The Girl in the Mirror
Page 37
When the final door closed behind him, George audibly sighed his relief and made his way to the conference room, an office nestled between a store cupboard and the toilets along a short corridor that ultimately led to the large underground laboratory.
Inside the conference room five men and one woman were sitting behind the large rectangular desk that took up the whole of the centre of the room. All wore military uniforms of varying rank. At the furthest end, to the left, a fifty-inch screen sat at the head of the table. Milo Calland was sitting in his office more than 2,000 miles away – the same office George had found himself in a little less than three weeks earlier.
“George, glad you could make it,” a note of sarcasm in Milo’s voice.
“Yeah, well… I didn’t want to keep you waiting,” George replied smugly, taking his seat.
“President Harrison is keen to know how things are progressing. I take it the facilities are as you required.”
“Yes… better than expected.”
“And the product?”
George looked a little apprehensively at the man on the screen, brushed a hand through his hair and then composed himself. He felt nervous and noted a tinge of fear in his voice when he spoke:
“They are nascent,” he said. “I’ve been successful expediting the programme to phase two – all embryos are growing normally within the pods, all at their expected growth cycles, and all on schedule.”
“And the modifications we talked about, George?”
“I’ve incorporated the emotion inhibitor as you instructed.”
“Good.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” The woman in the room, Warrant Officer Mary Taylor-Marsh, a tall woman in her mid-fifties, shoulder-length black hair and a face that, for many, would explain her meteoric rise up the Army’s ranks, regardless to her ability or work ethic. She spoke with a southern accent.
“Well, simply madam, it means that we have stripped out the bits that get in the way,” Milo stepped in, saving George the task of explaining a modification that he’d been dead set against. Milo continued, “Fear… anxiety… love… hate… All – and any – feelings that hinder one’s ability to function efficiently… all gone.”
“So, I guess no women, then?” One of the men in the room, his name not known by George, spoke up, chortling at his own joke. George paid little attention to him.
Also ignoring him, Milo readdressed George. “When can we expect the first delivery from your so called project GYGES?”
“In two months... your first 250 soldiers will be ready to begin their training.”
One of the other men in the room, the eldest and most senior officer, General Bill Eastman, raised his hand to speak.
“Yes, General,” Milo was straightening his tie on the big screen at the end of the table.
“You say ‘first 250’, how many more are there to be?”
“Well, General,” Milo replied with a smile, “just ask the question: how many soldiers, including Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard and reserves, does the US have now? Your conservative guess?”
“Conservative guess, ” he shrugged, “two-and-a-half million.”
Milo crossed his arms and looked each person around the table in the eyes, ending on George Jennings. He then smiled and nodded, almost as though he had answered the question verbally.
George turned away, suddenly engulfed in shame and guilt. He looked down at the desk, focused on a smudge of black ink worked into the mahogany surface and closed his eyes, wondering whether the nightmare for him was over… or whether it had only just begun.
What have I done? he pondered.
Beyond the corridor behind the office, through a final set of security doors (these only requiring an electronic pass key to open), the laboratory; ten rows of racks laden with large polyethylene pods filled with liquid and… and something moving inside each of them.
A small foetal hand, barely formed, pressed against the inside wall of one of the pods, causing the plastic to bulge outwards. A moment later the hand was quickly pulled back, as though stung by a nettle or burnt by a naked flame… only to be replaced by an indistinct face, its small, dainty nose distending the pod’s translucent wall much like the hand seconds earlier. Though obscured by the pod’s hazy barrier, one could see that the face was human.
The foetus’ eyes popped open and took its first glimpse of the world.
Acknowledgements
Gratitude and thanks are extended to the following people who assisted in some way or another, great and small, with the production of this book.
First and foremost my editor Laura Ling who has been on board since the inception of The Girl in the Mirror (I so hate your red pen!), and been a sounding board for many of my ups and downs (even if you were playing the world’s smallest volin!) for a long time.
My troupe of beta readers: Lynne & Paul Cotton, Darren Staff, Martin Kendray, Kelly Tinsey, Sonia Jennings, Terry Gould, Louise Ruse and my wife, Beth Gould. Each of you had a part in shaping this story, ultimately improving Sophie’s journey into print.
And to those of you who have taken a chance and bought this book, I take a bow to you. I always had you in mind when I first sat down to begin writing this series. It’s a lonely business, being an author, but it’s made bearable knowing that someone, somewhere, has read this book. Without you, there is no point.
About the Author
PHILIP J GOULD was born in Ipswich in 1974, and still lives in Suffolk with his wife Beth, and three children, Rebecca, Sophie and Matthew. At an early age he discovered a vivid imagination and an affection for the written word. Leaving school at sixteen, he went onto work in shipping and insurance, and is also a qualified personal fitness trainer. He quit the day job in 2012 to develop his career as an author and to spend more time with his family. His first book was The Book of Alternative Records, first published in 2004 by Metro Publishing Ltd.
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