The Vampires of Antyllus

by Michael E. Gonzales

  The Unborn Galaxy

  Book Four

  The Vampires of Antyllus

  Michael E. Gonzales

  The Vampires of Antyllus

  Copyright© 2018 Michael E. Gonzales

  Cover Design Michael E. Gonzales

  Fire Star Press

  www.firestarpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedication:

  I want to thank a

  Crusty old salt,

  halfway around the world,

  who took the time to

  beta read for me.

  Chapter 1

  The Cure

  The Moon was a tough place to live and work. Major Kathy Selina had just lived through another bad day. Ever since the discovery of the artifact, she'd had a bad feeling about the damned thing.

  Some of the lab coats living in JILL, the Joint International Lunar Laboratory, insisted that there was a causal link between the artifact and the “black hole”—a lunar singularity inside the crater called Hohmann's Well. This black hole had been expanding slowly, if exponentially, and devouring the Moon. It was this unbelievable event that had cost Kathy the lives of five of her pilots, the most recent of whom was Captain Cris Salazar. She'd never met a more talented pilot. That damned hole had sucked him and his Lunar Eagle right down into its ravenous maw, and he was never seen or heard from again.

  Prior to Cris's disappearance into the swirling void that the crater had become, the phenomenon’s appearance had been intermittent. Afterward, it continued unabated, slowly beginning to expand. It was then that a pilot from Eagle Squadron Five discovered, or rediscovered, the artifact that had been photographed by the last—and secret—Apollo 20 mission back in 1976. In the shadow of the crater Izsak on the Moon's far side, a spacecraft was discovered. It was an enormous thing: five hundred meters in diameter and over three thousand meters long. By the looks of it, the craft had been there for a thousand years, some thought perhaps many times longer.

  The exterior survey of the vessel, which took weeks, raised more questions than it answered. When the first crews detailed to penetrate into the interior of the craft were in route, the artifact mysteriously exploded.

  Thankfully, there were no casualties, but the lab coats were right. When the ancient spacecraft disintegrated in those two blinding flashes, the phenomenon seemed to lose strength and just fizzled out, leaving a vast and deep cylindrical hole in the Moon's surface.

  Easy Eight, as the Eagle Squadron Kathy commanded was called, was tasked to investigate Hohmann's Well, the site where the singularity had manifested itself, to determine whether anything could be discovered. This mission filled the major with trepidation. She did not care to lose any more pilots.

  She and her squadron had been hard at this task for over a month. Major Selina had not slowed since the singularity first began. She had pushed hard to survey the alien spacecraft, and she wasn't letting up in this new mission, stating, "It's my job."

  But thirty days into the investigation, she found herself tired and sore. She told herself that the stress and fatigue were catching up with her. She began to slow down, and looked noticeably ill.

  One evening after a staff meeting, Lieutenant Colonel Bruckner, the Group XO, called her aside. "Kathy, how are you feeling?" he asked.

  "I'm fine, sir. I just need to catch a little more sleep; little more rack time, that's all I need."

  The XO cast his eye over her, then said, "Major, I want you to report straight away to the hospital in dome two and see the flight surgeon. That's an order. I want his report on my desk by zero eight hundred Wednesday morning."

  "Sir, my squadron—"

  "Major, that was an order, not a request."

  She reluctantly revealed her symptoms to Doctor Anton Derevenko. She was becoming more and more fatigued. By the fit of her uniforms, Kathy had determined she'd lost weight in an alarmingly short period of time, and she had no appetite. She was often nauseous, and in recent weeks had started carrying a supply of barf bags in her Eagle. There was also a persistent discomfort in her abdomen.

  The doctor noted she was a tad jaundiced, as well, and scheduled a series of tests. One test seemed to lead to another: he started her with a simple CT scan of her abdomen, and ended up having to perform a pancreatic biopsy. By this time, Kathy had a pretty good idea that something was seriously wrong.

  At the conclusion of the testing, the doctor called her into his office and sat across from her.

  "Major, there's no good way to deliver this sort of news, so I'm just going to tell you. You have pancreatic cancer. It's rather advanced. Though our medical facilities here are second to none, I am going to recommend that you be sent to the Gregor Lanseky onkologicheskogo tesentra in Saint Petersburg, Russia. They have the most advanced cancer treatment in the world. But Major, you need to be prepared for the worst."

  Kathy remained rather stoic in the face of this news. She thanked the doctor for his work and agreed to travel wherever was necessary to combat this ailment. She was a fighter, and would not go willingly into the night.

  She left the doctor's office on the third floor of the hospital, crossed the hall, entered the ladies room, then hid herself inside a stall. She leaned against the wall and fought the desire to cry, not understanding this emotion. She had faced death in the cockpit of her fighter over some of the hottest air in the south-east Pacific. The area known as Oceania was where the war against terrorists was being fought. She'd come very close to death on more than one occasion, and had been seriously wounded, but she never fell apart. She came to the conclusion that her inability, at this very moment, to fight back was causing this overly emotional reaction. It was not fear but frustration, she told herself.

