“You both remember,” she went on to say, “those hair samples we discovered on the golden crown Alex received?”
They both nodded their heads.
“You’re not going to believe what I discovered.”
She sat down next to them on the bench and got a little closer to ensure their privacy. Both William and Marissa leaned towards her, eager to her what she had to say.
“Well,” Samantha continued. “I dated the hair follicles’ age to be somewhere between 2415 and 2420 years old dating back to anywhere from 333 to 338 BC.”
Though intrigued by the information, Marissa neither understood the urgency or secrecy of this discovery.
“I then genetically analyzed the hair,” Samantha then went on to say a little softer, “and directly linked it to Alex.”
As a virologist and genetics expert, William appeared completely unimpressed by this revelation. “Well,” he commented, “1 in 200 males across the globe are directly related to Genghis Kahn, and he died in the 13th century AD. With a lineage that goes back 1500 years even before that time, a genetic connection to the Pella family would not be surprising.”
“Did I say the Pella family?” Samantha asked, annoyed by the interruption. “I said to Alex Pella.”
“I don’t understand,” Marissa asked.
“I’m glad you are both sitting,” Samantha said, “because after doing a full genetic analysis of Alex and his parents, I discovered he’s not related to them at all.”
“He’s adopted?” William said. “I’ve known him since college and he’s never mentioned anything to me about being adopted? Are you sure?”
Samantha nodded her head. “I’m completely sure. In fact, I’ve known Alex and the Pella family ever since I can remember and never knew this information until today.” She stopped talking for a moment to make sure they were still listening. “In fact, I don’t think Alex even knows.”
Marissa interjected, “Alex told me his mother always said that he was genetically special, but he never knew what she meant. This may be what she was talking about. Maybe she didn’t want him to know that he was adopted.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Samantha said, giving them both a glance. “When I said that the hair was genetically linked to Alex, I really meant directly.”
“How directly?” Marissa asked.
“One hundred percent directly,” Samantha commented. “The over 2400-year-old hair sample matched Alex’s genetic code completely. They’re identical.”
Marissa put her hand over her mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she gasped.
“I don’t know,” Samantha concluded.
Chapter_8
It was a beautiful, warm day. Laughter filled the air as people drank, flowers hung from the surrounding stone pillars, and the sound of a harp could be heard in the distance.
The place where Alex now found himself seemed familiar, yet he swore that he had never been there before. Holding goblets filled with red wine, he and a few of his companions enjoyed one another’s company in this grand celebration.
Next to him a beautiful young woman wearing a long flowing tunic wrapped around her shoulder drank from a golden goblet. She smiled at him in a flirtatious fashion as she sipped her drink.
As he stared back at her admiring face, Alex felt as if a distant memory was attempting to surface. Did he know this woman? He’d never seen her but it felt as if there were something important that he had forgotten.
He gazed deeper into her big green eyes, and like an epiphany the memory surfaced. Though the woman was unfamiliar, her beauty certainly reminded him of another extraordinary woman—his fiancée. Suddenly, he could see Marissa’s loving face and could think of nothing but being with her once again.
In an instant, the gleeful party disappeared, replaced by a rapidly approaching forest coming closer to him by the second. At this rate of descent, Alex quickly realized that attempting to pull up would be futile. Instead, he knew the only way to survive this dive would be to rapidly shift the magnetic poles in the front of his aero-bike’s gravity dampeners. Hopefully, it would create an artificial magnetic cushion to decelerate without inflicting too much G-force on either himself or his bike.
Alex immediately began readjusting the polarity setting of the gravity dampeners. Time seemed to slow down as the force of gravity doubled and then tripled within a matter of seconds. It felt as if someone had placed a piano on his chest and then began jumping on it. His vision grew dim, as if he were looking through a very narrow tunnel.
Alex kept his eyes wide open as he barreled through the forest’s upper canopy, breaking branches and knocking over a small tree along the way. With his head behind the dashboard, the electromagnetic field around his bike took the brunt of the impact, leaving him and his vehicle essentially unharmed. Alex then leveled off his bike before coming to an abrupt stop on a pile of leaves and brush.
Relieved to be alive, Alex took a deep breath when his lungs once again were able to expand and bring in air. The weight on his chest had lifted, but the experience only proved to accentuate his pounding headache and dizziness.
That was too close!
Despite the near death experience, Alex resumed racing, dodging the trees and making sharp turns. His physical ailments were certainly not going to curtail this race. As he negotiated his bike expertly through the forest he took aim at Tom, who suddenly emerged from the trees just ahead of him. Drawing nearer to the unsuspecting veteran, Alex fired his photo-blaster and scored a direct hit.
Yes! Alex said to himself, neglecting the physical discomfort and rejoicing at the thrill of competition.
But the shot only proved to harden Tom’s resolve. Because Alex was turning out to be a formidable competitor, Tom accelerated even quicker through the forest. The rings were not far away, and the veteran was determined to reach them first.
Pushing all his skills to the limit, Alex accelerated even faster. As he made a sharp right turn, one of the photo-cams flew directly into a tree. Upon impact it burst into flames, crashing onto the ground.
