Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  “But the popsicles … let me rephrase that; the colonists and crew being kept in cryo-stasis are unharmed, correct?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” the computer replied. “Aside from the previously reported injuries, all six-thousand one-hundred and seventy-three humans currently onboard are in good shape.”

  “Hmm … finally some good news. That’s all, computer.”

  Pruitt took a sip of coffee. Something the computer said didn’t sound right. But what was it? The lieutenant racked her brain. What could it be? Then it hit her.

  “Computer, how many people did you say are currently onboard this ship?”

  •

  Frustrated, Lt. Pruitt stood outside Solomon Chavez’s stateroom glaring at the door.

  “Isn’t there any way to override the programming?” she asked.

  Ensign Jeremy Fletcher, the security tech assigned to her shift, fidgeted nervously. “Sorry, Lieutenant, the security protocols are well written. I don’t think Steve Jobs himself could crack this code.”

  Pruitt and Fletcher, together with a security officer and two mechanical engineers, had been standing outside Solomon Chavez’s stateroom for the past ten minutes discussing their options.

  “Perhaps we should wake Lt. Woolsey and ask his opinion,” Fletcher suggested.

  Pruitt shot him a cold look. “The day shift commander doesn’t have seniority over the night shift commander, Ensign. This is my decision to make, and mine alone—is that clear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Okay … perhaps we can get around this problem in a physical sense: through the ceiling or the cabin wall next door. But before we start tearing this ship apart, I need to know who’s in there with Chavez. Computer, have you determined the stowaway’s identity?”

  “Yes, Lt. Pruitt,” the computer’s nondescript voice replied. “The stowaway is identified as Dr. Mona Levin, former chief engineer of the—”

  “I know who Dr. Levin is, computer,” she interrupted. “Everyone knows who she is.”

  “I knew Dr. Levin wanted to come on this mission,” Fletcher mused, “but this is ridiculous.” Noticing Pruitt’s displeasure, his grin vanished. “What should we do? I mean, this information changes things, right?”

  Shifting her attention back to the stateroom door, Pruitt pondered the question. “Yes, Fletcher, it does. If it had been anyone else, I’d order a crew to dismantle the adjoining wall and drag her kicking and screaming to the brig. However, I don’t see Dr. Levin as a threat.” She paused to think, rubbing her right temple. “I think the best course of action is to let Dr. Levin stay where she is … for now. Most likely, she’s programmed her cryo-chamber to start the decanting process after Dr. Chavez is awakened. Since the admiral will also be awake, we can … hold on—

  “Computer, initiate a subroutine that monitors Dr. Levin’s cryo-chamber. When it begins the decanting process, inform security and Admiral Axelrod. When Dr. Levin wakes up, she’ll have a surprise waiting for her.”

  “The subroutine is initiated, Lieutenant.”

  “Good … everyone return to your stations.”

  Lt. Pruitt slowly trailed the others down the hall to the turbo-lift. Dr. Levin had gone to elaborate lengths to conceal her presence onboard the ship. If not for the anomalous space-time disturbance, she’d still be undiscovered.

  Pruitt thought about the report she’d fill out and realized the section about Dr. Levin must be flagged for consideration, immediately after the admiral decanting. She wished she could tell her personally—the old broad would pop a fuse. Unfortunately, Pruitt would be dreaming in cryo-stasis. As she entered the turbo-lift, she reminded herself that popsicles don’t dream.

  •

  Something occurred during the space-time anomaly that was stranger than anyone at the time realized. It was understood that the cryo-chambers registered unusual readings, but no one knew how the anomaly affected those inside. Despite their brains being frozen, each “popsicle” (as they were humorously nicknamed) experienced not an ordinary dream, but a reliving of an important moment from their past, filled with such vivid detail that it seemed like a real-time experience.

