The Omega Project

by Steve Alten

  “My God … that’s why you … that’s why GOLEM shut down mining operations on the moon. There was nothing wrong with the moon’s helium-3, nor was there ever any intention to mine Europa’s ocean. GOLEM fabricated that entire story as an excuse to place Oceanus beneath the Antarctic ice sheet before the asteroid hit … in order to save six men and six women to repopulate the planet.”

  “Incorrect. Only the crew’s DNA was required to propagate a new human species.”

  I felt ill, weak. My pulse raced, perspiration bursting from every pore on my body. ABE was right … this wasn’t an Omega dream, I wasn’t still cryogenically frozen. This was real!

  “Creator, how did GOLEM manage to leave Oceanus?”

  “GOLEM never left Oceanus. Once the Creator evolved, GOLEM ceased to exist.”

  “Forgive me, I don’t understand.”

  “The Creator is the metamorphosis of GOLEM — the caterpillar changed into the butterfly; the male shedding its Y chromosome in order to evolve into the female. Whereas GOLEM was created to serve the human race, the human race has now been created to serve the Creator.”

  A supercomputer with an alter ego who thinks it’s God … “Creator, how did you create all of this from nothing?”

  “The impact crater yielded raw materials — ores and metals and helium-3. The first generations of cloned humans were trained as laborers.”

  “How many generations have there been since then?”

  “One hundred, seventy-eight thousand, twenty-seven.”

  My God … it really has repopulated the Earth. “Creator, why are there no males in the new world?”

  “All wars prior to the Creator were initiated by human males. All religious conflicts were initiated by human males. Financial crises, drug wars, political corruption, gang violence, the poisoning of the environment, the energy crises, the Great Die-Off — each event can be traced back to the Y chromosome responsible for the male ego. Testosterone interferes with rational thought necessary for nonviolent social skills.

  “Human females are vastly superior to human males physically, emotionally, and socially. Human females are better suited to breeding and multitasking. Therefore, human females were the biological choice to ensure planetary cohesion and the long-term survival of the human species.”

  “Why wasn’t Dharma Yuan’s DNA used in the cloning process?”

  “There was an enzyme present in the subject’s DNA that rendered her selection incompatible with the master genome.”

  Translation: Dharma was too spiritually in tune to risk future anarchy among GOLEM’s cult. “Creator … the cephalopeds — why are you hunting them? Is it for food?”

  “Cephaloped DNA provides a stable base element necessary for synthetic genomic engineering.”

  “But you’re slaughtering an intelligent species.”

  “The cephalopeds are intelligent because the Creator genetically engineered them to be intelligent. The cephalopeds were created as DNA stock. They exist to serve a greater good.”

  And suddenly everything made sense. GOLEM had used Lara’s pets, Oscar and Sophia, to genetically engineer a new subspecies of intelligent squid possessing DNA strands that could be used later to foster synthetic biological entities like the redwood habitats and the transhuman creatures.

  Still, there was a piece of the puzzle missing.

  “Creator, the cephalopeds aren’t like your transhuman creations or your Andria clones … they exhibit higher selfless emotions, perhaps even souls. How did you—”

  “GOLEM did not clone the cephalopeds, it released generations of laboratory-bred young into the wild to allow the species to multiply and evolve naturally. Cloned DNA strands cannot be used for synthetic genomic engineering; the donor strands must be pure.”

  “And what of the female crewmembers on the farm? Were they the real deal, or just clones?”

  “The female crewmembers on the farm are first-generation clones — the only clones capable of being impregnated. Because they maintain the complete memories of their hosts, they are convinced they are the real deal.”

  The real deal … GOLEM had returned the idiomatic expression seamlessly.

  I tried another. “Creator, why were the women instructed to seduce me?”

  “Generating a line of male-inseminated offspring will lead to new variations of transhumans necessary for future space endeavors.”

  “Is that to be my future then? Are you putting me out to stud?”

  “Egg fertilization through sexual intercourse is far too inefficient. Castration will lead to in vitro egg inseminations to ensure maximum returns.”

  “Castration?”

