The Omega Project (39 page)

Transhuman Andria regarded me through its scarlet eye sockets, their color reflecting the unit’s fully recharged status. Reaching out, she managed to free my left wrist, allowing me to release the rest of my bonds.

I have no idea how long I had been strapped down, but it must have been a while judging from the stiffness in my muscles and joints. Barely able to sit up, I struggled to climb aboard the transport.

Thank you, Andie. My friend Oscar is coming too.

I directed her to his location.

The cephaloped’s head and upper torso were draped atop an alien pumping device, its limp tentacles dangling. Leaning over the transport, I attempted to lift my unconscious friend off its perch—to no avail.

Andria, is there anything you can do?

SHUT DOWN YOUR BIO-CHIP. HOLD FAST TO OSCAR.

Grabbing a tentacle, I braced myself, nervously watching the ceiling overhead, praying GOLEM would not appear in our escape route.

I never registered the sonic wave emitted from the transhuman’s open mouth, but the aphaeresis tree obviously did and it didn’t like it. Within seconds, awakening cephalopeds were falling from their perches like inebriated cats.

I dragged Oscar on board the Hunter-Transport, the two of us held fast to the platform under two g’s of gravity as the transhuman vehicle soared out of GOLEM’s lab and into the night.

33

Enjoying the joys of others and suffering with them—these are the best guides for man.

—A
LBERT
E
INSTEIN

The cold night air blasted me in the face.

We were flying over water. In the distance I could see a small island located along the southeastern region of the impact crater. It was here that GOLEM had constructed its genetics lab, the facility separated from the Holy City by thirteen miles of lake.

Recalling a clue from my last conversation with the short-haired Andria clone, I reactivated ABE and replayed the memory.

“NO ONE CAN SEE THE CREATOR. WE CAN FEEL HER PRESENCE WHEN SHE RETURNS TO THE CHURCH. WE CAN HEAR HER COMMANDMENTS WHISPERED IN OUR HEADS.”

It made sense for GOLEM to keep its lab isolated and away from its creations; the Andria, Lara, Bella, and Monique clones all possessed concepts of a supernal being that would conflict with the image of a ten-foot sphere floating around the Holy City.

It was the last part of Andria’s statement that concerned me.

If GOLEM could whisper thoughts into its creations’ heads, then the computer could probably track members of its flock as well.

Suddenly our escape seemed a bit too easy.

ABE, relay the GPS coordinates of the doline crater to Andria. Ask her to take us there as quickly as possible. Track our course … alert me if she deviates in any way.

The transhuman machine banked hard into a southwesterly course, the sudden movement causing Oscar to stir.

“Hang in there, pal, we’re heading home.”

The cephaloped struggled to breathe, each wheezing agonized breath from its siphon organ sounding like an antique car horn.

I squeezed a tentacle and my hand was immediately covered in specks of warm blood.
ABE, what’s wrong with him? What can I do?

ANALYSIS REQUIRED. TASTE OSCAR’S BLOOD.

I hesitated, then licked a dime-size droplet of blood from one of my fingers.

THE APHAERESIS DEVICE HAS DEPLETED OSCAR’S RED BLOOD CELL COUNT TO DANGEROUSLY LOW LEVELS. UNLESS OSCAR RECEIVES A BLOOD TRANSFUSION, HE WILL DIE OF ANEMIA.

How long before he suffocates?

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES.

Jesus … How far are we from the cephaloped colony?

AT OUR PRESENT COURSE AND SPEED: TWENTY-NINE MINUTES, THIRTY-FOUR SECONDS. HOWEVER, THE EMP ARRAY PREVENTS THE HUNTER-TRANSPORT FROM ENTERING THE CRATER, ADDING ANOTHER SEVENTEEN TO TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES IN ORDER TO DESCEND TO THE CRATER BASIN AND ACCESS THE COLONY. THERE IS ALSO NO EVIDENCE SUPPORTING THE CEPHALOPEDS POSSESSING THE MEDICAL EQUIPMENT NECESSARY TO PERFORM A BLOOD TRANSFUSION.

What about the surgical suite aboard
Oceanus
? It has the necessary equipment. We’d just need to find a suitable cephaloped donor.

ROBERT EISENBRAUN AND OSCAR BOTH HAVE TYPE O NEGATIVE BLOOD. ROBERT EISENBRAUN IS A COMPATIBLE DONOR.

How is that even possible? We’re two completely different species. Octopus blood is blue.