  After a moment, she gathered herself and caught a ride back to her billet, where she made herself a cup of chamomile tea. She sat in silence at her table and tried to disengage her mind. But she just kept floating back through time and space to events in her life that she regretted: that dogfight when she became fixated on an enemy aircraft. She was so determined to bring it down that she lost her wing man, Lieutenant Walter. She could still see his face.

  As a lieutenant herself, she was pursued by an admiring captain. She avoided him because she could tell he was looking for a hand on which to put a ring. She remembered thinking that captain's bars were the only jewelry she desired.

  She recalled that hot college romance with Roger. It lasted a whole semester before she had to end it. She felt herself falling in love with the man, and that would only derail her plans.

  Now here, at what might very well be the end, she was alone.

  She tried to visualize who would come to visit her in the hospital. She had no immediate family to drop in on her. Most everyone she was acquainted with was here on the Moon. She would, no doubt, be visited by some members of her old Squadron, given they were not deployed.

  "Funny," she said to herself, "to be hounded by this consideration now." She felt like Ebenezer Scrooge; she was going to die, and no one would care. She was without a love in her life and childless. She did, however, have one consolation — she was on the list for promotion to lieutenant colonel.

  ○O○

  The shuttle departed the Moon less than a week later. Kathy activated her monitor and watched JILL seemingly race away from her until she could see the entirety of the facility there on Mar
e Insularum. She tried to memorize the image of the domes and the new Barbicane Science Center, an immense flat, circular construction on JILL's eastern extant.

  Kathy felt a sense of loss. JILL was home to her now after nineteen months. When this is over, I'll request reassignment back to JILL, she said to herself, knowing she was being overly optimistic. In the back of her mind, that little voice that had been with her all her life, told her this would likely be her last sight of JILL.

  The shuttle set down at lunar receiving port number eight in Enid, Oklahoma, a small community of some three hundred thousand people.

  At the gate, Kathy was intercepted by a gentleman in a suit carrying a thin briefcase.

  "Major Selina, Kathy Selina?" the well-dressed fellow inquired.

  "Yes."

  “If you don’t mind?” he asked, then produced a palm pad and scanned the COMde chip in her temple, confirming her identity. "I know you have a connecting flight, but it is imperative I speak with you."

  "And just who might you be?" Kathy asked.

  "I'm sorry," he apologized, and flipped his palm pad around. On the panel was displayed his identification. "I'm George Masters," he said. He was an officer with DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. He led her to a small airport café where they took a seat in the back near the wall.

  "Can I get you a coffee?" he asked.

  "Mr. Masters, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm tired, stiff, sore, and in no mood to play games. I have no doubt that you are aware of my medical situation, so you'll understand I am in a hurry to get to Saint Petersburg."

  "Yes, ma'am, your medical situation is exactly why you landed here, and not in Moscow.”

  “I’m in Oklahoma because of DARPA?”

  “You know, I'm sure, what lies ahead of you, the surgeries, radiation treatments, and—"

  "Yes, Mr. Masters, I am fully aware."

  "And you know, also, there is no guarantee of success."

  Kathy just looked at him.

  Mr. Masters continued, lowering his voice, "Major, I am here to offer you a rare opportunity. We, and the International Interplanetary Exploration Agency, can guarantee your survival; offer you a life much longer than that of normal people…a life free of disease and hunger. If you're interested, you will have to accompany me to a more secure location. Everything from this point onward is classified Crypto."

  Kathy glanced toward the terminal to the airliner that would take her to Russia and months of pain.

  "Major," Mr. Masters added, "if you should decide against our proposal, we will get you to your destination by special transport. You can't lose anything but a little time talking to me. And Major…this will be worth your while."

  It was not in Kathy's nature to accept much on faith; she seldom made important decisions without all the information available. Nor was she one to hesitate when action was demanded.

  "Can I see your identification again?" she asked.

  Masters called it up on his tablet and handed the instrument to Kathy. With the scanner in the contact lens of her communications device, called a COMde by the military rather than by some more marketable name, Kathy checked his credentials against the DCPDB, the Defense Civilian Personnel Database.

  Satisfied Masters was who he claimed to be, Kathy agreed and was escorted to a waiting vehicle deep in an underground parking garage. Kathy was leery, but at that very moment, a guarantee of survival was a hard thing to ignore.

  In the parking garage, they entered a large limousine. The driver and one other man waited outside. The vehicle's windows were so heavily tinted they were almost black.

  Once inside, the doors locked and Mr. Masters activated an acoustic vibration buffer, as well as other instruments to ensure their conversation remained private.

  "Sort of elaborate precautions for a lowly Major, don't you think, Mr. Masters?" Kathy asked.

  "As I said before, the rest of this information is classified Crypto. You already have a Crypto clearance, so I don't think I need explain it to you, do I, Major?" Mr. Masters had become very serious.

  "No. I understand," Kathy responded, reciprocating his seriousness.

