Lines - A Transhuman Sci-Fi Novel by Joshua L.A. Jones 

Chapter 8: Janus

Denis steps onto the soft soil. Tree limbs and small twigs litter the path. The electronic shock-barrier is down to allow the island’s creatures to roam freely around the compound at night. Denis knows it is to discourage the less brave from going out to the beaches and ruminating on issues not sanctioned by the TDC. Most fear the wild and untamed world.   

He slips off his shoes and grinds his feet into the sand below. His eyebrows lift to a gentle curve and his toes curl and release. Curl and release. The sand squishes through in a smooth flow of time. He almost wants to sleep out under the stars in between the crests of the dunes, but the buzzing brigade of swooping insects that undulates in a pulsing, choreographed swarm, eliminates the desire. The waves crash in rhythmic scouring volleys and another sound passes through the salt misted air, a voice.

Isa sits holding his knees to his chest and hears a man coming.

“Hello, anyone there?” Isa inquires and hopes not to hear the rumbling tone of the magistrate.

Denis stops in his tracks and wonders who would be out here this late? His nannites adjust his optic input so his night vision improves. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks over to the young man sitting by a patch of dune grass. Denis recognizes the man, a boy really, and his crucial mission objective is within grasp. 

“I am Denis. A curious petitioner. I’m just walking out here to listen to the waves and see the stars,” he says. 

“Freak, I know you are in my head. Stop talking to me. I want to talk to real people,” Isa says. 

For a moment, silence reigns. No insects buzz or crash of waves. 

“Oh, I am Isa. I’m an initiate. Sometimes I come out here to think out loud to myself.  Inside, it is presumed to be a bad thing to talk to one’s self.”

“Not to me my dear boy. It is a sign of intelligence, but just as long as you are talking to yourself, and not to others who aren’t really there. Unless you are a fiction writer. Are you secretly in contact with someone out there or write fiction?” Denis asks and manages a thin smile. 

He sits down the in the sand as thin reeds brush the back of his linen shirt. 

“No, and yes, and no. It can be a problem if no one is there. Who is? And who is?  Be quiet! Sorry, do you think entities can talk to you from another dimension through the fabric of this reality, and if I hear voices, could it be my implants malfunctioning?” Isa says.  His large forehead perspires. 

“It can be all of those things or none at all. Reality is a tricky mistress. Do you want to go back to this Source dimension?” Denis asks.

“Now more than ever. You see, now shut up Freak!”

“Excuse me!”

“I think my cranial nannites have somehow evolved and become conscious. They, or it, is talking to me. Right now, it isn’t talking. It’s sending images of words written on a chalkboard. Can I send a signal to your implant and see if you can hear or see it. For some reason, I trust you.”

“You need help. Sounds like you are having a cyber-schism. Let me take you inside so I can help you,” Denis says and then thinks, You trust me because part of you recognizes me.

“No, Denis. That’s okay. Thanks, but I don’t want to go inside” Isa says.

He unclasps his hands and his legs fall flat on the sand as he turns his head away in the direction of the sea cliffs.

“It’s okay, calm down. I won’t say anything. Let me help.”

“Would you please give me your reception key?”                                           

“Sure.  It’s 1376c1066. Listen, I’m leaving soon and I know a few private Techno-Psychs.  I will take you to them if you want. They know the human mind and neuro-implant architecture better than anyone. ”

“This might be really bad, and I fear what the magistrates might do to me.”

The being Freak tells Isa, It is not a glitch and that a picture will be sent to Denis but Isa should draw it in the sand first as proof.  Isa repeats this aloud and Denis says, “You know transmitting three-dimensional images are frowned upon without being linked to the Hyper-net.” 

“I know. Technically, it’s text. Nothing criminal about it,” Isa says and then draws an arrow in a circle. The being Freak sends the signal and Denis gets the image. 

“Arrow in a circle,” Denis says and Isa reveals the picture in the sand. 

“You are coming with me. This is too dangerous to be dealt with here. Tell Freak it will be fine,” Denis says.

“I don’t know how long I can take this,” Isa says.

I will not hurt you, Freak signals. 

 “Go back and rest. Make sure that the Freak does not try to communicate with others. Could be dangerous,” Denis says. 

