Untitled (Chapter II) - cont.

Dirke watched Kyle turn as he let his body sink deep into the soft leather of his large chair. Be safe, old friend he thought quietly. His hand reached upwards to stroke his beard once again as he turned to focus on the ARLM report still in the visuals. This was but only one of the pieces, he worried. The others, well they could mean something far more deadly than a stolen ‘cam’ suit. But it just was not possible, his logic insisted; was it?

If the resistance had a working augmentation program, it would spin heads not only at Gentech but within the very core of the globalist organizations themselves; the Bilderberg Group, Trilateral Commission and the Council would all stop in their tracks and take notice. The ramifications could be, well, immeasurable. If indeed they had managed to develop and implement a program and if, god forbid, actually succeed in manufacturing an altered fighter, who knew what else they were capable of doing. Or, for that matter, perhaps what they had already done. But the worst part by a long shot was that they would have managed to do it without even a hint of what was being done. If even a hint of something like that had managed to reach the ears of anyone at Gentech, he would most certainly already know about it. After all, he was one of the original team members back when Gentech was just a bunch of young geniuses with a few billion dollars to spend from a generous government and a select few powerful individuals around the world. But no one would ever know of their contributions, save himself and those original members.

That small team had revolutionized genetic thinking across the board. Splicing genes was child’s play compared to their achievements over the last four plus decades. As far back as the late twentieth century, nearly fifty years ago now, he noted silently, they were far ahead of public knowledge. Cross species recombinant technologies was being perfected even back then and that had been just the beginning. In his career, he had not only witnessed the birth of genetic medicine, but the birth of the first fully designed human being. As a matter of fact, he suddenly realized, it was twenty four years ago today that they had achieved what many had labeled impossible, others labeled insane and still others labeled evil: a living, breathing, fully functioning synthetic human. They had created life itself and by doing so had entered the realm of the gods and Godhood was the prize they claimed… but their crown was short lived. All subsequent attempts to reproduce that single miraculous birth had failed. In-fighting broke out as accusations of fraud, cover ups and betrayals nearly caused the collapse of the company. Even he wasn’t spared the fallout despite his position. But no matter what was said, he had witnessed it first hand. They had succeeded; and that fact alone was something no one could take from him.

After years of pouring over the experiments and the terabytes of data, he reluctantly admitted defeat. They simply could not recreate that single glorious success. Something had been missed. Something forgotten, something not noted. He had taken to seeking out chaos theorists at one point; perhaps it was that one spark in a million; that one cosmic breath of life that would never be duplicated on demand. Had they simply gotten lucky? The latter attempts were unpleasant to say the least; some of them gut wrenching to watch. He winced as he remembered. Their creations, one after another, had died agonizing deaths. The lucky ones never had a heartbeat, the unlucky lived for a few minutes, and still countless others were terminated in the first six weeks. They were too severely distorted to even have a hope of finishing incubation. Those were hellish, secretive years. Finally even the hidden individuals who had helped fund the project in the beginning could no longer allow the efforts to continue amidst the growing volume of rumors which inevitably leaked after each horrendous failure. There had been protests, congressional inquiries and increased questions by politicians feeling pressure from abroad. In the end, the elite grew concerned over the potential loss of control. With the internet fueling a growing tide of anger in the populous in general, they had begun to see weakening influence with each column found buried within the conspiracy sites allowed on the net at the time. And of course, the idiotic military personnel commandeered to handle the more “undesirable” tasks grew ever sloppier. Thousands of conspiracy nuts would gawk at widely distributed pictures of “cattle mutilations” and “strange fetuses” found in the most remote and desolate places. Those were years Dirke would just as soon put out of his memory.