Just ahead lay the red rings, and both Alex and Tom were putting forth their best effort to be the first to reach them. After a high-speed race to the checkpoint, both passed through almost simultaneously.
Alex glanced down at his dashboard and saw his score read 75.
Second place, he lamented. Though knew that he was not going to win the race, his competitive side still wanted to earn the first place prize of 50 points instead of taking second with 40.
Alex and Tom flew up and out of the forest in unison. The others had not yet passed the checkpoint but were not far behind.
Alex began to accelerate even faster now that the trees were no longer there to impede his flight. Being first to the next checkpoint, which was deep in a neighboring rocky canyon, would prove more a matter of endurance than anything else. Before making his move, Alex glanced over at Tom who simply mocked him by shrugging his shoulders.
Alex looked down at his bike’s polarity readings in order to ensure they had been fully stabilized before accelerating any further. But just as he took his eyes off his fellow racer, Tom took advantage and flew directly in front of him.
Alex’s bike came to a halt, and before he was able to get off a blast, Tom accelerated far out of view, sticking his rear end up in the air the whole way. Adding to the insult, racer 8 flew overhead at top speed, leaving Alex in third place.
Frustrated by his careless mistake, Alex took pursuit of the two racers ahead of him. Because they were flying just along the forest canopy, it made aiming his photo-blasters difficult as the tops of tree branches impeded a direct shot.
After another 10 minutes of intense racing, the green canopy gave way to a brown and uninviting rocky terrain. The three lead racers descended deep into the rocky canyon below, with Alex and Tom maintaining speeds of over 250 mph. Racer 8, on the other hand, quickly decelerated after making an early mistake and soon fell far behind. Even at 200 mph
, his bike was consistently making automatic course alterations and speed adjustments due to his inadequate flying.
The terrain they traversed was rocky and hazardous. The sides of the ravine were jagged, with rocky outcroppings. The large river, which formed this ravine a million years ago, roared underneath with white foam billowing from its watery rapids.
Up ahead Alex saw a large rock formation extending from the right side of the canyon. To avoid collision, he tilted his bike to the left, exposing its underside to the rocky obstacle. Just as he was about to clear the hazard, Tom Cat darted out from in front of the rocks and blocked Alex’s path, causing his bike to decelerate.
In response, Alex fired his photo-blaster, but to no avail. Tom had quickly cut the tight corner before the shot could reach him.
Alex began to accelerate as the image of the gleeful party with the beautiful young woman again clouded his vision, making it nearly impossible to maneuver his bike in such close quarters and speed. As his vision faded and consciousness slipped, he willed himself to concentrate on the race.
Straining not to lose his grip on reality, Alex slid a black panel under his dashboard to the side, revealing a concealed red switch. With his body going numb and losing the ability to move, he flicked it to the left, losing consciousness at the same moment.
The right side of Alex’s bike skidded against a rocky outcropping, causing the vehicle to fly out of control. Multiple air cushions suddenly dispersed from its underbelly, completely surrounding Alex and his bike.
Engulfed in the cushions, Alex bounced harmlessly off the sides of the canyon before finally crashing into the flowing river below.
Upon impact, Alex was alerted by the sound of trumpets as his mind once again entered a different reality. Surrounded by a cheerful crowd of people, they all turned their attention to the town’s main gates. As the large stone doors swung open, a stately gentleman with a patch over his left eye appeared. Wearing a gold crown similar to the one that Albert Rosenberg had just sent to Alex and an ornate tunic, he seemed strangely familiar.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Followed by an entourage of young women, the man joined the celebration amidst great adoration. Rose petals were thrown at his feet while the sound of musicians singing his praises filled the air.
Who is this guy? Alex thought. Why can’t I remember? It just…
The jubilance of the moment ended abruptly when the man cried out in agony. Clutching a bloody silver dagger shoved into his side, he fell to the ground gasping for air.
A few people began to scream in horror while the perpetrator of the crime hastily fled the scene. “Murderer!” yelled Alex’s friends as they drew their swords and gave chase. Up the hill they followed the suspect, gaining distance on him with every step.
Alex gazed upon the injured man. His breathing was shallow and the body lay perfectly motionless. His white tunic was now saturated with blood.
Alex knew there was nothing he could do to save him. The wound was clearly mortal.
An overwhelming blend of remorse and guilt overtook him. As tears filled his eyes he looked up and saw that two men had caught up with the adolescent murderer at the top of a hill. The youth had stumbled to the ground while trying to make his escape upon a horse. Preparing to deliver instant justice, the men raised their swords, poised to strike.
Just as they were about to carry out the execution, the vision vanished and Alex’s body was overwhelmed with an immense sensation of pain.
Chapter_9
Jules continued attempting to maneuver out of the magnetically-controlled straps. However, the more he moved, the tighter they grew. Barely any blood was flowing into his hands by this point, and they were becoming slightly blue and numb as a result.
“So what pub do you two gentlemen visit?” Jules asked nonchalantly.
“Gainer’s Corner,” one of the guards said.
“If you’d ever been to Salt Lake City,” the other guard said enthusiastically, “it’s right in the downtown section. Best food and cheapest beer.”
