The Red and the Blue

By James Millhouse

A dismal society in cataclysmic decline, including government oppression and environmental ruin, provide the thrilling backdrop for two disparate families and a romantically linked couple caught in a whirlwind of events in which they find themselves pursued by aggressive authorities in AD 2099.

Dominic Splicer, multibillionaire scientist and space visionary, sets out on a solo rescue mission to locate interplanetary guests, colonists from Mars, invited to Earth under his own auspices, Splictec Corporation. When he learns that this alien family of four had been deliberately removed from arrival base Area 51 and placed in the desert wasteland to die, that and the all too coincidental same-day abduction of his own estranged family, he realizes something more sinister afoot. Worse, he has become drawn into this intrigue through a frame-up involving a host of charges, including foreign espionage and the criminal experimentation of eugenics within his own corporation.

Now pursued by ECI (Enforcement Compliance Initiative) forces, Splicer and his entourage must stay ahead of the tyrannical corps, whose fleet of aerial crafts threaten to overtake them. They go by flying van from one adventure to another as a series of earth-shattering hurricanes and the apocalyptic Omega exacerbate their perilous odyssey in this exciting dystopian tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887632209

Book preview

Table of Contents

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About the Author

cover.jpg

The Red and the Blue

James Millhouse

Copyright © 2023 James Millhouse

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88763-219-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88763-220-9 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

The evil that controls the past controls the future.

—George Orwell

AD 2099

1

Dominic Splicer peered through the dark-tinted windows of the ground-bound vehicle with alarm as it approached the people verging on hysteria.

The car negotiated the thick crowd carefully as it crept forward, and the people spread to the side, then immediately descended upon the plush vehicle. Dominic intensely instructed the computer-generated male face on the screen at the console to stop as close to the front entrance of the building as possible. It spoke back to him in the usual soothing tones, impersonal, coming impotent as the crowd became more unruly. Then he felt the sensation of being rocked as the locked car came to a halt, followed by thumping. The messages on a multitude of placards reflected the unrest, some of the signs being used as weapons, the vehicle taking his punishment.

The calm voice did not jibe with the imminent danger as Dominic audaciously ordered the electric motor to shut off, and the face vanished with the black screen. For a few stark seconds, Dominic felt utterly alone and at the mercy of the people. He could hear faint yet raucous shouting on the other side of the uncertain fortress. His first inclination was to step outside and try to reason with them, but sheer instinct held him within the car. Even for the soundproof custom-made windows, the muted words could be heard with disturbing distinction, words like traitor and monster, including other indictments. The placard messages contained all sorts of unthinkable accusations, emblazoned with his first and last name. He read each of the bouncing signs the best he could that were hoisted by those jeering with a stark sense of betrayal by humanity he had always sought to serve.

Dominic finally unbuckled the harness, then placed a hand on the door handle. It immediately sounded an alarm in the form of an inhuman voice, which rang forth perfunctorily the word danger over and over again, startling him, a technology he was not aware of, and it rendered inoperative the opening of the door. Meanwhile, the rocking of the car by the people became more intense as Dominic swayed side to side in the seat, then felt the sensation of being hoisted upward, about to be tipped over. Mechanical instructions from the console came indifferently, ominously from the car's computer: Stand by for violation protocol. Stand by for violation protocol. Stand by for violation protocol. Stand by for violation protocol. And then ceased.

The car came down with a sudden bounce simultaneous with the abrupt scattering of the protesters, followed by screaming that pierced the air. Dominic turned around to see through the spacious rear window chance people dropping to the pavement in convulsions for the fine, thinly blue-colored Taser Ray shooting from an invasion of drones, then forward at others sprinting farther away into the reaches of the city. A litter of the placards had been discarded. The stricken lay convulsing, then settled to motionlessness after a few moments, numbering in the dozens.

Dominic had seen this kind of incident before, but it was on Sensation Vision or SV in the safety of his elevated, impregnable home. Now it loomed personal, and he noticed for the first time the chasm between him and the opposition since taking the reins of his corporation.

From out of the adjacent convention center, three suited men approached with hesitation, seeing an all-clear, and they raced to the car, one of them pointing a deactivation device at the passenger doors while in flight. Dominic found himself being whisked out of the back seat in a frantic effort to bring him to safety. Once within the convention center, the entrances to the building became once more secured by still another handheld device, rendering any attempt at intrusion impossible, its shatterproof glass sure.

Dominic shirked his reestablished safety in a fit of outrage, demanding to know from the wrong persons the meaning of the incident. The suited men shunned the inquiries, only citing vague precautionary methods for their own presence and directed him toward a long corridor leading to the huge foyer outside the auditorium, already packing to capacity as vanguards remained at the entrance.