“Okay, I will go with you,” Isa says.

First, Denis goes back down the path and then Isa follows a few minutes later. The chatter of insects and the offshore breeze manifest a creepy cadence to the evening’s events. Isa is convinced he’s not insane. A twisted grin forms on his face as he pats off the sand on his pants as he walks back. He is relieved that he will not be like the first people that went into stasis.

The Black Robed Ones in the security listening station wait to get Denis in range to do a complete scan. Their suspicions grow as a tropical storm over warm waters. They communicate, signals only, through their implants and come to an accord that Denis Mercurio of the Mercurio family is a threat to them. He was never an aspirant. He must be excluded from any further channeling sessions and persuaded to leave as soon as possible without creating discord within the new initiates.   

The morning comes after a restless night for both Denis and Isa. The jungle compound bathes in humid air as the shock-barrier falls from the pole towers and repels each bug and critter around the perimeter. Most of the congregation shuffles in and out of the cloaked pyramid for past memory regression while the rest eat in the commissary. Denis waits for the first satellite sensor sweep to pass before making plans. He will help Isa but Freak is his real prize.   

The plan to get Isa to Ontario takes its first step. Isa is allowed to leave by the TDC due to medical malfunctions, but the Black Robed Ones think Isa will have access to valuable information being close to Denis Mercurio. They will remotely recondition him when the time is right and activate their agent. 

Denis contacts the Mercurio Canadian citadel in the lake country to ready itself for their arrival. The AI is commanded to activate all sentries and advise any technicians in North America that a project is coming home. 

The citadel’s computer activates the flagship of the Mercurio clan The Soul. Normally, the large craft is only used for transporting the higher-ranking family members to governmental functions and economic council meetings, but the family is gone and this is the only fully fueled vehicle the computer reasons to be suitable. 

In the lake country, a hangar fortified like a bunker retracts its roof.  The Soul powers up.  The matte black ship rises like a geometric manta ray off the sea floor and bursts forth out of the bay as an undulating distortion cloud begins the cloak. The Soul emits a cold blue fire mirage of elegant fluidic plasma around the hull as the auto-pilot sets the coordinates. It enters the satellite controlled Magnetic-Levitation Lanes known to most as the Mag-Lev. The ground level magnetic tunnels pass through a series of ultra-conductor and repulsor relays. The surrounding shell of The Soul pulses through the entire spectrum as speed is built up and is pushed and pulled along. The ship exits the system at the junction before the primary tunnel to the skyways. 

At the landing strip a kilometer away from the TDC South American jungle compound, Denis sees the Soul coming in for a landing and thinks you can’t really hide that, even cloaked.  I am deleting that stupid AI when I get to the citadel. 

The landing gear, encased in chrome, extend and the craft scans and locates Denis. It touches down and the weight of the ship causes the hot tarmac to warp below the landing gear. The landing claws extend out of the struts like eagle’s talons and grip the compacted ground. Isa’s eyebrows rise as if they were being pulled by wires as he takes in the sight of the massive ship. His nostrils flare as he scans the vehicle back and forth. 

“Wow,” Isa says. 

The men walk across on the wind-blown black tarmac on the planed top of a cliff. The ship extends the main stairs by the cockpit canopy that shines with emerald facets and the auto-pilot AI greets them. The cabin is dashed with gold and platinum piping and moldings.    

“Sit wherever, the trip won’t be that long. And Soul, remain uncloaked,” Denis says. 

He goes to the lavatory to shield himself from any incoming signals.    

Isa sits on a buttery leather seat and gazes through the portal like a puppy with newly opened eyes. He examines the turtle shell inlays around the windows with his fingertips as he sketches out small circles. Smells rich, he thinks and looks over to the deactivated gold-plated service android hunched against the wall. The landscapes and ocean rush by the viewing portals and soon Isa gets glimpses of the desolate cities of North America most reclaimed by forests over a century ago. Stone and steel still stab at the sky through the vegetation. 

The Great Lakes reflect in the distance and they begin their descent. In moments they touchdown as gentle as a coffin being lowered into a grave through the roof of the hangar bay of the Mercurio citadel. The Soul AI advises them it is two degrees Celsius. The roof retracts in less than three seconds with a clang and thump. 