  "Excellent. Here's our offer in a nutshell. We can save your brain and place you in a new body."

  "Do what? Is this some kind of a joke?"

  "No, Major, it most certainly is not." He opened his briefcase and handed Kathy a LIBRIS reader. She took the cylinder and extracted the thin holographic membrane. As Mr. Masters spoke, she examined a far more detailed description along with classified diagrams.

  "The procedure," Masters continued, "is called a whole brain emulation. Your biological brain will be mapped in minute detail and copied into a computer. This computer's brain models are so faithful that the models behave exactly as the original, and retain all of the memories and personality of the donor. A prosthetic body will be constructed for you, it will be so similar to your original that the only way you will know the difference will be the obvious absence of flaws such as birthmarks, moles, and scars, unless you want those added. Your new body will be enhanced by virtue of the prosthetic itself. You'll find yourself stronger, faster, and equipped with abilities you could only have had with the aid of electronic devices.

  "Your Biotronic brain will contain elements of your own biological brain in which your consciousness, all that is you, is located. Into this, your brain emulation will be uploaded. You will awaken a new woman, a better, stronger, faster thinking woman. And Major, you won't be alone. We started this program well before the quake of Twenty–"

  "The quake that almost destroyed JILL?" Kathy interrupted.

  "Yes. There are several hundred SUBs now, and more are coming online every month."

  "SUBs?"

  "It's a play on the acronym C.E.U.H.B. Cyberneticly Enhanced and Uploaded Human Beings. You no doubt have a million questions, and there are people to answer them for you. But first, I have to know if you wish to proceed. If you do, I have some papers that require your signature."

  "Papers?"

  "Boilerplate stuff, your acceptance and approval, your release, and a standard non-disclosure oath. You'll also agree to remain a member of the Armed Forces of the United States subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice for life, or until released by The United States Government. You will also be opcon to the IIEA."

  "Yeah, all us military types on the Moon are under their operational control," Kathy said as she examined the “papers” on Masters's tablet.

  "So, I'll be in the Air Force for life…how long can I expect to live as a SUB?"

  "Right now, the estimates are upwards of ninety years from day one, but with anticipated upgrades, the sky's the limit. Oh, one other thing, you'll never suffer the effects of aging, and cancer will never be a concern for you again."

  Kathy looked up at Mr. Masters. "Let me borrow your pen."

  ○O○

  Kathy arrived at the Joint Propulsion Laboratory's expansive facilities in Pasadena, California two hours later. What was once the California Institute of Technology had long ago been absorbed by the JPL, one of the largest scientific research centers in the world, and the property of the IIEA, the International Interplanetary Exploration Agency, which was specifically organized to manage the world's resources and direct the world's energies towards the exploration of space. It had, however, become a massive government in and of itself, exercising considerable—and to some inexplicable—influence over all the industrialized nations of the world.

  Something was providing the IIEA untold leverage over the world's governments, or at least that was the suspicion of many around the globe. The support provided by these nations to the IIEA was unprecedented, and never better illustrated than by the vast amount of resources those nations poured into JILL's reconstruction after the quake. Of course, the attack on the Moon base immediately following the natural disaster was classified.

  Many in the LCDD, and in the various nations’ militaries were suspicious, but Kathy had been a com
bat pilot, and responsible for the lives of the personnel in her Squadron on the Moon. She didn’t make time for rumor in her life.

  Kathy was shown to a billet, a typical BOQ where she was allowed to freshen up and eat. Afterwards, she was ushered into a briefing with several suits and several lab coats.

  "Good afternoon Major Selina, I am Doctor Barker, and these are my colleagues, Doctors Moretti, Broussard, Werner, and Tokushima. We are here to tell you a little about the SUB program and explain some of the abilities and limitations your new body will present to you. We will by no means bombard you with information. Really, this is just an orientation to set your mind at ease and prepare you for the new life ahead of you.

  "Major, you will no longer be residing within the biological body you have known for the last twenty-five years."

  Kathy smiled. "Thanks, Doctor, but I'm thirty-six."

  The doctor smiled back and continued. "Many of the limitations you have grown accustomed to all your life will no longer exist. Your skeletal structure will no longer be brittle as it is now, you will have a skeleton of titanium steel. You will be considerably stronger with far more agility than your biological counterparts. You will run faster, and jump higher. You will never again know fatigue. Your vision will allow you to see in several different wavelengths, penetrate darkness, and provide you with telescopic sight. Your hearing will be adjustable and extremely acute. You will not feel hunger or thirst, and you will be able to turn off pain. Should you become damaged, all your parts are replaceable, except one. Your Biotronic brain will be one of a kind, yours and yours alone. Just like the brain of any fully biological person.

  "However, it is imperative that you understand that you will not become indestructible. All weapons that can kill or injure a biological entity will damage or destroy you. You will feel pain but, as I said, you can shut individual sensors off as needed. Pain provides you with information on the site and severity of injuries, as it does now, and is just one of many human-like aspects of your new body designed to keep you sane.