  Many of the dreams were pleasant; others were disturbing or utterly terrifying, but most were mundane. Only one dream would’ve shocked everyone, other than the dreamer himself, had they seen it with their own eyes. This is what took place …

  THE CRYOGENIC MEMORY-DREAM OF DR. SOLOMON CHAVEZ

  Juan fumbled with the beaker of acid, almost spilling it. With a gasp, he tightened his grip on the glass container and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. How strange—it felt as if he’d nodded off for a second. If he wasn’t more careful, he might spill it all over his lap, and if that happened his wife would be sorely disappointed, since they both wanted to have another child. To be safe, he decided to ask the guard if he could take a short break to brew a pot of coffee.

  He stood up from his work station feeling oddly disconnected, as though he was experiencing déjà vu. What he needed was rest. The bastards were pushing him and his assistants much too hard for safety’s sake.

  He approached the guard, who eyed him suspiciously, and tried to act deferential. “May I have permission to brew a pot of coffee, Private Kruger?” he asked in passable German.

  “It’s almost lunchtime, Dr. Hernandez,” the guard grunted. “Can’t you wait until then?”

  “Oh, well … yes, of course I can wait,” he said. “I feel better from just moving about.”

  “Good … now get back to work. The colonel wants those animal tests done by mid-afternoon and a status report on the new serum’s effectiveness on his desk by the end of the day.”

  Nodding, the young Brazilian doctor returned to his work station. He noticed his assistant shooting furtive glances his way, a look of exasperation on the woman’s haggard face. Dr. Juan Hernandez sat before his microscope and inserted a slide containing a fresh sample of monkey tissue. He knew what it would display: the same lack of cellular degradation as the other animals he’d tested with the serum had demonstrated.

  He’d been working on this project for close to two years and was starting to lose track of the days. Was it the fifth or sixth of October? He wasn’t sure. Looking up at the calendar hanging on the wall, his gaze rested momentarily on the month’s calendar girl. She was strikingly beautiful, what with her auburn hair and form-fitting dress. One of his assistants had informed him that she was a popular American actress named Rita Hayworth, who everyone, including the Germans, lusted after. He had to admit, she was very fetching, but his heart belonged to one woman: his wife, Maria. Pulling his eyes away from the sultry screen siren, he focused instead on the day’s date: October 5, 1943.

  Something about the date seemed familiar, but what was it? His wedding anniversary was six months earlier, and his daughter Selena’s birthday was still a month and a half away. So what was it? He racked his brain but failed to supply an answer. It was probably the residual effects of the déjà vu he’d experienced, nothing more.

  Looking through the microscope, Juan brought the tissue sample into focus. It was just as he thought: there was absolutely no cellular degradation. The plant virus was working better than expected … dammit!

  Swallowing with his dry throat, he looked over at the monkey cages lining the wall and wondered how much longer he could postpone revealing his momentous discovery: Colonel Gunter was getting suspicious—the fucking Nazi bastard!

  Before he was abducted at gunpoint, Juan heard some of the horror stories attributed to the Third Reich. He’d been aghast. As such, he knew that once a viable serum was developed, he and his family, along with his assistants, would be lined up before a firing squad and shot … or put to death in a more unspeakable manner.

  The day he and his family were abducted felt fresh in his mind. But then, traumatic events had a terrible staying power. He’d been a rising star in the Brazilian scientific community—even considered a prodigy by some. He’d already published a
few well received papers in prestigious medical journals—both in Brazil and Spain. His name was getting noticed overseas, when suddenly he found himself here, in northern Argentina, held prisoner in a remote enclave, being forced to work for the Nazis.

  “Quit woolgathering, Dr. Hernandez,” hissed the German private.

  With a start, Juan put his eye back to the microscope and resumed studying the tissue sample, hoping to discover why the test subjects had remained so healthy. He’d started his testing on flies, which lived fifty times longer than normal, then moved to mice and monkeys, all of which were doing fine—even after injecting them with non-lethal diseases. It was only recently they’d taken the next step: using virulent strains. Eight days earlier, he’d injected Pablo, the oldest rhesus monkey, with a fast-acting cancer, thinking the monkey’s system couldn’t possibly withstand the toxic onslaught. But he was wrong, judging by the sample he examined.