Dominic could hear the voices of the occupants in the crowded foyer before arriving there. As he entered its periphery, he became instantly spotted by a familiar face, then others, and he found himself besieged by a sea of suited colleagues. He forced a smile, but the disturbing incident still clung to him as he made a round of handshakes. He tuned out the amenities as he scanned the foyer for the one man who might provide the answers to his pressing questions. Then he spotted him, the center of attention in a circle of important figures, located in a huddle near a corner. Dominic excused himself from his own admirers and made his way toward the corner. Diverted several times by other important officials anxious to meet him, he inched his way through one brief conversation at a time toward the corner until finally breaching the circle.

The conversation became cut off abruptly in deference to Dominic, followed by more handshakes and amenities. Dominic allowed the flow of the talk in progress to wane, then asked to be excused for a private encounter with Stanton Murdock. The two men went to the only vacant corner available, where a huge artificial plant lay situated, then forged ahead haltingly while being interrupted by mutual acquaintances, chief executive officers of various corporations, and merger companies. They had barely extricated themselves from the last intruder when the two men began to speak to each other in earnest, Murdock obscured by the plant.

Stan, what the hell is going on here? I almost got myself killed by that mob just outside.

On the street? I was waiting for you up on the roof at Skyport forever, then finally gave up. Now you tell me you arrived on ground. Since when are you using a cockroach to get around?

My hotel isn't that far away. And besides, I wanted to see what's going on here on earth for a change. Now I'm glad I did. Those people had murder in their eyes.

You know how it is with them, Dom. Just the same riffraff with their bullshit. You ought to know how it is by now.

I'm not talking about that, Stan. I read some of the signs out there about me playing God, my so-called experimentation with eugenics. I thought this was put to bed at the judiciary committee.

The media is keeping the thing alive is all. We have no control over everything put out on the airwaves, Dom. They're just targeting the biggest name. And you know how the media can be. Whatever sells. News is all salacious-driven. It's all about ratings and entertainment. That's how they spin things. They need a bad guy.

My name being slung through the mud aside, there still has to be some rational basis for these indictments other than the media's spin. They can't just keep this up forever.

They can and they will, Dom. Look, that media mogul Drake who runs Digicom has motive to start a smear campaign against you. Remember, he's an outspoken critic of the way anything and everything interplanetary has been handled ever since the MOXIE tragedy, and so now everything's a conspiracy theory, to use an old term.

But I had nothing to do with MOXIE, Stan. You know it and I know it. MOXIE failed because it relied on the already spent CO2 in Mars' atmosphere. I even tried to warn them.

The public doesn't understand all that, Dom. They're like dumb animals. People hear only what the media wants them to hear. The news goes through a filtering system. And the media doesn't care if it's libelous or not. You know they're immune to prosecution. The game has changed. We just have to work around it. Besides, you have the super-soldiers to back you up.

Yeah, the drones. Ever since law enforcement took control of them, they're nothing but a terror to the community.

You mean a terror to lawbreakers. Would you rather have been lynched out there? For a man who himself is being blamed for terror, I should say you would welcome the drones.

Next thing you know, I'll be blamed for banning professional football too.

Look, pal, the world has gone over sixty years without the Superbowl. But there's only one Dominic Splicer.

Obviously not very popular.

You're popular with the ones who matter. That's all that counts.

Well, anyway, look into that for me, will you, Stan?

As I always do. I'm your fix-it man.

Fix the world then. Think you can do that?

If I could do that, we wouldn't need to colonize Planet B, now, would we?

I see it more from a positive perspective. Think of the endless possibilities. The new frontier.

Save those words for the speech, Dom.

Oh shit! The speech! I left it in the car! I've got to go get it!

Hold it, Dom. You can't go out anyway. We're on lockdown.

Oh, that's right. Oh well. I think I've memorized it.

Relax. You're with friends. Everyone's going in. We'd better get going.

The two men started off toward the auditorium. Dominic paused. A sudden melancholy seized him as he scrutinized the unrecognizable surroundings.

Isn't it ironic, Stan? Here, on the very spot, Philadelphia Hall used to stand, where the first Constitutional Convention took place over three hundred years ago, burned to the ground by its own people. And now there's nothing left.

It's even better now, Dom. And maybe it's just as well. Sometimes what is needed are drastic measures. It is the only way to start over.

You go on in, Stan. I'm going to stay out here for a while.

Don't get cold feet, old boy. They're going to feel mighty funny introducing you to the audience only for you to literally grow wings.

