by Reg Franklin
CONRAD: ...f...fank...you….
The next hour of the recording is the sound of breaking bones and screams from the agent. His vessel was removed from the hull of the Chancel, his broken but still living body packed inside it, then towed back to Earth orbit. It was retrieved by one of the Alliance’s low-orbital craft, and carefully returned to the surface. Inside was found Conrad AKA David Tran, or what was left of him. It was a miracle he was still alive, but his mind had completely snapped under the torture. Upon being freed, he handed an envelope to his rescuers. Inside was an invitation addressed to the newly appointed American President, to the wedding of Emperor Paul Stragdoc to Ambassador Calixta Morsalis.
By all accounts, the invitation itself was quite tasteful, even if its manner of delivery left something to be desired.
19.
Jennifer thumbed through the transcript she had stolen. Nothing she'd found out about Morsalis prior to her employment by Psi-Omega indicated this kind of brutal sadism. Nor in Karman's history. He did have military training, serving as a member of the military police at West Point, given a medical discharge when he was diagnosed with cancer, no reprimands on file. Hired by Psi-Omega Industries in 2048. Morsalis was a graduate of the University of Barcelona, minor in psychology, major in political studies. Originally hired as a negotiator for Psi-Omega’s government contracts, diagnosed with early stage Lou Gehrig’s Disease in 2046.
Similar files were easy to find for most of Paul’s inner cabal. Tilial Dalth, former RAF pilot, several medals, medical discharge for cancer. The major exception to this rule of employing people who were already dying seemed to be Simon Peters. Multiple PhD’s in medicine and robotics. Hired as chief researcher in 2042. So before Psi-Omega hit international prominence.
If Paul had bought the others’ loyalties by saving their lives, what was Peters’ loyalty based on? All the records she had obtained showed that the doctor, while approaching middle age, was healthy as the proverbial horse.
“More coffee, ma’am?” The waiter at the sidewalk cafe in London had appeared beside her. The cafe was spitting distance from where the embassy had once stood.
“Thank you, please.” In addition, Jennifer had never really been to London, and since Paul was technically paying for it, why not mix a little business with pleasure? She went over more and more information, trying to deduce how so many had sold their souls to the insane devil orbiting the moon.
Her coffee refilled again, she noticed a slice of blueberry pie had been delivered alongside it. “Pardon me, I didn't order this?”
The waiter pointed out an elderly man across the cafe. “He sent it, ma’am. Said it was your favourite.”
The man was staring at her. His face was vaguely familiar, and not just because her bore a passing resemblance to the actor Donald Pleasance. Blueberry was her favourite, however, so she put her files away and carried it over to where he was sitting.
“Do I know you?”
“Probably not. But I know you, dear girl.” The man’s voice was American, mid-west, Kansas perhaps.
“Really, and how would you?” The town she and Paul had grown up in was smack dab on the Canadian border, so she certainly didn't have too much connection with people from that part of-
This will make you well.
A voice from the past. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his rather sad-looking face.
She was six years old, and she was dying. Cancer, they called it, saying it was in her neck. They could not operate; only give her injections that made her throw up and her hair fall out. She was awake sometimes, but unconsciousness was always welcomed, for in the land of dreams she was not sick and had hair like other little girls. She had heard a noise that had woken her up that night.
The boy across the room was dying too. He had a funny last name, she had heard he had been hurt badly by another boy at school. That wasn't right. A doctor was there, injecting something into the boy’s arm.
The pie plate fell out of Jennifer’s hand in shock.
As he was injecting the boy, he saw little Jenny looking at him. He pulled the half-full needle from the boy’s arm, looking at her sadly. He walked over, looked at the papers on the end of her bed.
“Poor child.” He had whispered, and then looked around. Making a shushing gesture, he injected the rest of the needle into her IV. “This will make you well.” He smiled, but it was a sad smile.
Like the one he wore now. “Who are you?” Jennifer whispered.
“My name is Crichton. And, I guess I am the man who damned the world.”
---
Jennifer escorted the elderly man back to where she was staying, making him sit on the bed, while she occupied the only chair.
“From the beginning, doctor.” Jennifer was surprised to see her hands shaking.
“The beginning, dear child?” Crichton shook his head. “The beginning was the discovery of DNA. When Watson and Crick published and were awarded the Nobel Prize for their work, that was when my work began.” he paused. “Actually, it goes more recent than that. Robert Gallo discovered the first human retrovirus in 1979, and the governments of the world were so interested in his research. I had been studying animal retroviruses at the same time as he was, wondering how best to apply the idea to human beings. I theorized that a retrovirus could be used not only to cure diseases such as cancer, but as a way to alter our own genetic profile, to make us something more than we were.”
He paused to drink some water. “Do you remember what was going on in the world at that time?”
