by Scott Cramer
“Christian Petrov, please lift your chin,” one said.
Training his gaze on the spinning globe, Ashminov squinted to see the boundary between red and yellow, between devourware saturation and ricinware, between freedom and mass slaughter. The ricinware was flooding the major population centers, and another half billion people had dropped dead. He searched for Italy; from the north, the yellow shroud of death had reached the Italian Alps. Rome would fall within minutes.
Ashminov imagined Signora Villanova standing before her stove, and a smile creased his face as he took in the odors of her Italian cooking spices. She would have already received the devourware. Will she miss me? Ashminov’s heart swelled with love as fast as it tore apart. His death would launch her on a trajectory of grief, with no nanochip to blunt her suffering. However, she could recover from sadness, but not from ricinware. He detected the odor of ozone and knew the scalpel was close to his head.
Red bent lower and gazed at Ashminov’s neck, perhaps to visualize the precise line where he would sever the head from the body.
Ashminov’s time was over, but maybe Raissa was still alive, trying to stop Petrov. He liked to think Raissa, like Signora Villanova, would miss him. He had given her more positive memories than negative. “I would never bet against her.”
The scalpel-wielding surgeon with red hair replied, “Excuse me, sir. Bet against whom?”
Ready to leave Raissa with a final positive memory of him, Ashminov focused on his stomach muscles. By contracting them, he hoped that his upper torso lurching forward would trap the detonator between his stomach and the edge of the desk.
Brown startled Ashminov by grabbing his hair. “Dr. Petrov is waiting,” he grumbled.
Ashminov saw the laser blade moving toward his throat, and he rallied every muscle fiber in his lower torso to fire at once. The high-energy beam cut into his throat.
Time slowed, and Ashminov watched as his chest sprang forward. The laser had cauterized the blood vessels in his neck, affording him a few seconds of consciousness. He saw his stomach striking the desk. The corners of his lips were curling upwards as his head flew backward in the shattering concussion of sound and fury.
IMPLEMENTATION: PHASE 18
When a distant, powerful explosion rattled the glassware on the bench, Raissa feared that paladins were launching an assault on the lab, and she trained her eyes and Glock on the door.
A bestial wail erupted in her mind, and she scrunched her eyes shut as the pressure threatened to shatter her skull. Petrov was screaming in agony. His scream ended suddenly. “Eve, nothing in my analysis suggested Big Brother would detonate your explosives belt to destroy the transmission server.”
Raissa opened her eyes to see two young boys standing before her. They wore brown shorts with suspenders and knee socks. Both were missing front teeth and had cowlicks. She recognized Ashminov, on the right, the older of the two. Then she realized the other boy was Petrov. They skipped out of the lab holding hands.
“I loved Christian,” Petrov said with remorse in his voice. “Unfortunately, he didn’t reciprocate.”
Raissa had suspected they were more than friends, but it still took a moment for the shock to wear off. Even in death, Ashminov continued to surprise her. Her shock gave way to sorrow and then to a renewed determination. Ashminov had done his part: the transmission server was down—temporarily, at least. Now it was up to her to kill Petrov before he could get ricinware online again.
She flexed her left arm to see if she could count on using it, but the searing pain made her cry out. She’d have to fight with her right fist, her feet, the Glock, and guile.
Raissa stood before Petrov's cylinder and centered the bore of the Glock flat against the carbonite, centimeters away from the crinkled lump of evil. Firing at close range offered the best chance of rupturing the cylinder, but if the carbonite held fast, she’d likely take the rebounding projectile in the gut. Win big, or die.
She applied pressure to the trigger, but hands grabbed her from behind before she fired. She wheeled around, leading with her elbow.
* * *
Caleb ducked at the last second to avoid taking Raissa’s elbow on the chin. He straightened and grabbed Raissa by the shoulders. “I’ll help you kill Petrov,” he blurted out. He tightened his grip, but she twisted away and quickly eluded his grasp.
She trained her gun on him, the doubt in her eyes reflecting the confusion that swirled inside her. Raissa didn’t know whether to shoot him or hug him. Her eyes flickered toward his brain in the cylinder and then back to him. “Why are you standing in front of me now?” she asked, desperate for an explanation.