Shortly after the attempts were shut down, Gentech went back to their roots and doubled their efforts in developing ever more advanced genetic manipulations of living persons. Overall it was a far more lucrative program not only in the successes they had in the technical aspect of altering living tissue but more importantly in the moral judgment of the world. They were the new saviors of mankind. “Bad eyesight? Not after a short 3 month treatment!” read the advertisements. Like a phoenix emerging from the ashes, Gentech’s patents earned the company, and its long secret original funders, literally trillions. From organ replacement therapies to augmentation medicine for those wealthy enough to afford things like 20/10 eyesight, Gentech reaped the massive profits. Pretty much anything you needed, Gentech could deliver it and they did, billions of times over. Ten years later Gentech was the largest, most powerful corporation the world had ever known, easily trumping the next largest by a factor of ten. It dwarfed most nations’ GDP in the first quarter each year. But that wasn’t all. Gentech had become the vehicle of the elite. Eventually everything from trade disputes to Presidential ‘appointments’ had Gentech’s fingerprints on it in some way. Legally, Gentech was an American corporation. In reality, it was a trans-national entity without borders; above the law and controlled by the elite of the elite. It was the vehicle designed to carry the New World Order and Corporatocracy to every corner of the globe. Through inordinate control of everything from the World Health Organization to the world’s central banks, nothing was beyond Gentech’s hegemony. Publicly, its board was comprised of the most powerful families on the planet; some unofficial estimates putting their combined wealth at $50 trillion… that was publicly; privately, Dirke had figured at one time, it was much closer to $500 trillion. It was hard to believe, yet a mere handful of families ultimately controlled nearly fifty percent of the world’s resources; and they had their sights set on it all.

Through Gentech along with its vast subsidiaries and partners, the elite had gained control over almost every aspect of American life. The central banks in Western and Eastern Europe, as well as the United States, were all directed by those same families. Wall Street was theirs from the beginning, and via the revolving door, eventually all three branches of the government of the United States fell under their influence. Even the office of the President himself had become but a puppet and through it, the U.S. military, FDA, Department of Agriculture, and the crown jewel, Homeland Security bowed under their grip. And most importantly, they had managed to seat on the Supreme Court bench, enough leverage to seal the fate of every citizen in the United States to Gentech’s control. Ultimately more than fifty percent of the world’s population lived under Gentech’s edict via the IMF and World Bank. Those nations which were so indebted, far beyond any hope of repaying that debt, succumbed to draconian demands by the banks to turn control over public resources to Gentech subsidiaries. Those companies would then strip bare the ground in the name of helping the indigenous people. It was all bullshit and everybody knew it. It was a scam made possible by control of the world’s money supply. “Give me control over a nation’s currency, and I care not who makes its laws.” Dirke reminisced back to his early days at Gentech and his research into the particular families whom had provided a significant portion of Gentech’s startup capital. The only remaining significant holdout left in the world was China and to some extent the smaller nations within the Asian Block. Of course, publicly, none of this existed. The American President was a duly elected official; all three branches of government worked as separate but equal parts and Gentech was just a single, albeit wealthy, corporation.

Dirke knew the history and Gentech was a late comer in the plan. It was a convenient vehicle which accelerated the ancient goals of the elite; a truth made possible by the shrewd investment beginning with those same families which had, from the money changers in the streets of pre-industrial London, grown to the powerhouses that birthed the chains of the modern fiat money system on Jekyll Island in the early twentieth century.

Dirke had long since passed innocence; though he was alright with that. He had sold his soul during those post glory years trying to recreate that moment of godhood. He had named her Eve; a symbolic name worthy of such a miracle birth. He wondered what Eve would be today if she had survived the blast that rocked the institute a mere two years after Gentech had gone public with their achievement. Homeland Security quickly arrested five individuals and charged them with domestic terrorism. Members of a radical religious group broken off from the Church of Latter Day Saints shown to have ties with various conspiracy publications, they preached creationist rhetoric. Former members of the church had already been convicted of attacks on school board officials resisting the teaching of ‘Intelligent Design’ as a required course curriculum in high schools throughout the heartland. Eventually, after a media blitz which lasted over a year and even under the lenient laws at that time, they were tried, convicted and sentenced to death for the murder of twelve Gentech employees in addition to Eve. The loss of Eve added to the hellish stress Dirke had endured during those years. He had thought of her as a daughter and her death nearly caused him a stint in the psychiatric hospital Gentech had acquired a few years earlier. But all that seemed like another life now.