I thought I didn't need an introduction.

See you on the podium. And sorry about the incident out there. It had to be scary, all those protesters, all that trouble.

Dominic thought about it for a few moments.

The trouble, Stan, is that there weren't that many.

What?

See you in the auditorium.

Murdock filed slowly in with the multitude. After several minutes, Dominic found himself alone in the foyer. The building for the first time appeared to him as an encasement. It constructed with the divide of humanity in mind, not much different than the lofty, newly built buildings in this and the other cities. He thought about his lost speech, that perhaps it was as outdated as the car where he had left it. A new speech began to form in his scrambled mind, one more befitting. It took shape as he paced the vacant foyer. Applause erupted muffled within the auditorium, coming from his settled colleagues. He was supposed to be seating himself on the stage by now from the rear in a grandiose fashion with the other executive officers of his corporation. But it seemed fitting he enter rather through via the center aisle past the host of humanity in a rare display of humility.

Dominic approached the auditorium entrance haltingly and opened the portal to another burst of applause in progress, no doubt the response to a rousing opener by one of many of his yes-men. He stood as an obscure vanguard at the shadowy recesses at the door rather than as the main attraction on stage to await his cue. The words for the fresh speech continued to reconstruct in his mind, struggling to emerge with clarity for the listeners.

The introduction came without further delay as his impressive titles rang from the frustum, followed by thunderous applause that made Dominic feel indeed guilty before even speaking for the epiphany that had crept in unexpectedly. He knew these men. And he knew about the fragility of camaraderie, despite the years of association. They were expecting him to enter the forum from the stage, and surprised responses came as audience members shifted in their seats during the applause to see the empty-handed Splicer approach. In the front row, near the center aisle, sat Murdock, who upon seeing him rose to a standing ovation, and it prompted everyone to do the same.

Reaching the frustum, Dominic waved downward for the audience to be seated, but the ovation became more intense, causing the crystal chandelier dangling above them to quake. He stared at the curved balcony, as packed as the floor, and to the blur of hands, then began to feel fainthearted that maybe now was not the time for the impromptu version of the speech.

As the applause trickled down and the audience became seated, Dominic found himself unsure which way to take the message. He was caught betwixt a deeply settled satisfaction and an abrupt sense of urgency. Scattered coughs and the collective rumble of seats replaced the din. The awkward moment took him briefly back to what seemed an eternity ago, when he stood for the very first time before a crowd this size as valedictorian at commencement at MIT, when he urged his fellow graduates to look to the stars and turn their attention to the new frontier.

But now it had all changed. In this awkward moment, the grasping for the universe suddenly lost its significance. The lofty words of past speeches would no longer do, and this untimely realization took him by surprise. The faces were riveted to him as though feeding off his former demeanor and expected such, needing inspiration.

Dominic trembled, not even a prepared speech to fumble with, and he felt impossibly alone. Then, as swiftly as the old words that were left behind now returned in recall, they vanished with their mediocrity. His long overdue bravado and own inspiration bubbled up at the last moment, demanding expression.

"My fellow scientists and colleagues, technicians in every field, academicians and visionaries, and dear friends, this gathering marks a new turning point in our collective efforts in the new frontier. Yet even as we take these exhilarating strides toward the rich vastness of our universe, we must recognize that this interplanetary door is for all to enter. Mars belongs not to the privileged few but rather to all humanity. The Outer Space Treaty signed by the United States back in 1967 and reestablished on its one hundredth anniversary as the Interplanetary Charter made clear that nobody can own a celestial body or, for that matter, to monopolize on its existence and exploration.

"It is for this purpose that we strive for the betterment of humanity, all humanity, with every scientific possibility that awaits us. It is a fundamental ideal steeped in tradition and ratified in blood. It is part of our heritage. We honor all the intrepid pioneers who fearlessly ventured forth despite impossible odds and in so doing have built upon each other's accomplishment and thus coordinated such efforts in technology, from rovers to orbiters, which have also ventured forth into the uncharted reaches of the red planet to search for the best places of habitation, to the actual heroic and audacious setting down of a human foot as were the first man on the moon one hundred and thirty years ago, bringing a milestone, a giant leap for all mankind.

My fellow visionaries, I had viewed the red planet as being the gateway to the endless possibilities beyond into the boundless reaches of space. But now I see with the deepest and belated regret that gateway is not millions of miles away but rather here on earth. As we continue in our noble quest, I urge you to join me in the collective and evermore nobler effort toward the striving for complete inclusion of all earth's children to the same opportunity of breathless exploration. The stars are now in our reach. Let us begin the worthy cause of creating a better world here and now that we may have a richer tomorrow there, an unfettered future in a shared universe for all to partake in. We owe this to our children and to their children and all the generations to come. Thank you.