“The Cold War, the Iran-Iraq war, African genocides, the AIDS epidemic…”
“Exactly so. The threat of annihilation of all human life on Earth seemed iminent. I threw everything into my project, maintaining as much secrecy as I could. And in 1985, I had the breakthrough: a retrovirus that consumed dead or dying cells and excreted stem versions of whatever it consumed.” He sighed. “Of course, it only worked on mice to start with. Any cancers they were infected with were cured quickly, and then I exposed them to hard vacuum. Freezing temperatures. And of course, radiation. The results were certainly impressive, but the time had come for a human trial.”
“Me.” Jennifer stated more than asked.
Crichton looked up at her. “Heavens no, dear child. Him.” He pointed at the ceiling, his meaning clear. “The purest test of Project Paradigm, that was what I called it, was to infect someone gravely injured to the point of death. Therefore, I studied news reports, and discovered one about a young boy whose skull had been crushed in a ‘schoolyard accident’, was essentially brain-dead. He was perfect in another sense, as young as you were at the time, I could study the long-term effects in secret. But, something happened when I went to the hospital that day.”
Jennifer was hanging onto his every word. “What was that, doctor?”
Crichton laughed brittlely. “I had an attack of conscience. My goal was to save lives -First Do No Harm- and lying opposite that poor boy was a young girl dying of cancer. So I only administered half the dose to the boy, and the other half to the girl.”
Jennifer felt tears forming in her eyes and wiped them away. “So why didn’t the project continue? Why aren’t there others?”
“Oh the project continued more or less. Until the world changed. I had concerns when it became obvious that he paralyzed the boy who had injured him, but shrugged them off. But then he found out something had been done to him.”
“Paul found the retrovirus?”
“Basically, yes. I noticed his intelligence had made leaps and bounds since his brain repaired itself. And I felt a kinship with him when he started to take his interest in science. However, when he found the retrovirus...he made a logical jump that still confounds me. Rather than think that an outside party had introduced it to his system, he decided that instead, the retrovirus had always been there, and as such, that he was the next step in human evolution. Even I realized that something was very wrong then.”
Jennifer nodded. “That was when he beg
an amassing followers. Promising immortality to his select few.”
“Yes. And when he discovered how to bolster the original retrovirus, mutate it into its new form.” Chrichton shook his head in disbelief. “To this day, I have no idea how he did it.”
Jennifer rose, walked to the balcony door, looked out over the London skyline. “I couldn't tell you either. All I know is he injected both of us with his formula. He didn't say anything about retroviruses or finding the source in his own blood. He…” Jennifer’s voice faltered. “He told me that we would live forever, that our love would outlast man’s foolishness. And God help me, I believed him.”
Chrichton put his hand on her shoulder. “About living forever?”
“About love. I learned too late that he only loves power. The more he has, the more he loves it.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “And because a teenage girl was dumb enough to believe him, the world is on the brink of a new war. Because I couldn't bring myself to kill him when I realized what he had become.”
“Really? Do you think that the current state of affairs is all because of your inaction? From what I've been able to put together, you left him to die in an explosion he prepared.”
She nodded.
“Do you really believe that you could have done something more...permanent in the time you had? Being incinerated in a blast seems rather permanent to me.”
The elderly man turned her to face him. “No, my dear. You have no guarantee that shooting him with a gun or strangling the life from him would have been any more permanent than trying to blow him up. I was not lying when I said that I am the one who damned the world. The road to hell, good intentions, and all that. The threat above our heads is my doing. My unfortunate legacy.” Chrichton’s eyes were equally wet. “But I hope that you might be my greater legacy. The one who rose against the madness that I accidentally unleashed on the world.”
Jennifer blinked back further tears. “Doctor...how old are you?”
Chrichton smiled. “Far older than I should be. I needed to see how this ends. Which of you will be triumphant. But, the Paradigm retrovirus was not designed to defeat old age, only injury and disease. Your lack of aging is the result of his work. Not mine.” He sat back down. “Yes, I administered the retrovirus to myself as well. My aging merely slowed, and soon I will pass on. Humans were not meant to live forever, after all. I viewed my work as no different than all the other advances we’ve made over the past few hundred years to extend our lifespans a little bit more each time.” Chrichton sighed deeply now. “I gave myself the extra years of life more as a punishment; forcing myself to watch what I had been the cause of.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Jennifer whispered. “Any more than I could have.”
“You’re probably right. And yet I still chose to play God.” He reached into his jacket and removed a small medical phial. “This is the last of the Paradigm retrovirus. I will entrust it to you, if only because I believe you have far better judgement than I do, Miss Safyo.” His sad eyes met hers, and he smiled again. “For what it is worth, I am very proud of how you’ve turned out. You’ve struggled, but didn’t give in to despair.” He stood, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Keep fighting, my dear child. Don’t let the madness hovering over all our heads win.” He shuffled to the door.