Dirke refocused his gaze on the report. So, the rebels had an augmented soldier equipped with ARLM’s ingenious technology. This could be bad… very bad indeed, he sighed. Sitting up once again, Dirke cleared his visual. This rebel thing had to die, and the rebel program shut down… for good. They cannot be allowed to cook anything else up for us. His fingers had already activated the com request to Gentech HQ and his earpiece chirped as the secure connection was attempted. No, this is not good at all, he muttered as he once again began stroking his beard.

***

Alliance Controlled Territory

Former State of Vermont

Five Miles North of Lake Champlain

0715 Hours

With each vast stride Sarah moved ever closer to her target. The morning sun was well above the horizon by now yet the fog along the river bank swirled through her hair as if she were a goddess racing fervently through the clouds. A witness, however, would have seen not a goddess but rather a bodiless demon; its head speeding along the air currents; floating, as it were, upon cold wisps of white. Sarah had removed the cam suit headdress allowing her long red curls to cascade behind her as she ran. A risk, perhaps; but she loved the feeling of freedom it brought as the cool air passed over her face, gently tugging at her auburn hair. She imagined dashing across fields of green, only a sheer summer cloth flowing around her torso and with each step her naked feet falling softly against freshly hewn grass. As she ran, arms outstretched beside her, she would close her eyes and smile as the wind caressed her, soothed her and cherished her. She would laugh and embrace the warm sun and beauty mother earth had to offer. As far back as she could recall, Sarah had always had a vivid imagination; and today, as she ran toward more assured bloodshed, she let it consume her mind. She had found, increasingly, that it was her only true pleasure left in this world. And this morning she would indulge herself for a while longer as she let her near autonomous instincts guide her sprint onward.

She was on a heading of east north east; her target was a military installation designated Joint Base Archer-Beaker 215. It was one of the first she had hit at the start of her mission nearly a month earlier and it was time to deal it a bit more damage. Resistance Intelligence Operations, RIO, suggested a Gentech operative was stationed there – a high value DoA target. Resistance command would rather this one be taken Alive rather than Dead, but DoA meant Sarah got to choose… and she had no qualms on picking the former; she even insisted on it, she had informed her commander as she prepared for her long stay in the wilderness. If she got the chance, she had every intention to eliminate one more obstacle to ending this dreadful war.

She was young still and there was hope for a normal life somewhere in her future she had optimistically confided to her friends. If only the war would end. Maybe she could even take a husband she had half-joked. Her dear friends had laughed with her. But in reality, Sarah knew that there was little hope in finding a man who could be her equal. Let alone the minute probability she would find someone not intimidated enough to encourage courtship, widespread prejudices, especially amongst the resistance made matters that much worse. Despite these hurdles, Sarah continued to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there for her; perhaps even a man worthy to be called father by her children. But finding someone she could love and whom could reciprocate that love wasn’t the only monumental obstacle to her dreams. Despite her mothering instincts, Sarah was not sure she could even have children. No one knew her medical past… to say the least. Her entire history was spotty at best. Her adopted parents had not been able to provide a true account of where she had come from, who her parents were and most importantly of all… how or why she had been ‘altered’. They could only soothe her with stories of how she had come in to their care and fond memories of childhood events. They were good, kind-hearted people and had risked much to take her in to their home and provide for her in the early years. Division was already beginning to take shape within communities when Sarah was quite young. There were plenty who viewed ‘altereds’ as something to be rejected. While technically illegal, many lost their jobs, families were shunned by their neighbors and those children who had the unfortunate case of being publicly known to be ‘altered’ were subjected to tortuous events by their peers.