The two guards leaned on their console, awaiting the pathologist. One had placed the electron-dissecting knife on it for later use. They had ceased torturing Jules and instead enjoyed talking with their client to pass the time until the pathologist finally arrived.
“You haven’t been to a real pub until you’ve visited London,” Jules commented, still lying flat, suspended in the air with his hands to the side. He gathered up as much enthusiasm as he could muster and continued, “Now they know how to show a chap a good time.”
The two guards laughed, almost forgetting Jules was their prisoner. “All you Londoners think your bars are the best,” one commented while still chuckling. “Just because London is the only city that can still microbrew their own beer doesn’t mean it’s better than all the other beers on the market.”
“Do me a favor you two,” Jules said. “Promise me you’ll take a vacation overseas and try London Fog. You’ll never want to drink another mass produced beer ever again.”
“You got it buddy,” one guard commented, amused by the conversation.
Jules smiled to himself. Though he could not free his hands or feet from the restraints, he knew gaining the guards’ respect would be his only other viable option for escape.
“I’m getting a little uncomfortable,” Jules politely asked. “Could one of you fine men bring my hands in front of me so that I might breathe a bit better.”
“Now?” one of the guards laughed. “After hours of torture you’re getting uncomfortable now.” He then waved his hand over the console and complied with Jules’ wish.
“And since you’re being so accommodating, how about that drink together at Gainer’s Corner?” Jules responded.
The two guards again broke out into laughter, repeating Jules’ last comment. “I’m really going to miss this guy,” one said.
The door to the room then began to dematerialize, curtailing their laughter. The two guards stood at attention at either end of the console, awaiting their guest.
“Ah ha,” a tall, thin man dressed in a bright pink suit eagerly said, “So this is our client here, Mr. Jules Windsor.”
His colorful appearance clashed with the stark dinginess of the cell; adding in his glaring white hair and unnaturally tan skin, he almost looked like a clown.
“My name is Dr. Frick,” he went on to quickly say as he scurried into the room, overly excited by his job. The doctor was a man in his early 60s but his wrinkled skin gave him the appearance of someone at least 10 years older. In both hands he held a bright blue leather bag by the handle and placed it on the console.
“The pleasure is mine,” Jules responded, still contemplating a means of escape.
The pathologist then walked over to Jules and looked down at him. Taking his left hand, he pushed Jules’ head backwards. “Perfect! Nice long neck. I’ll be able to get some spinal cord with this dissection.”
“Gentlemen,” he said clapping his hands as if he were in a rush. “Bring me the electron-dissecting knife. There’s much to do.”
The two guards complied. As they approached, Dr. Frick hastily grabbed the knife and pointed at Jules’ neck. “You see. The best place to make a proper cut is just above the clavicle.”
The edge of the long saw-like knife began to glow brightly as the doctor brought it closer to Jules’ throat.
“No anesthesia?” Jules fancifully asked.
“We have a live one,” Dr. Frick said.
“Not for long,” one guard quipped.
Just as the pathologist was about to make the first cut. Jules brought the wrist straps close together, causing them to momentarily lose their magnetic dipoles. In the brief instant, he then grabbed the knife and thrust it up into the doctor’s throat.
It sizzled upon entering.
Blood gushed out of Dr. Frick’s neck as he began to gargle and gasp for air. He then fell to the ground, creating a flowing pool of blood in his wake.
Jules attempted to s
lice one of straps round his ankle, but before he had the opportunity, the magnetic dipoles in his wrist came back into alignment and his arms froze into place.
The guards ran back to the console. “We have to sound the alarm,” one shouted.
The door then dematerialized and another NewREMA guard ran into the room. However, instead of helping the guards, he threw a small disc in the middle of the room, which sent out a pulse of energy.
With his wristbands now deactivated, Jules fell flat onto the floor. Neglecting the pain, he stood up and grabbed the knife. Its edge no longer glowed—deactivated by the blast.
One guard shouted into the telecommunicator on the console for help while another grabbed his gun. Attempting to shoot, he immediately realized that it had also been disabled. Not deterred, he jumped over the console and headed towards the intruder. Taking his gun overhead, he intended to use it as a blunt instrument and bludgeon the traitorous guard.
The intruder then shot two small darts from his wrist, hitting both guards directly in the chest. Upon impact, a pulse of electricity overtook each of them, dropping the two to the ground.
The intruder raced over to the console and placed a small chip on it. Frantically, moving his head side to side, he began to quickly manipulate the console’s controls.
Realizing this guard must be an ally, Jules minded to his own business without fear of repercussions. After removing his wrist and ankle straps, he limped over to the nearest guard and checked his pulse.
“They’re still living,” Jules commented.
“They’ll be unconscious for a few minutes,” the man replied while his fingers ran across the console as if he were playing a piano. He then tilted his helmet-head towards him. “Stay put a minute while I reroute the NewREMA camp’s security system before they know what’s happened.”
Jules smiled in delight as he then attached the straps around one of the guard’s wrists. He dragged the man by the arms and placed them at opposite ends of the doorway. The strap’s magnetism once again began to return as they snapped against the frame when placed into position.
The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2) Page 8