Denis leads the way off the ship and they exit the hanger bay. In one direction, the lawn expands as a vast plain of trim green far as they can see. Directly in front of them, a terraced garden, brown and ready for winter, is cut into the side of a rolling hill. On top of the hill sits the Red citadel, a ziggurat made from imported Martian stone, a perfect contrast to the green surroundings. Faceless sentry servitor androids and exoskeleton transporters zip by scanning the perimeter for intruders. One servitor stops and scans Isa with wrist laser. Denis snaps and the mechanism jogs off toward the western pine forest, a natural a barrier, to scan for intruders.   

“Citadel, Denis Mercurio here. Register this man Isa as an all-access guest. Don’t worry Isa, they won’t bother you now,” Denis says. 

The scent of spruce and pure water of the nearby rivers and lakes permeate the grounds. The citadel above rests as a ruby crown. Two ruddy step pyramids fill Isa’s sight and four blood red obelisks sit between the massive structures in a polished white marble courtyard. 

“Here’s the breakdown. The citadel consists of the two towers, east and west and the obelisks are security and communications centers. There are about one hundred rooms on the surface and was created by an architect addicted to ancient cultures. The two main buildings are based on Babylonian ziggurats connected by the white courtyard. The protruding fangs as I like to call the four Egyptian obelisks are positioned at the compass points. They have gun turrets that cover the whole property and that’s thousands of acres extending out beyond the lakes and rivers through the forests. An electronic sensor net is cast over the entire property and the nearby ghost town. Outlining the primary two hundred acres are a series of pointed palisades that parallel a higher curtain wall. Nestled in between the barriers are a row of oak and sycamore. Don’t try to climb the wall or leave the grounds or you will be targeted. That’s about it,” Denis says.   

Denis picks up the pace and sends his access code signal. The citadel’s interior lights ignite in the first through third levels. Denis can tell the employees have been gone for a time. He hopes the basement labs have not been put in standby mode. 

Isa follows Denis to the main entrance and the glide across the white marble courtyard.  Denis points to the Western ziggurat as Isa spins around trying to take in the vast compound from the elevated view. Double blast doors on a pink marble veranda open to greet them and the citadel’s AI begins an onslaught of messages. After they enter, the doors close behind. 

Denis yells, “Stop! Not now! I will ask for the messages. Be gone.” Denis tightens in his emotions and says to Isa, “Ask the computer for whatever you want, and you can go anywhere inside the buildings except the restricted areas. I’m going to settle in. Ask and you shall receive.  I need some rest, so see you both tomorrow. Good evening then.” 

He steps onto a black strip of flooring in the middle of the main hall that runs from end to end. The conveyor hums to life and slides him to the elevator fifty yards away down the wide corridor of polished slate and marble. Isa and Freak decide to wander and sleep where they fall as Isa wonders why the place smells of nothing.

Denis makes his way to the sixth-floor communications center that overlooks the lakes and has the android servants set up a room for him down the hall. He searches the Hyper-net database for clues over two days as Isa enjoys exploring the two massive structures. Freak is silent. Denis releases himself after finding nothing the third morning and bounds outdoors like a hound set free on a scent. Out to a patch of gravel on the riverbank where he once fished with his little brother, he remembers his father and vows to get revenge as he tosses a stone into the river. Denis arranges for the best technicians to evaluate Isa’s condition. 

After a couple days, Isa hunkers down in a small servant’s apartment he claimed in the west wing for a few days. He replays the holograms the Soul recorded on their way to Canada on the emitter next to the oval window. He reclines back on his bed and watches the desolate mid-west American plains being farmed by giant robotic combines as they cut mile long swathes through the golden fields.  Freak is awed by the open spaces. Isa scratches his narrow nose and asks for the next series of recordings. 

The few buildings in unpopulated cities still maintained by the public corporations shine as monuments to a crumbled past. The streets of Houston, Chicago and Toronto have been overrun by the forests. They returned to what they were, the hunting grounds of wolves and a few feral Homo sapiens. Isa begins folding, hanging and putting away the new wardrobe the citadel’s AI delivered. Isa can’t believe Denis’s generosity. He thinks, I must be careful with my spending. I already attended that telepresence concert of that android cover band.  Freak replies, Especially liked it when they played Radiohead.       