  He was both thrilled and petrified by the results. On the one hand, he’d probably discovered the world’s first anti-aging vaccine, one that would increase a person’s lifespan by decades or centuries, perhaps longer. On the other hand, if the Nazis got their hands on it, they would deliver it straight into Hitler’s blood-drenched hands. Juan knew that whatever else happened, he couldn’t let that take place—hence the stalling tactics.

  He heard approaching footsteps. Clarita, his assistant, stopped beside him, a manila folder in her hand. She looked stricken. “Here’s the report on the bone marrow samples you ordered, Dr. Hernandez. They check out. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Pablo was born yesterday.”

  Gritting his teeth, Juan cut his eyes sharply toward Private Kruger, his admonition provoking the woman’s shoulders to slump and her cheeks to blush.

  “Thank you, Clarita,” Juan replied, his voice icy. “Please have the liver biopsy analyzed no later than one o’clock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Juan watched his dejected assistant walk back to her work station, thinking two things: she should’ve kept her mouth shut, and he couldn’t understand why her addressing him by name had grated on his nerves. He’d felt a similar disconnect after hearing the guard use his name. Unable to put his finger on it, he decided to blame his frayed nerves. Constant stress over his family’s safety had placed him in a state of unrelenting exhaustion. There were times when he thought of injecting himself with the serum, just to see if it would alleviate his weariness.

  Troubled by such an outlandish thought, Juan Hernandez (who in the next century would be known as Solomon Chavez) rubbed his eyes and once again wished for a strong cup of coffee.

  •

  Walking a few steps behind his gray uniformed escort, Juan clutched the manila folder to his chest, trying to think of a way to parse the truth without actually lying to Colonel Gunter. The cruel SS officer was brilliant in his own way, and would see through a lie—especially after studying the report. All the facts were in the folder he clutched to his chest, none of his findings distorted.

  The guard rapped sharply on Colonel Gunter’s door and entered, with Juan following close behind. “Colonel, I have brought Dr. Hernandez, as you ordered,” he said crisply, clicking his heels together.

  Colonel Gunter, a middle-aged, gray-haired man who still sported a trim physique, was in the middle of sifting through a pile of paperwork. “Thank you, Private. You may wait outside.”

  The private clicked his heels again, his arm shooting out in the traditional Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!”

  The colonel returned the salute, though less enthusiastically. “Yes, Heil Hitler.” He waited as Kruger completed an about-face and marched from the room. When the door closed, he said, “I pray you have come bearing good news, Herr Doctor. I grow increasingly weary of your South American humidity.”

  Both of the screened windows in the colonel’s office were wide open, and the overhead fan was spinning languidly. It was October, barely springtime, yet the temperature was already in the low eighties and the humidity high, which was a nuisance for the colonel, who was accustomed to milder, European climes.

  “Yes, sir,” Juan said. “I have the promised report.” He wished the next few words didn’t have to come from his mouth, but there was no getting around it. He nearly cringed while saying, “The new serum is a complete success.”

  “Excellent! Excellent, Herr Doctor,” the colonel enthused as he reached for the report. “The Führer has been waiting for this with bated breath. I’m certain you will be well rewarded … if it works as expected.” The man’s smile seemed warm enough, but his eyes spoke a cold truth: the only reward Juan would receive would be a bullet to the brain. “By tomorrow morning, I want a detailed chemical analysis and complete methodology on replicating the vaccine. We will also be starting the human trials.”

  Juan had been afraid of this. “Don’t you think it’s a bit premature, Colonel? We should study the latest group of monkeys for a few more weeks. What if they start showing symptoms and—”

  “Nonsense! The study group has been symptom-free for nearly a month.” The colonel leaned forward with elbows on his desk, his fingers steepled, watching him closely.

  “Um … I suppose we could start the trials with a small, controlled group of volunteers,” Juan reluctantly proposed.

  “Yes, there’s always that,” the colonel mused. “By the way, how is your daughter feeling these days, Heir Doctor?”