“I’m here and there,” he told her. “I’m also inside of you. Your eyes are my eyes.”
“Caleb, why didn’t you help me earlier?”
“Petrov controls everything.” He shrugged. “He must want me here for some reason.”
Petrov whistled. “I can’t take credit, Adam. You willed yourself outside your sarcophagus. Heart over matter; the power of love.”
Raissa shook her head to clear it. “I don't know what to believe anymore.”
Caleb took her hand. “Let’s believe in each other.”
Raissa’s thoughts blended with his own, and she squeezed his hand. “Fern is beautiful.”
The mention of their daughter stole Caleb’s breath, and a world opened before him in which he saw himself and Raissa raising Fern. They led a simple, happy life. Raissa journeyed into that world with him but quickly shut it down, refusing to entertain a fantasy that would never come true. In Caleb’s mind, Fern faded into a hopeless array of zeros and ones.
The door in the wall opened, and Caleb’s jaw dropped. Dr. Mars stepped into the room. The tall paladin was wearing green scrubs. His blonde hair fell to his shoulders. Gripping an object in his hand, he approached them.
Raissa raised her gun. “Stop right there.”
Mars complied.
“Gabriel is a gentle soul, Eve,” Petrov said. “The angel Gabriel informed Mary that she would give birth to the Son of God. Dr. Mars shares much with his namesake. He is a bearer of miraculous news.
Caleb swelled with anger. “He ran the Beyond Eden project. They killed half a million test subjects.”
“Fruit flies,” Petrov scoffed. “Scientific achievement requires sacrifice. Adam, you of all people should know that.”
Raissa adjusted her aim at the paladin. “You burned a scar in my cheek when I was six years old. Now back up.” She nudged Caleb. “Do you think he has an Eden Chip?”
“If he does, then he can read our minds,” Caleb replied.
“Good. Then he knows I’m ready to blow a hole in his chest if he doesn’t take a step back.”
“Eve, Gabriel doesn’t need an Eden Chip to know your intention. Your eyes give you away.”
BOOM.
The bullet touched off sparks by Mars’s feet.
“Gabriel, Eve means business. Please comply with her request.” Mars gave a respectful nod to Petrov’s brain and took a step back. “To answer your question, Adam, Gabriel and his associates have Eden Chips. But they can only see into your minds if I allow it. I’m keeping your conversations with God an intimate affair.”
Raissa pointed. “Two more.”
On the other side of the door, two paladins stood next to an operating table. The man was short and scrawny, and the woman slouched.
“Dr. Mentenhoffer and his associate are unarmed,” Petrov said.
“Do you believe him?” Caleb asked.
“Not for a second,” Raissa replied.
“Gabriel, show them the orb.”
Mars raised his arm. In his palm was a shiny black sphere the size of a grapefruit.
Raissa sighted the Glock, and Caleb knew she feared the sphere was a bomb. He did, too.
“Thirteen, Eve,” Petrov announced.
Caleb scrunched his eyes. The meaning of thirteen was lost on him.
“Adam, God can delve even deeper int
o Eve's mind. She calculated what she'd do if Gabriel charges her. First, she’d shoot him in the chest, then the face, and if that didn't stop him, she’d empty the clip into his heart. She was trying to remember how many bullets she has left.”
“Fourteen,” Raissa said.
“So you do, Eve. But I doubt you could stop Gabriel with fourteen hundred bullets. Allow me to explain the orb. The carbonite exterior can withstand temperatures from absolute zero to ten thousand degrees Kelvin. Outside, the rocket is on the launch pad. Once the orb contains my fifty-seven thousand neurons, and a contribution from you, I’ll blast into a high orbit around Earth.”
Caleb jumped at the roar of the pistol. The bullet struck the black sphere, and it went flying, rolling along the floor.
Raissa crouched lower, aiming her gun at the center of Mars’s massive chest. “Now I have thirteen. Petrov, if Mars knows what’s good for him he’ll back off. Otherwise I’ll soon have twelve.”