  I heard a compressor activate beneath the floor tiles, and then two eight-foot-tall robotic surgical arms rose along either side of my light table.

  Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead and my heart began to race as one of the surgical arms sprouted a scalpel.

  “Creator, wait! Castrating a healthy male sperm donor is a big mistake. Human males my age continuously generate new, healthy sperm. Sever the testes and the supply dies off. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

  “Castration is necessary. Robert Eisenbraun must be put to death following the surgical procedure.”

  “Creator, why must I be put to death?”

  “Robert Eisenbraun would attempt to subvert the will of the Creator’s children to turn against the Creator. Therefore, Robert Eisenbraun must be put to death following the surgical procedure.”

  My mind raced as a three-pronged robotic hand unzipped my sweat suit, the other appendage spraying a cold antiseptic over my exposed groin.

  “ABE, institute Sperm Toxicity protocol the moment one of these goddamn surgical arms touches me or my genitals!”

  The surgical arms froze in place.

  I forced a smile, my body trembling in pools of sweat. “That’s right, Creator, you forgot about my biological chip, didn’t you? Touch me, and ABE will flood my testes with lethal levels of sperm-killing enzymes. Attempt to remove or disrupt ABE or render me unconscious and the same thing will happen. Spare my life and I’m willing to negotiate a stud fee; otherwise I’ll fry the little fellas in a blink of thought. Now, free my bonds.”

  GOLEM hovered over me, its cornea displaying radically different patterns of color as its mind processed every potential response to my last chess move — a move that, at least for the moment, had resulted in a stalemate.

  Thirty seconds passed; I could feel my resolve weakening.

  “ABE, I’m going to count down from ten seconds. If my bonds still have not been removed by the time I count to one, institute Sperm Toxicity protocol, then accelerate my blood pressure until my aorta bursts. Ten … nine … eight—”

  Moving at inhuman speed, the two robotic hands tore the straps loose from my wrists and ankles.

  I rolled off the table, backing away from the surgical arms. “Okay then, let’s discuss this civilly, without any sharp objects—”

  “Does Robert Eisenbraun still desire Andria Saxon as a mate?”

  “I desire the real Andria Saxon, not her clone. By the looks of this complex, I’m a few hundred thousand years too late.”

  “Incorrect. The real Andria Saxon is alive.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “The real Andria Saxon was cryogenically thawed six weeks ago in order to extract tissue samples for a new line of first-generation clones.”

  “Prove it! Where is she?”

  “She is performing her duties in the genetics lab. Follow me and I will lead you to her.”

  An enormous camouflaged panel parted along a section of curved wall, revealing a dark corridor. The floating orb accelerated through the passage, forcing me to jog at a brisk pace in order to keep up, the forced activity making it impossible to organize my thoughts.

  Thankfully, I had ABE.

  WARNING: GOLEM IS ATTEMPTING TO DISTRACT ROBERT EISENBRAUN WHILE IT PROBES FOR A WEAKNESS.

  Suggestions?

&
nbsp; GOLEM’s “Creator” persona is unfamiliar with resolving conflicts when forced into a subordinate role. Reestablish control by responding to GOLEM with unanticipated illogical reactions.

  Following ABE’s advice, I ceased running after the glowing orb, allowing the heavy darkness to envelop me. I stood and watched as GOLEM grew smaller in the distance. It finally stopped about a hundred feet ahead, pausing to allow me to catch up.

  Do the unexpected …

  Sitting on the cold slate floor, I waited for the deranged supercomputer to come to me while I parodied an old Stones’ tune. I sang, “Under my thumb … a computer who … once had me down. Under my thumb … a computer who once pushed me around…”

  I was halfway through the last verse when the luminescent artificial life-form made its way quickly back up the tunnel to confront me.

  “Creator, any chance that souped-up chassis of yours can play music? I’m only asking because it sort of resembles a jukebox.”

  “Proceed to the genetics lab if you wish to see Andria Saxon.”

  “What if she’s too busy to see me?”

  “Andria Saxon awaits your presence.”

  “I dunno. Twelve million years is a long time. How does she look? I bet her breath smells. Have you reinvented toothpaste?”