The return of scattered coughs, and this time an uncomfortable silence, followed as Dominic retreated to the reserved chair on the stage. His listeners sat, bewildered. Dominic waited uneasily for some hint of approval, and he felt in the wake of his speech that he were on trial. When the applause finally came, it was at first faint, here and there, then it rose gradually to a thunderous ovation accompanied by cheers. It revealed that thought had to precede the response. Dominic noticed an uneasy Murdock joining in on the applause with an air of reluctance.

The spacious, greatly illuminated Skyport rooftop buzzed nonstop with the takeoff Sabers, Condors, Ravens, and Eagles. As each car flew away into the night air, more descended to retrieve additional passengers. The wings folded into the sides as they briefly hovered, then the cars floated whirlybird to vacant spots on the platform. Dominic and Murdock made their way out of the building and up a steep stairway then through an automatic door out to the animated Skyport. Murdock used an auto control to activate his own pilotless 2099 Grand Eagle XTS Platinum. The two men climbed into the back seat of the car, but before it could proceed, Murdock had to subject himself to the eye-scan security feature located at the console before them. Once completed, Murdock spoke to the tracking system for their respective destinations.

As the car ascended ever higher and pushed its way carefully into the black of night, it briefly negotiated the interference of other cars that became more and more scarce. Its graceful wings protruded, and the craft flew horizontal into the vast airspace of the Transportation Technologies matrix called Megaloop, a highly sophisticated, specialized air traffic control network. Murdock kept his eyes forward as the darkness rendered the view useless. He grumbled out expected invective.

I should have insisted you go back out to the cockroach to get the original speech.

You know I couldn't do that. You said yourself we were on lockdown.

And you have the clout to reverse protocol, Dominic.

As I recall, you were the one who told me to relax and that I'm with friends. And by that standing ovation, I would say I definitely was.

Had you told them we are going to go to Mercury instead, they'd have still applauded.

So I take it you didn't exactly approve of my speech.

Oh is that what it was? I was under the impression that it was a sermon. We were expecting something more comprehensive, at least to last one hour.

I think the audience response proved a lack of disappointment, Stan.

Tell that to the shareholders, Dominic. I would venture to say that they weren't as pleased. If you're going to convey a vision to your investors, you need to be more detailed and concise and spend more time in communicating your vision.

I remember hearing about another person putting into very few words a new vision many moons ago, and the audience was so bewildered after the short speech that they weren't sure it was over. The speaker himself thought he bombed out.

Well, there you go then. Why model the speech you gave tonight after one that failed?

The speaker was Abraham Lincoln, and it was the Gettysburg Address.

Please, Dominic. Not with me. Don't use a patriotic smokescreen to, to—

To what, Stan? Are you debating that Lincoln was a visionary?

Look, Lincoln had great words to offer. But this country, this world, is done with evolving. To survive now would mean we would have to again remake it, and that ship has long sailed away.

"We're starting to sound like we're on two different planets," Dominic said wryly.

Your problem, my friend, is that you think this little blue dot in space is the model for future civilizations and its past patriarch's words something to be chiseled in granite. It is, in fact, a social experiment. I see this planet as a training ground where the lessons learned should be limited to its own stratosphere so that as we finally do venture beyond, we can improve and shun the mistakes made here. What needs to be done is for us as a civilization to simply start over.

So that would be your treatise. We're talking two opposite fundamentals.

Opposite? Dominic, open your eyes. What we see is a former stratagem and social philosophy in rubble, a world on the brink of anarchy, the majority a criminal race of people who threaten the livelihood of the few decent remaining citizens in the world. Look at our cities, for Chrissakes. Former buildings are gone, replaced as rebuilt barricades to shut out those who want only to kill and burn. And had it not been for the police drones, you yourself would have been made mincemeat today. That incident should have been enough to snap you to reality.

It did, Stan. It made me realize that my eyes have been in the heavens for so long it blinded me to what was going on here. And now I feel ashamed.

Use that shame to urge yourself forward out of this doomed civilization of ours toward the next, Dominic. We're at the dawn of a new century. We're poised at the precipice of a new era. These are words you should have used to open the speech. You should have gone into the advancements in technology that you and Splictec Corporation have accomplished and the MARS Project. Instead you wasted it on the expounding on that which has been proven to not work.

Dominic sat silent for a while in contemplation.