Even in those early days, medical care had long since been rationed and determining fertility was not amongst the higher priorities which would get you seen by a physician. The war had only worsened that fact. If motherhood was in her future, it was to be known to the tarot alone and not to her… not yet at least.

Sarah stopped suddenly in her tracks, her senses had picked something up… faint, coming from her right, nearly due east. She quickly reached behind her head and pulled the headdress up and then down to cover her face; tucking the fabric beneath the neckline of the cam’s vest. Sarah knelt beside the creek she had been racing alongside. Turning slightly south as her eyes and ears searched toward the tree line along the far bank. She peered upwards into the clearing skies. The sun was still below the tallest trees yet even so the brightness dimmed her vision. Then she heard it again. It was faint, but unmistakable. “No… not another medi-drag…” she thought. It had a heavier thump than the one she had taken out the night before. No, she quickly realized, this was a far more deadly machine; a battle drag. Quickly she pulled her mags out and focused them toward the faint thump. “Ok, where are you?” she whispered to herself. She scanned quickly along the curves of the creek. Struggling to keep the optics in sharp focus, the mags’ internal mechanisms whirled fervently as they worked to keep up with her panning. Sarah steadied herself as she squatted on her right ankle; her left thigh forming a platform, acting as a base for her left elbow to rest upon as she held the mags tight against her eyes.

“There!” she gritted as her inhuman eyesight found the nearly invisible bulk within the mags’ lenses. It was headed directly towards her position from the south east, hugging the creek effortlessly little more than a few meters above it. Oh this would be a feather in her cap, she thought daringly. But no, she could not engage and risk scrubbing her afternoon target. An attack this close to base 215 would increase security activity in this sector three-fold. “Damnit!” she could not risk it and she knew it. The battle drag swayed as it approached her, the water in the creek disturbed by the heavy beating of its wings. To the naked eye, it was the only tell tale sign of the gunship’s presence.

Sarah then realized something else… it had friends. She could hear the rhythmic beat of the first drag being distorted by another set of wings. She panned further along the creek… “Two… Three… Four! A damn squadron!” Sarah cursed.

The readout in the mags’ display allowed Sarah to gauge the distance to the lead drag at just over half a mile and closing rapidly. She had but a few seconds to determine a course of action, if any. Sarah’s mind raced considering several options at hand. “1) Engagement was out, that was obvious now. 2) Follow: Disruptive to primary mission. 3) Close range scan of communications: Possible but again risky. 4) Remain hidden and do nothing: Displeasing but safe.” Sarah made her choice and quickly slid the mags back into her pack. She reached behind her ear and activated her communications system within the field suit she wore beneath her camouflage coverings. A soft beep sounded in her ear as her jawbone embedded chip sent micro vibrations along her mandible and into her inner ear.

“Begin frequency scan and record… all known bands.” Sarah spoke aloud as the system awaited her voice command.

“Scanning and recording known communications bands, please standby.” a soothing woman’s voice sounded in response.

Sarah’s eyes once again pierced the lead battle drag’s camouflage, tracking it as it quickly approached. A few more seconds and she would be the closest she had ever been to one of these flying tanks. She was determined to pry any bit of intel she could as the convoy passed overhead. As she watched the column make their final turn toward her, the heavy thump of their wings began to be felt in her chest. She knew they would not see her; even the sophisticated scanning gear which filled the nose cones would not be able to penetrate her camouflage. She had but to sit still and let the communications systems search for frequency emissions as the beasts passed by.

Time began to slow for Sarah as she anticipated the encroaching battle drags; her augmented physiology pumping her own special brand of adrenaline into her veins. Time dilution allowed her to see and interact with the world around her as if someone had pushed the ‘forward slow’ button on a video playback. To her, the battle drags’ wings slowed; beating at but a quarter of their actual speed. She could even count their cyclic figure eights now; something impossible for an unaltered to even detect.