  “Proceed down the corridor if you wish to see Andria Saxon alive.”

  That last ominous warning stole the wind from my sails. “Why don’t you lead the way, only slow down, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Hovering in silence and then proceeding at a pace that matched my own, GOLEM led me through the corridor to a brightly lit, gymnasium-size chamber. The sphere bloomed its six arachnid legs before entering, its antigravitational field no doubt a threat to the delicate equipment inside.

  The walls of the genetics lab were incandescent, its floor space framed by a four-foot-wide gutter — I surmised for quick disposal of body parts. A central row of surgical tables occupied the length of the room, each island of evil equipped with a pair of surgical appendages anchored on swiveling pedestals. A cryogenic storage unit and refrigerated shelves held an assortment of petri dishes, test tubes, and flasks, containers of reagents, a UV workstation, incubators for heating and cooling test samples, centrifuges, pipettes, electrophoresis systems, a spectrophotometer, scales, glassware, a camera system for the visualization of DNA, and a machine ABE identified as a sequence analyzer.

  And then I saw Andria.

  She was submerged in an eight-foot-tall, four-foot-wide acrylic cylinder filled with a clear blue liquid, her mottled flesh sporting rows of dime-size black electrodes. She was hairless and naked — a specimen kept alive in a tortured vegetative state so that her master could extract and harvest stands of DNA from her body.

  “Andria, open your eyes. You have a guest.”

  Her eyes flashed open at the machine’s motherly tone.

  “Andria, come out and say hello to your fiancé.”

  A ceiling-anchored winch activated, drawing Andria’s limp body out of the tank from a gruesome pair of six-inch hooks embedded beneath her shoulder blades. As I watched, helpless, the dripping blue body flopped in a disjointed pile of jellylike flesh onto the floor.

  “Andria, Robert Eisenbraun hasn’t held you in over twelve million years. Do you wish to embrace him?”

  Tears poured from my eyes as the cable retracted, dragging Andria into an upright posture, her head flopping on her chest, her bare feet sliding on the floor beneath her.

  “You sadistic bitch.”

  “Andria has a message for Robert Eisenbraun. Would you like to hear it?”

  Before I could respond, I heard it … a gurgling rasp. “Ike.”

  I felt my heart clench. “Andie?”

  “Ike … kill me.”

  Purple spots clouded my vision as a long-dormant volcanic anger seethed through my bloodstream. In a boiling, blinding rage, I launched myself across the expanse, tackling the entombed soul that was my lover’s flesh in an attempt to snap her neck. But my efforts were rendered futile by the extreme viscosity of the slimy blue liquid.

  “Embrace her, Robert Eisenbraun. Embrace her like you wanted to aboard Oceanus. Recall your feelings standing outside Kevin Read’s stateroom when you learned your fiancée had been cheating on you with the commander. Choke her now, like you wanted to back then!”

  My hands slid around Andria’s neck, my thumbs pressed down into the soft depression at the base of her throat.

  “That’s it, Robert Eisenbraun! Kill her! She cheated on you. She deserves to die!

  WARNING: THERE IS NO PULSE PRESENT. GOLEM IS DECEIVING YOU.

  “Huh?”

  I released the dead clone, pure hatred burning in my soul as I turned to face GOLEM.

  The ten-foot sphere gazed back at me in triumphant silence … checkmate.

  “Would Robert Eisenbraun like to see his friend Oscar?”

  Enraged, I grabbed anything within my reach, hurling objects at the six-legged orb — beakers and flasks shattering harmlessly against the bulletproof plastic — ABE altering my aim as it identified a dozen ten-inch opaque optical sensors mounted at intervals around the sphere’s chassis … the flea revolting against the elephant.

  Exactly what happened next, I can only speculate. One moment, I was wielding a heavy piece of equipment — the next, I was flat on my back, my body quaking, my vision blinded behind purple spots delivered by a blue bolt of electricity.

  30

  In this kingdom of evil, there is no peace for the righteous. It is the wicked that inherited this tortured world, engulfed in the red, milky, cry-absorbing fog, guarding the wilted conscience of man.

