screen, looking into the camera.
Margi sat up and stared at her.
The woman continued, “Ever wonder how it would feel to live a life other than your own? To be an adventurer, a painter, or a poet and return to yourself with the memories of that lifetime? You can with DanuVitro.”
Images flashed across the screen. Yet Margi could only focus on the woman since that woman was herself—or Rivner, who apparently, looked exactly the same as her.
The montage of images gave way to a scene of an older man and his grandchildren gathered on the balcony of a penthouse. He was a successful man by the looks of it and lavished over his family in what read like a cheesy advertisement. Margi slumped.
“You deserve the very best of experiences life has to offer. You’ve earned it. You have worked hard to be the success you are today and provide for those you love. What has been your price? What have you given up to be the person you are?”
The older man peered into the distance in a dreamy state of mind.
“We at DanuVitro want to make your dreams come true. With DanuVitro you can be anyone you want and live the life you’ve always wanted. The best part? You return to your family and career in a matter of days.” Rivner turned away from the camera lens and to the next image, showing the same man walking into a towering building and being led through a hallway of illuminated marble.
The Assumption Code Page 1