INCORRECT. WATER-SPECIES OCTOPUS BLOOD CONTAINS THE COPPER-RICH PROTEIN, HEMOCYANIN, WHICH IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PALE-BLUE BLOOD FOUND IN ALL MOLLUSKS. TERRESTRIAL CEPHALOPEDS DO NOT POSSESS GILLS. AS AIR-BREATHERS, THEIR RED BLOOD CELLS NOW UTILIZE HEMOGLOBIN TO TRANSPORT OXYGEN IN THE BLOOD. ROBERT EISENBRAUN IS THEREFORE A COMPATIBLE DONOR.

*   *   *

Twenty-six minutes later, the Hunter-Transport raced up the beach where I had come on shore weeks earlier, landing next to
Oceanus.
It was four in the morning and the sand was alive with crustaceans, each fast-moving crab the size of a frying pan. Clutching Oscar’s torso to my chest, I dashed to the watertight door of the egress chamber, the clawed demons snapping at my companion’s trailing tentacles.

ABE guided me to the ladder leading up to the mid-deck, the bio-chip counting down the remaining minutes of my friend’s life. By now, Oscar was convulsing in my arms, each breath a pained snort of air—and I realized with alarm the sound might draw the bees.

FOUR MINUTES …

I located the surgical lab. Hurried past rows of cryogenic pods and laid Oscar on the floor next to one of the operating tables.

THREE MINUTES …

ABE directed me to the medical cabinets. I located sealed packs of intravenous lines and syringes. Tearing through the plastic, I removed a line and rigged each end with needles.

TWO MINUTES …

Oscar had stopped breathing. Leaning over the unconscious cephaloped, I grabbed one of his tentacles, parted the fur and searched for anything that remotely resembled a vein. Finding nothing, I repeatedly jabbed at the soft flesh, attempting to simply draw blood.

ONE MINUTE.

I tried a sucker pad and was relieved to see Oscar’s blood inch up the line. Rolling up my left sleeve, I located a knotty vein in my forearm and slid the other needle inside the blood vessel, drawing blood. Keeping the syringe flat, I repeatedly opened and closed my fist as I stretched out on the surgical table above Oscar’s inert form, praying gravity would do its work.

Leaning over the table, I watched as my blood quickly drained down the length of tube, pushing Oscar’s blood back into its vessel.
ABE, increase my heartbeat to one hundred sixty beats per minute.

I lay back, staring at the dark recesses in the reconstructed ceiling overhead, my agitated pulse pounding in my neck at the memory of the skeletons harbored in GOLEM’s gruesome attic.

At some point, I closed my eyes …

34

Things are not what they appear to be: nor are they otherwise.

—S
URANGAMA
S
UTRA

When I opened my eyes, the ceiling that harbored my creation’s museum of perversions was gone, replaced by shimmering waves of gold reflecting along a smooth ceiling of rock.

I sat up, disoriented. The surgical lab was now a cave, the surgical table a bed of velvety soft spinach leaves, each sheet of vegetation as large as a raft.

“The dreamer awakens.” Dharma waved from a shallow pool of mineral water, clouds of steam dispersing from the percolating surface.

“How did I get here? Where’s Oscar … whoa!” Attempting to stand, I was struck by a wave of vertigo that sent me tumbling back into the sheets of spinach.

Dharma climbed out of the pool, her nude body silky wet and alluring. Kneeling by my side, she held my hand and kneaded the flesh along the back of my thumb. “Oscar’s alive. Your transfusion saved his life, but it nearly bled you to death. Oscar managed to reverse the flow of the IV; now half your blood is mixed with his and vice versa. I think it was karma, don’t you?”

“Karma? How is it karma that I now share my blood with an octopus?”

“Join me in the hot springs and I will explain. There is much we need to talk about.”

“Food first. I’m so weak. It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“That’s because you haven’t. You’ve been unconscious for nearly seventy-two hours.”

She helped me out of my sweat suit, then wrapped her arm around my waist and escorted me to the edge of the steaming geothermal pool. I eased myself into the bath. The hot eucalyptus water was marvelous, drawing the fatigue out of my body while helping to clear the fog from my brain.

Dharma left me, disappearing around a bend. When she returned she was carrying a polished crystal bowl that held an assortment of exotic looking fruits and vegetables. She handed me a glazed goblet made of a turquoise-colored mineral that changed colors in the reflected light. Inside the container was a thick milky broth.

“Drink this, it’s a soup made from wild berries, goats’ milk, and nuts.”

