by Richard Bard
“The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching
Prologue
Veterans Administration Medical Center
Santa Monica, California
JAKE BRONSON THOUGHT his life had finally returned to normal. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Sure, he’d married the woman of his dreams, his three children meant the world to him, and he was blessed with a cadre of friends who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the face of unthinkable dangers. He was even back in the air as an acrobatic instructor pilot. Life was perfect. That is, until a few seconds ago, when the sixty-seven-year-old scientist beside him had given him the news.
“Someone’s coming after you,” Doc had said, grimacing behind his frameless spectacles. His usual blue-eyed twinkle had vanished. The former head of the Obsidian Project—the top-secret US government division tasked with dealing with “the Grid” of alien pyramids that had threatened Earth a year and a half ago—now led a clandestine arm of The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). He looked tired after his rushed trip from his underground offices in the mountains of northern Nevada, jokingly nicknamed Area 52 by those who worked there. Doc’s shoulders slumped beneath the waves of silver hair that spilled over his collar.
“About a month ago our monitoring system decrypted bits and pieces of some disturbing chatter about you. It was scattered at first, popping up between servers in Europe and Southeast Asia. We didn’t think much of it at the time, figuring it was more conspiracy conjecture about the Grid. But in the last few days it expanded to a point that it captured our attention.”
“They mentioned me by name?”
“Not specifically. But they’re looking for the Brainman.”
Jake cringed. He’d done everything possible to maintain a low profile regarding his connection with the Grid event—when more than a thousand small alien pyramids had awakened from a twenty-five-thousand-year-old sleep, erupting from beneath the earth to circle the globe, counting down to the point when every human on the planet would be eliminated. Doc and the government had worked to divert attention from Jake, agreeing to keep his involvement—and that of his friends and family—a secret. But information had leaked out, and though Jake’s name had not been mentioned, a Swiss newspaper had run a story about the mysterious man it called “the Brainman,” crediting him with averting the world cataclysm. There had been a global outcry for more information; the population wanted—needed—a hero to thank. But Jake hadn’t wanted any part of it. Eventually, the topic had faded from the headlines as inquiries continued to be met with tight lips and false trails, and the media refocused on the knowledge that man was no longer the only sentient life form in the universe.
Jake blew out a long breath as Doc’s warning sank in. What he’d heard so far was worrisome but not alarming. They stood in the corner of the physical therapy room of the Advanced Prosthetics Technology Center, located in the basement of the main hospital on the 388-acre Veterans Affairs Medical Center campus. Therapists were assisting several patients in the large room as they performed exercises and tests designed to acclimate them to their new robotic appendages.
Jake turned his back to them and lowered his voice. “There’s more, isn’t there?” Doc wouldn’t have tracked him down to this obscure location otherwise.
Doc sighed. “I’m afraid so—”
Gasps coming from behind Jake coincided so perfectly with Doc’s comment that he thought someone had overheard. Instead, he turned to see five wide-eyed therapists and their patients all focused on his seven-year-old son.
Alex was helping the US Army veteran called Mississippi Mike take his first step in over six months. The weathered man had lost both his legs to an improvised explosive device during his last tour of duty.
The replacement limbs reminded Jake of the robots from the Terminator films. Alex stood in front of the vet, his small hands grasping Mike’s, their eyes fixed on each other. Mike’s brow furrowed in concentration as he commanded his brain to send the signal to the nerves that would articulate his legs. He took another tentative step, and then another, small beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“I knew you could do it,” Alex said. He didn’t speak often, but when he did it usually had an impact.
The corner of Mike’s lips lifted. It was the first time Jake had seen him smile since they’d met two weeks ago. The battle trauma had taken more than just Mike’s body parts. According to the lead therapist who had called for Jake’s help, the soldier—who had previously been known for his boisterous personality—had sunken into a suicidal depression. Jake had been happy to assist. His ability to transmit thoughts into the minds of others was limited in most cases, especially with strangers, but at least he’d developed a knack for projecting a calming influence and mental clarity on subjects. It had proven to be a helpful talent with patients who needed to train their brains to control the latest evolution of thought-controlled artificial limbs. Jake had helped out with several patients over the past year. Today was his third visit with Mike, but progress had been slow in coming. Until a few moments ago, when Jake had interrupted his session to speak with Doc and Alex had unexpectedly stepped in.
The department head stood in the doorway, his mouth agape. “That’s incredible!” he said, moving toward Alex.
Jake’s senses were already on alert based on the unsettling news from Doc, but the developing situation before him sent his tension into afterburner as he recognized the risk to his son. He moved forward with a feigned casualness, sliding between Mike and Alex. Jake supported the soldier with a firm grip on his shoulders while projecting a calm aura with his thoughts, guiding Mike back to his chair.
Jake patted the man’s shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Mike. Like I told you earlier, sometimes all it takes is a little distraction to let your brain figure it out on its own.”
The department head moved forward, his focus trained on Alex, who sidled shyly to Jake’s opposite side. The man opened his mouth to speak, but Jake cut him off as he continued with Mike. “And you did it! The neural pathways have been triggered. It’s all downhill from here, pal. Congratulations.”
Mike’s glance shifted from Jake to Alex and back again. His eyes narrowed and Jake sensed the man’s awareness of the situation. It was as if the mental connection he’d had with Jake over the past few sessions—as well as the one he’d just experienced with Alex—had provided him with unique insight about father and son. He shook Jake’s hand with a firm grip. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. B,” he said with a deep Southern drawl, offering Alex a wink in the process. “I’m in your debt and I won’t forget it. Now, didn’t you say you were late for an appointment or something?”
“Yep,” Jake said gratefully, squeezing the man’s hand. “We should’ve been gone twenty minutes ago. Keep up the good work, Mike. I’ll be back to see you when I can.”
Jake turned and ushered Alex toward the door, where Doc was already waiting.
“But Mr. Bronson—” the department head called out behind him.
“It’ll have to wait,” Jake said over his shoulder. “Like Mike said, I’m already late.”
The trio hurried down the hallway.