“Gabriel, please return to the Beyond Eden lab,” Petrov implored.
Mars picked up the sphere and exited through the door.
Caleb’s eyes widened as he absorbed a new idea in Raissa’s mind. Using grass that grew outside the building, she wanted to start a fire under Petrov’s cylinder.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
“I can only provide moral support.”
The monitor flickered to life, showing Zoe, Jack, and Julian, along with Raissa’s family, in a room. Jack’s eyes were vacant as he held Julian. Caleb’s nephew looked like a doll made of wax. Zoe was pacing, wearing a mask of defeat.
“How could you think of harming them?” Petrov asked. “Eve, you’ll boil all our brains.”
“Can I limit the flames to Petrov?” she asked.
Caleb nodded. “Yes.”
She shot him a hard stare. “You don’t believe I can.”
“There’s a small chance the fire will spread,” Caleb admitted. “But you have to take that risk.”
Raissa must have agreed because she was already heading for the door.
* * *
Raissa opened the door a crack and checked outside for paladins. Seeing none, she sprinted to the grass perimeter. She looked around, then sought shelter among the tall stalks. She recalled how the brown stems had crackled and crunched when she made her way through them: the perfect fuel to build a fire. The feathery clumps at the ends looked the most combustible.
After listening for a moment and hearing nothing, she concluded her spot was safe. Kneeling and holding the Glock in her right hand, she first tried to gather grass with her left, but she couldn't clench her fingers together because of her broken forearm, so she put down the gun and used her right hand.
The pile grew, and several minutes later she carried the bundle of grass into the lab and dumped it beneath Petrov’s cylinder. She made a second trip, then a third.
“We need a solar lighter,” she said to Caleb. Knowing some experiments required a flame, she looked around the lab bench, also keeping an eye out for something she might wrap around the other cylinders to repel the heat. Unable to find either item, she patrolled the perimeter. “There's no lighter. Maybe there’s one in the Beyond Eden lab.” She shuffled to the door separating the labs, but it was locked. Then she had a thought. Sparks!
“Caleb, some of the bullets I fired created sparks.” She arranged the feathery tips in a small pile, stepped back and aimed the gun barrel at the base of the grass pile. “Please stand behind me.”
“Bullets can’t hurt me. I only exist in your mind.”
Petrov piped up. “Let me remind you, Eve, brain cells start to die at 31 degrees.”
“Caleb, please move.”
“Goldstein always told her that it was harder to murder a person when you can see their eyes.”
“Petrov, I’d love to see yours,” Raissa growled.
“The data suggests you just might do that.”
Caleb moved behind her. Bracing for the kickback, she pulled the trigger. BOOM. The bullet ricocheted. No sparks.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Those shots produced only ringing in her ears. Six bullets remained. She fired again, and a spark jumped, giving rise to hope. She squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession, but could not tease even a wisp of smoke from the pile.
She spun around, desperate to try something else. On the lab bench were bottles and cans filled with liquids. “Are any of these liquids flammable?”
“Read the labels,” Caleb said.
She grabbed a can. “Sulfuric acid?”
“No,” Caleb replied.
A bottle. “Hydrochloric acid?”
“No.”
Nitric acid and phosphoric acid also earned nos.
“Cyclohexane?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said.
Raissa put that can aside. “Methyl alcohol?” Her neck hairs stood on end because this chemical earned Petrov's attention. She felt his fear emanating outwards.
“Yes!” Caleb cried.
Raissa poured half the can of methyl alcohol over the grass pile, took three strides away, turned, and fired. A spark shot up, followed by the whoosh of a bonfire—but only in her imagination. She had just two more bullets.
As she looked around, her eye encountered the oxygen warning sign next to the first aid kit. NO OPEN FLAME. Raissa charged over, ripped open the door, and grabbed a box of solid oxygen pellets. Under Petrov's cylinder, she arranged the pellets in a cluster halfway up the pile and doused them with the remaining methyl alcohol.
She backed up, tried to steady her shaking hand, and pulled the trigger. Incredibly, she missed. Raissa took two steps forward.