“Doctor Chrichton...thank you.” Jennifer smiled at him through tears. “Thank you for saving my life as a child. I never had a chance to say it to you then, I thought you were a dream.”
“My dear, as far as I am concerned you are the dream.” And with that, he was gone.
20.
Paul Stragdoc found himself staring at the surface of the moon’s dark side again. It dominated his thoughts lately, how it blocked his view of home, how soon he would bring the rebuilt Chancel around it and conclude the war he had been planning.
Just after he had survived Jennifer’s initial attempt to assassinate him, he had begun to conceive of everything that had taken place so far. Building his organization into a globally beloved enterprise, allowing his true self to eventually peek through, forcing the globe into a state of anarchy where the people would clamor for his gift of immortality. Even now, his agents were enticing people to join his side in exchange for that same gift. When the war began, the world would explode into civil strife, despite the efforts of the “Global Alliance”.
Stragdoc sneered derisively at the title they had given themselves. He’d understood from early on that centralized power was the only way to proceed as a species. The ideas of democracy, communism...all a great lie, as proven repeatedly. Democratically elected leaders inevitably seized power for themselves, as did the communist regimes, becoming little more than bitter little fiefdoms until the next tyrant-in-waiting came along.
His method was much simpler. People clamored for strength in leadership, and what could be more strong than a man who was not only immortal himself, but also capable of granting that same gift onto his followers? And as for the chaos that broke out periodically as a result of his machinations? Chaos bred fear and confusion, and in that state people naturally sought out stability. A stability of unchanging leadership would be offered them, and they would drop to their knees and bless him for it.
“My love?” Calixta’s voice called across the chamber. Stragdoc turned to face her, his sneer changing naturally to a warm, welcoming smile.
“Calixta. I was not expecting you.” he quickly moved across the chamber, taking her in his arms. When they separated, the lovesick young woman had to take a moment to remember why she had come.
“Ambassador Mueller desires an audience with you.”
“Really? Whatever for?” he stroked her face. Yes, Calixta was so very dear to him now.
“He wouldn’t say. Just that he needed to speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency.”
The would-be Emperor of man leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “Very well. Do wait here, I shouldn’t be too long.”
Stragdoc marched solidly through the corridors of the vessel, admiring the workmanship his people had put into every panel, every bolt of its construction. It was almost a pity that soon they would disembark once again onto their true home.
The former Ambassador awaited him near the shuttle bay. He seemed to be watching as new vessels were built and armed for combat. Stragdoc approached him, hand outstretched in greeting. “Ambassador Mueller. How good to see you.”
The Ambassador took the hand perfunctorily, a look of anguish on his face. “Emperor. Sir. I wish to speak to you on an urgent matter.”
“Yes, Calixta informed me. Is there a problem with your accommodations? I never did tell you how pleased I was that you desired to remain here with us.”
“Nein, mein Herr. I wish instead to perhaps dissuade you from this krieg you are preparing for.”
“You wish to prevent the war that is brewing?” Stragdoc’s brow furrowed. “By speaking to the humans of this Global Alliance, encouraging them to stop hunting us?”
“Again, nein.” The Ambassador stared at the Emperor. “I know you have the power to stop this. Reach out to them yourself, end this wahnsinn before more lives are lost.”
Stragdoc’s face hardened. “Insanity? Is it insane to desire to live amongst others without being hunted? Insanity to be acknowledged as superior?”
“Mein herr, when I came here, I did so because I felt that Miss Morsalis was right in saying that all you and these people wanted was peaceful co-existence. That all you desired was to live out here among the sterne. But then something changed, and now it seems that you thirst for eroberung, for conquest.”
Stragdoc felt his temper begin to rise. “Ambassador Mueller. Upon discovering some youthful...indiscretions on my part, the humans engaged in a war of words against my people. They imprisoned over a dozen of them, including Ms. Morsalis, because of unfounded suspicions. When Commander Karman liberated me from their tender mercies before that, there was a mob converging on the facility I was being he
ld in, intent on dragging my secrets out in any fashion they deemed appropriate. Now, they build vessels for the purpose of coming here and annihilating all of us. They already have, in order to facilitate my own demise. And you wish I should mache frieden, make peace?” Stragdoc almost spit out the words now. “No, Ambassador. If you wish to persuade them to stop their current course, I will not stop you. But as long as they continue their own military buildup, so shall we.”
Mueller shook his head. “No, mein herr, I must appeal to you.”
“Yes. You have. And I have refused.”
“I see. Emperor, I feel now instead I must appeal to the body politic, the general population of this vessel, to convince you to see reason in this.”
A grim smile began to form on Stragdoc's face, twisting his features. “And what makes you think I would ever allow such a thing?”
Mueller stepped backwards, horror dawning on his face. “Mein gott, you are fascist. What they said, it's all truth.”