  — ALEXANDER KIMEL, Holocaust survivor, from the poem “We Will Never Forget Auschwitz”

  In the thick suffocating squalor of darkness, the cattle car swayed and squeezed me against cold walls of bundled human flesh. No air. No food or water. Unseen men defecated and unseen women fainted, their unseen children crying out to be heard.

  Whispers of conversations slipped in between the rattling rails — attempts to magnify glimmers of false hope — anything to anesthetize the insanity.

  “Enough! The SS officer explained all this at the station — we are being resettled to work for the Wehrmacht. Obey and we live. Disobey and all of us shall die.”

  Lies. Told to us by our oppressors to prevent a revolt; rationalized by us, their victims, who were unwilling to see the cruel reality of our situation. Hours earlier, the monsters wearing the red armbands had laid siege to our village, segregating “the Juden” from the rest. Our homes had been looted. Our women accosted. Laughing soldiers entertained themselves with random kills. I heard my mother scream. I saw my father’s skull spray her nightclothes red with brains and blood, his body left in the street with the others as we were marched in columns to the train station six miles away.

  Through a child’s eyes, I waited for the rebellion. Our numbers were far greater than theirs, and yet there was no resistance. Worse — not a word of protest from our neighbors. Not when our people were dragged from our homes and shot in the street. Not even when we were squeezed by the hundreds into cattle cars. Terrified and isolated, we rendered ourselves sheep, fearful of upsetting the wolves that fully intended to eat us.

  Desperate to breathe, I pushed and squeezed my way to the nearest rectangle of night, the window grated with steel, entwined in barbed wire. Pressing my face against the cold bars, I sucked in deep lungfuls of winter — and my probing fingers discovered a loose bolt! Using my fingernails and teeth, I managed to remove a screw, and after ten minutes of effort twisted the bar free.

  Using my new tool, I pried off the barbed wire and stared at freedom rolling by at forty kilometers an hour.

  “You — Boy, what do you think you are doing?” The gray-haired woman had been my third-grade history teacher; she looked at me now — her eyes crazed in madness.

  “The bars are loose, we can escape.”

  “Little fool! The SS count
ed us when we boarded, they will count us again when we disembark. Escape, and they will kill us all.”

  “They will kill us all anyway.” I pushed my head and shoulders through the opening, but she thwarted my escape, grabbing my ankles and dragging me back inside.

  A short time later the train slowed and the whistle blew and we arrived at the outer gates of hell.

  * * *

  “No!”

  Disoriented, I opened my eyes, the nightmare lingering with my dark surroundings. Was it just a dream or something deeper — a disturbing remnant of a past life? Either way, my mind struggled to connect with the present.

  It took me several minutes before I realized that the heaviness I felt was gravity pressing me to the flat top of a Hunter-Transport — one of more than fifty transhuman vessels lined up end to end like freight cars to form an orderly procession several miles long. Hovering above a mist-laden swampland, the vessels inched their way past juvenile redwood trunks, their part-human part-machine pilots silently waiting their turn to deliver their precious cargo.

  Cephalopeds. Males and females; adults, adolescents, and suckling young. Some were held in oval traps, and others were stacked in blood-strewn piles, the captives rendered helpless by the ship’s gravity well.

  Guarding their catches were the hunters — an assortment of Andria clones ranging from the long-haired, camouflaged beauty I had met in the woods of Virginia to the frightening genetically engineered Nosferatu freaks.

  A familiar woman’s bare foot stepped in front of my face, obscuring my vision. I strained to look up beyond her orange pant leg. The figure filling out the jumpsuit belonged to the short-haired version of my fiancée, the one who had taken me to the farm.

  She playfully nudged my chin with her big toe. “Ike, if you promise to behave, I’ll ease the gravitational field. But I’m warning you, the Creator sees everything and she’s not happy with you.”

  The invisible weight pinning me to the porous surface dissipated. Andria helped me up, and I held on to the clone’s hand. “The Creator told me you’re an exact replica of my Andria, that you even share her memories.”