“Stop!” Caleb jumped in front of her. “Back up, or you’ll die in the explosion.”
She held her ground. “I have to be this close.”
To her horror, Caleb lay down and positioned himself on his side so that his chest was immediately behind the pile of pellets. “Raissa, aim for my heart.”
“Caleb, move!”
“Pretend you’re taking target practice. My heart is the bullseye.”
Raissa took three steps back and raised the Glock. Thousands of hours of practice took command of her nerves. Her arm steadied as she locked her eyes on Caleb’s chest, zeroing in on the exact point where his breastbone shielded his beating heart. Her resolve waned as each pulse of Caleb’s love washed through her.
Panic constricted her throat, and she realized it was Petrov; he felt threatened. The alcohol was evaporating, and Raissa knew she must pull the trigger soon. A profound calm settled over her, and time slowed as mind, body, and weapon became one. She gazed longingly into his eyes. “Caleb, I love you.”
A jolt of electricity slammed her to the ground before she pulled the trigger. She dropped the gun. Dazed, she could barely breathe, let alone move. The joule slug had fried her circuits. With her cheek flat on the floor, she saw the scrawny paladin step through the door from the Beyond Eden lab. He held a joule, and Mars was behind him.
“Congratulations, Eve, you were ready to kill the boy you loved, much as the God of the Bible sacrificed his son in an ultimate expression of love. What a moving display it was too. Now, Gabriel can supervise harvesting your neurons, and then I can be on my way.”
* * *
Caleb hurried to Raissa’s side. Experiencing the effects of the electron slug, she was limp, and her eyes were slits. He could feel her fighting to keep them open. Other than holding her hand, he didn’t think there was much else he could do.
Dr. Mars and the paladin who had stunned Raissa looked down at her. “Dr. Mentenhoffer,” Mars said. “Take her to the Beyond Eden lab.”
Mentenhoffer grunted and groaned as he tried to move Raissa. Annoyed, Mars pushed him aside, reached down, and scooped her into his arms.
Caleb looked at them in dismay. “What are you going to do with her?”
Petrov interjected. “Sadly, Caleb, the number of love neurons is finite. Once Gabriel extracts them, Rai
ssa can no longer love you.”
* * *
Raissa murmured as she felt the crushing of Caleb’s heart. “Caleb, I’ll love you forever.” Then she turned her attention to Mars.
With him cradling her in his arms, she watched the panorama of the lab ceiling pass by. The paladin's rock-hard chest pressed against her shoulder, and she could feel bands of muscles rippling in his arms. He kept a firm grip on her wrist and leg as if worried she might try to escape his grasp.
How can I overpower him? She needed her Glock, but the gun was on the floor. Most of all, she needed the feeling in her arms and legs to return. She tightened and relaxed her stomach muscles to force blood into her extremities, expecting that Petrov, drifting inside her mind like poisonous gas, would inform Mars of her strategy at any moment.
“Gabriel, keep a close eye on Raissa,” Petrov said. “She’s as stubborn as they come.”
“What happened to Eve?” Caleb asked.
Petrov sighed. “Adam and Eve are dead. I don’t need them anymore.”
Mars placed Raissa on a cold metal table. “Dr. Mentenhoffer, get her vitals.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Dr. Mars, can you explain the procedure?” Caleb asked.
Mars seemed pleased. “You recall the Beyond Eden research results?”
Caleb nodded. “I skimmed them.”
“Love neurons emit dopamine and exhibit a unique magnetic signature,” Mars explained. “After a brain scan, we’ll map them out and then go after them.” He pointed to a device above Raissa’s head that looked like a chrome-plated octopus at the end of a mechanical arm. “The extraction fibers have a diameter of 20 nanometers.”
Raissa assumed that one of those wiry arms would drill into her brain.
Mars flicked a switch, and an image of her brain appeared on the screen, glowing with pinpricks of light. “Caleb, look. You can see Raissa’s love for you.”
“What about her Eden Chip?” Caleb asked.
“We'll navigate around it. She’ll still need the chip when we transfer her brain to the sarcophagus, so she can communicate with the others held in Paradise.”