I drained the warm liquid while she separated what looked to be a pale red miniature banana from a bunch. Peeling it exposed the violet meat inside. “Try this, it’s exquisite.”

I handed her the empty goblet and popped the fruit into my mouth, the taste of peach and kiwi bursting across my taste buds. I devoured three more of the citrus, then pointed to the bowl and goblet. “Where did you get these containers? I don’t remember seeing them aboard
Oceanus
? Were they yours?”

“Believe it or not, the cephalopeds created them. Do not be fooled by the creatures’ appearance, they are incredible artists and artisans, farmers and botanists, astronomers and engineers with talents that exceed our own. What’s more, when one individual masters a particular trade or talent, the ability is shared equally among all cephalopeds. If a ceph working the crops discovers a better method of cultivating the soil, by the next gathering every member of the colony will have acquired not only the technical knowledge, but the physical ability to manifest the same results, even though the action has yet to be experienced. You taught Oscar how to complete a donor-to-patient blood transfusion; now every adult and young adult in the colony can perform the same task flawlessly, though they may never actually use the procedure.”

“How is that possible?”

“It’s all in the way these beings communicate. It is not just thought energy, Ike. While humans store information in the brain, cephalopeds download and store information in a vast network of neurons that run through each tentacle. When they link tentacles, they are passing on not just the acquired knowledge but the muscle memory that accompanies the task. Think about that. It’s like having an entire community of Picassos, all of whom are also sculptors and farmers and physicians of equal talents. While that explains the physiological functions at play, what makes the entire dynamic work—and ultimately makes their species different from our own—is the cephalopeds’ innate sense of community. Because each acquired skill or body of knowledge is instinctively shared among all members of the pack, there are no aggressive individuals vying to rise above the herd, no class warfare or divisions of wealth, no political or religious sects. Equality allows every member of the colony to prosper.”

“Are you saying there are no leaders?”

“Individuals like your friend Oscar who are physically more imposing accept certain responsibilities beyond the norm, but only because size determines the signal strength of their thought-energy transmissions. Other than that, the pack moves or feeds or renders decisions according to the will of the majority. These beings possess what amounts to a hardwired democracy that resolutely remains in harmony with nature.” She smiled. “As you can see, I learned a great deal while you were away, chasing after your Madonnas.”

“How did you know?”

“Oscar shared your memories with us. Really, Ike, does your foolishness know no bounds?”

“I loved Andria … I couldn’t just ignore her. Besides, I had to know the truth. And the truth is, GOLEM has gone mad. The computer is hunting the cephs down in order to harvest their DNA, which is needed as a unifying base element to genetically engineer an alphabet soup of transhuman hybrids. Dharma, they’re slaughtering the cephalopeds … butchering them for their genes.”

“Evil has its place in every equation; we can’t always see the bigger picture.”

“I saw the bigger picture. GOLEM means to create millions of these cloned monsters, which it will use to seed the universe. We have a responsibility to future races to stop it now.”

“Ike, do you know why a cephaloped will not act in anger? It is because they have learned that the brain ceases to think when the mind becomes enraged. The same thing can be said of humans. You must learn to control your anger.”

She was really pissing me off. “Dharma, weren’t you the one who told me the children of GOLEM have to be stopped? Isn’t that why I’m here? Isn’t that my karma?”

“Karma is a reflection of past lives. And yes, while everything happens for a reason, karma, like existence, reveals itself in a cause-and-effect relationship.”

“Really? How about that asteroid? Was that cause and effect?”

“It will be difficult for you to accept this answer, but yes. Remember what I told you about the human heart generating an electromagnetic field? These fields can be positive or negative. Now think of our planet as an energy grid, its own magnetic field, generated at the Earth’s core, affected by the balance of these billions of electromagnetic impulses. When human society flourished, the grid remained stable and the magnetic core flowed, free of seismic disturbances. When humanity was engaged in warfare and other negative behavior, the core was disrupted and disasters struck, both natural and man-made. A decade before the Great Die-Off, the world was mired in two wars, with a third looming while banks and corporations engaged in unbridled greed, causing millions of families to lose their jobs and homes. These events coincided with volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and tsunamis—and eventually the Great Die-Off. The Mayans and other ancient cultures understood this cause-and-effect relationship quite well, warning us of the doomsday scenario we eventually inflicted upon ourselves. Or do you honestly believe the Great Die-Off occurred simply because modern man ran out of oil?”