That evening Denis goes to the communications room in the northern obelisk and places a coded signal to the Fafnir Station through a new meta-space conduit. The micro-wormholes open connecting the entangled atoms and photons. As he waits for a reply, he connects with the Canadian Monetary Committee and links his new accounts together so to facilitate the transfer when Leon gives the confirmation. 

The Fafnir Station signal opens and Denis receives an automated voice service instead of the computer’s entryway program. He slams the armrest of his chair, grits his teeth, takes a deep breath, and leaves a message for his brother to contact him as soon as possible. Denis waves off the communications portal with his right hand and thinks this might be trouble. TDC might have hacked his network. They might have set up a series of sabotaged files to disrupt his investigation, or they are trying to find more information on Isa. He runs a full diagnostic.   

After no programs are found, Denis looks up on the Dark Energy Repulsion Engines that many in the press call DERE John engines as most of the pilots who tested them never came back. Denis becomes engrossed in his research as time expands while waiting for the reply from his most esteemed brother. No reply. He exits the obelisk. The cool wind dries his face.  Days pass by. The technicians arrive to examine Isa. 

…

Isa is bored with tests and interrogations by the touchy technicians draped in silver Bio-Hazard suits so Denis clears him to take leave since they have all the date they need.  Isa takes a transport to the nearby Physical Immersion Center on the shore of Lake Ontario so he can expel his urges. Freak is interested in this strange thing sex. 

The center gives him full access to the warehouse of physical fantasy suites. Isa checks in and is guided by a female voice down a corridor dimly lit by circular yellow lights glowing from the floor as lambent moons on a curved path. He reaches a sliding glass door and enters a vast cube filled ruby light. He takes off his jacket and gives it to a waiting buxom android with glittering purple and yellow eyes. The android exits and the door slides shut and green arrows light up on the floor and direct him to an old-fashioned bathtub filled with black syrup in the center of the room. 

“Take off your clothes please and enter,” a female voice says. 

As Isa hops in, the room expels the light and floods with the aroma of vanilla. An overhead emitter descends and a menu is transmitted through his retina. He designs a busty woman with blond hair wide hips and inhuman golden eyes. Freak is filled with a new sensation as the carbon intelligent liquid surrounds his host’s body and becomes a gel. The immersion medium warms up and Isa feels the golden-eyed beauty rub against him. The Optimum Orgasm application activates. Freak is confused as the body spasms and climaxes five times without diminished intensity in Isa’s mind. Freak knows that if he is to ever have an organic body, it will be quite a messy business.     

…

Upon his return to the citadel, Isa is relaxed, lighter, and takes it upon himself to understand the new lands in which he now lives. A couple days later, surrounded by the forests of the lakes, Isa raises his wristband computer/hologram emitter to his chin and asks for a topographical map of the area. A map of blue light builds. He decides to go investigate Toronto and even though reclaimed by Forest skyscrapers still stand as refuge for feral humans. A tracker sphere follows Isa high above the forest canopy. Denis takes the opportunity of Isa’s absence to send the two retaining technicians in sub-basement home. He surmises he knows enough to continue with the project analysis in the Research and Development lab.

The cold winds from the north steal the heat from Isa’s body as he thinks about his metabolic regulation and his earth-toned electro-textile clothes adjust to his discomfort. 

The fields have reclaimed all the outlying suburbs. The forests have extended their hands and re-seeded their long-held kingdoms. Trees have begun the cycle of shutting down.  It will be real winter soon, Freak states. Isa replies, Plants endure hidden in their seeds.   

The leaves crunch under his foot and twig snaps as he comes to a halt. He puts his backpack down and lifts his arms to the sky. The brisk breeze chills his bare neck. A tingle runs down to his feet. Isa figures at least for the moment that balance has been restored to the land. Freak signals, I sense something in the signal traffic around here. Something powerful. We need to tell Denis. Something is not right, Isa.  

Isa picks up a brown leaf and rubs it between his hands as he says, “Yes, I know.” A snort comes from the brush. Out of the thicket, a deer sprints across their path.

ENJOYING LINES SO FAR? BUY THE COMPLETE NOVEL

CHAPTER 9 AVailable Now