Her head lifted as the lead drag began to pass over her, seemingly in slow motion. Still crouching, Sarah watched as one by one the first three drags passed; an impressive armored column well within ten feet of her. They were so close, she thought, as the final gunship began its flyby. Suddenly and without thinking, Sarah stood, stretching her left hand upwards to touch the semi-transparent hull as it glided perceptively silent above her. Standing erect, Sarah stood well over six four and with an arm span, fingertip to fingertip, of nearly the same she barely had to stretch to make contact. She watched as the belly of the beast appeared to ripple in waves of distorted light where her fingers stroked it softly.

Mesmerized by this almost surreal event, Sarah studied the underside as it continued in its slow yet progressive movement forward. She could make out delicate edges of armament compartments, concealing various offensive weapons, running the length of each side. Her fingers glided over landing gear doors, rivets and embedded handles as the drag continued its slow passage across the vast blue sea of the heavens.

Sarah’s mind was now in hyper-thought, receiving and processing massive sensory inputs. Her eyes scanned the underside of the hull, searching for any weakness in its armor. She could feel the hum of the onboard systems as well as the main drive through her gloved fingertips. For a moment her thoughts turned to the passengers onboard. Who were they? How many lives of patriots had they already taken? Her thoughts were interrupted as she spotted an anomaly approaching her hand. It seemed to be a distortion in the camouflaged hull itself. She watched it as it came closer, quickly realizing it was a tear in the meta-fabric itself which covered the drag. “An opportunity!” Sarah’s gloved hand was already moving toward it. If she could just catch hold of an edge, she thought. The fabric came in contact with Sarah’s fingers and she gripped it tightly between her thumb and index finger. She was surprised at how easily the fabric began to tear away from the hull as she held on. As the tear widened, Sarah made a conscious effort to rip it perpendicular to the direction of motion. The piece tore away cleanly still held securely by her thumb. She stretched the rest of her fingers back out to touch once again the moving hull as the torn area proceeded past her.

Her gaze turned to the approaching rear of the hull. It was narrowing as it flowed toward her. She could see a stabilizing under-fin protruding down the center, progressively getting larger as it stretched towards the rear of the ship. Sarah, still clutching the torn meta-fabric, moved her hand slightly to the right, avoiding the fin as its starting point passed overhead. Allowing her fingers to run along the smooth seam where the fin met the hull, she watched as the final few feet of the drag’s underbelly narrowed. And as the last section floated past, breaking contact with her outstretched hand, Sarah turned to watch the hulking ship continue along its incessant path northward. As it left, she felt the turbulence in the air press against her body.

It was over now. Sarah’s hand dropped once more to her side as time began to speed up; the drag’s pace exponentially increasing as it moved away. And as her senses slowed and her mind left hyper-thought, she could feel the beat of the wings in her chest pick up their rhythm; growing ever fainter as they did. The entire encounter had lasted not even a second, but to Sarah, it had been far longer than that. The drag continued is rapid exit from the scene; beginning to vanish in the low lying fog.

“Discontinue scan and record.” She spoke aloud, time seeming to return to normal.

“Scan and record complete. Total recording time is two point three seconds.” The familiar woman’s voice responded.

Sarah looked down at the torn fabric in her hand. Rather she tried that is. Between her cam suit and the wave bending properties of the torn fabric she held, it was really just a distorted image of the smooth river rocks littering the ground of the flood bank in which she stood. Looking again towards the northeast, Sarah crumpled the fabric into a ball and stuffed it into a pocket under her vest. She would deliver the sample to base command; hopefully they could get something useful from it, even though it was just a torn piece of cloth from the underside of a battle drag.

What concerned Sarah now was the fact that those drags had been headed directly along her same path. That path was leading her to base 215 and her ultimate target. She hoped that the gunships would not present a problem once she arrived within striking distance. She had wanted this to be quick and dirty today… it was her birthday after all. Sarah clenched her teeth as she began to sprint once more, resuming her heading northeast. If the battle drags were there when she arrived then so be it.