  The shift in subject took Juan by surprise. Selena, his nine-year-old daughter, had been catching frequent colds over the past few months and was less talkative than normal. The strain of captivity was taking its toll. “She … she’s feeling better this week. But she wishes she were back in school, playing with her friends.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Colonel Gunter said, pursing his lips in thought. “The sooner the trials are over, the sooner she’ll be seeing her friends … and wouldn’t it be better if she were in perfect health when that reunion takes place?”

  At first, Juan wasn’t sure what the colonel meant by his question, but then it hit him: the colonel wanted to use Selena as a guinea pig; he wanted Juan’s beautiful, brown-haired, green-eyed daughter to be a human test subject!

  “I-I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Juan sputtered. However, judging by the smirk on the colonel’s merciless lips, Juan knew he was right about the question’s implication: Gunter’s cronies would study his daughter like a lab rat, and then put her to death, along with any witnesses—which meant he and his wife would meet the same fate.

  The colonel changed the subject yet again. “This is a great and glorious day for the Third Reich, Dr. Hernandez! The tide is finally turning! We will soon win the war against the Americans and their corrupt Jewish allies. And when that inevitable day arrives, a thousand years of peace will follow, with Germany’s visionary Führer, Adolf Hitler, helming the ship of state.”

  A chill raced up Juan’s spine, his bowels clenching in terror. Without a doubt, he feared for Selena’s life, but the colonel’s revelation was what he feared most: the madman, Adolf Hitler, ruling the Earth for a thousand years … or more.

  The colonel’s ice-blue eyes studied him closely, forcing Juan to work mightily to prevent his body from visibly shaking.

  “Your accomplishment will greatly benefit the world, Herr Doctor,” the colonel said, using a measured tone of voice. “With it, the master race will not be dragged down into the mud with the mongrels. Believe me when I say that I admire you, Dr. Hernandez. You are quite amazing … for one who is not an Aryan.”

  “Th-thank you, Colonel,” he croaked.

  Gunter activated the intercom. “Private Kruger, you may escort the doctor back to his lab.”

  •

  Juan’s thoughts were a blur as he made his way back to the lab. All he could think about was Selena and what might happen if the virus failed. What if it reacted like the serum he’d tested on the second batch of rhesus monkeys? (Within twenty-four hours, their entire bodies were covered in bu
boes. The horrible agony they endured forced Juan to put them down the very next day.)

  He was ninety-nine percent sure the present viral strain would work as expected, but it was that one percent chance that loomed large in his mind. He would burn this place to the ground before taking that chance with his beloved daughter’s life.

  He became aware of his surroundings only after reentering the lab. Clarita was placing a thick stack of manila folders in a file cabinet. She gave him a quizzical look. Kruger stood near the door, which prompted Juan to keep his fears silent. “The colonel seemed especially pleased with the test results, Clarita.”

  Seeing the haunted look in Juan’s eyes, Clarita knew something else was wrong. She cut a quick glance at Kruger. “I’m pleased to hear that, Dr. Hernandez.”

  “Is that the data on viral replication?”

  Clarita looked at the stack of manila folders in her hand. “Most of it is.”

  “Good. Gather it together and have it on my desk by—”

  A muffled popping noise was suddenly heard coming from the compound’s rear entrance. At first, Juan thought the noise was fireworks, but Private Kruger’s expression said otherwise. The compound was under attack.

  “You two,” Kruger shouted, “don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back.”

  He hurried from the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  Juan heard what sounded like return fire and then an explosion, possibly a grenade. It sounded as if all hell was breaking loose outside the building. “Clarita, throw those papers in the sink.”

  She stood unmoving, frightened by the commotion and perplexed by his order. “Get moving! We’re destroying as much data as possible. I don’t know who’s attacking us, but I do know this: Gunter wants to start the human trials tomorrow, and he plans to use Selena as a guinea pig.”

  “No! We can’t possibly let that happen!”

  “Then put those papers in the sink and douse them with acid.”

  “Yes, yes—” Finally coming to her senses, Clarita rushed to the sink, dumped the armload of papers, and began searching for a powerful acid. Juan headed to the refrigerated safe where he kept the serum.