You know, Stan. It's strange. I and my research team learned that the surface of Mars is too lethal for human habitation. This is why we explored the possibilities for subsurface potential. The symbolism is not lost on me. What we're doing is the same here on earth, forcing people underground in order to survive.

The parallel doesn't fit, Dominic. You're talking about radiation, something which, by the way, you and your team have learned to overcome. Earth laws simply do not apply on Mars.

I'm not so sure.

Dominic gazed out his side of the craft and beheld only the darkness.

I'm not so sure.

2

The massive crowd waited in breathless anticipation for the arrival of the Martians scheduled to make touchdown with the accompanying astronauts in the vast, flat desert of Nevada. They had come by the scores in the preceding weeks building up to the event. A rich anthology of ground-bounds, individual vehicles and omnibuses, powered in from every reach of the country. The periphery of Area 51, aptly code-named Storm, bulged with campers and wayfarers hoping for a glimpse of the aliens, binoculars abundant. Spectators sojourned behind a towering electromagnetic fence that stretched across a divide which encircled the compound. The first to arrive scrambled for precious seats on an extravagant array of ready bleachers. Latecomers had to resort to standing.

Side attractions included tents erected for vendors featuring keepsakes of the major event. The area had taken on the appearance of a commercialized city in itself. Morning had broken crisp and clear as the once threatening clouds vanished. The galvanized excitement for the long-awaited event reached a fever pitch for the relatively fortunate few there to witness history in the making.

The government-controlled press corps trained their cameras to the distant opposite end of this periphery to the spectacle of flying cars looming from every horizon. The cars hovered momentarily for descent, then became added to the many settled craft that had transformed the wasteland into an airport, crushed cactus in their wake.

The black 2099 Ultima Raven 400, which had the appearance of a stylish, tiny rendition of the former Cessna, descended vertically. Its considerable wings folded perfunctorily into the short fuselage, arriving as having no distinction, though it carried Dominic Splicer. Other manned aircraft hovered above in the blazing sky to await their own turn for clearance to land likewise via Megaloop. More craft zipped forth from the boundary into the congestion then slowly halted in suspension. The crowd of civilians in the periphery became even more high-spirited for the aerial spectacle itself.

Dominic had barely deplaned when a bevy of reporters besieged him, and he cursed under his breath. He had a good idea what questions they were going to ask and that it threatened to upstage the more significant milestone event at hand. As he waved them off while striding toward the waiting ground-bound nearby, several persistent reporters barricaded him from advancing. An invasion of microphones was being callously shoved at his face with the flash of cameras from iPhones. Then came the shouted inquiries.

Mr. Splicer, is it true that Splictec has recently discovered new methods of changing DNA?

Would you like to comment on the progress you are making in Project Genesis? Is it true that this progress has resulted in valuations in excess of five-hundred million dollars?

Are the reports true that you made the comment that Project Genesis is crucial to our survival? And would you care to elaborate?

Many are calling this gene-editing the act of playing God. What is your comment, please?

Dominic angrily pushed his way through the obstacle of reporters and disappeared into the car with an outraged slam of the door. The electronic voice at the console asked for a destination. A disturbed Dominic became distracted by those mere inches yet miles away, separated by the dark-tinted shatterproof glass. The equally insensitive voice repeated the request, then again until it finally snapped Dominic to attention.

Just get me out here! Dominic shouted.

Your request does not compute. Please give specific instructions.

Anywhere! Damn it, just get me out of here!

Your request does not compute. Please give specific instructions.

Dominic regained his composure and tried to process the inquiries into sensibility.

If you need assistance, you may contact the Megaloop Hotline by using your password.

Area Fifty-One, Hangar Nine.

Thank you.

Fuck you.

The ground-bound quietly drifted forward slowly, negotiating the confusion of media circus, vendors, and milling crowds, then picked up speed quickly once beyond its congestion. The shouted questions by the reporters had burned into his brain cells enough to preoccupy Dominic, and it threatened to ruin the momentous day he had been awaiting for years. He committed himself to try to push away the incident and deal with it another day. Within minutes, the enclosed electromagnetic fence surrounding Area 51 appeared as the car crawled to a halt at the front gate, a congregation of khaki-clad guards within. One of them exited the breach and approached. Dominic pressed a switch, and the glass window rolled down as the guard bent over to greet the expected guest.

Hello, Mr. Splicer. Welcome. This will only take a moment. Look this way for Face ID.

Dominic sighed and shifted toward the device being held by the guard. Its flash lightened Dominic's face into a fleeting purplish hue.

Stand by, sir.

I hope you fixed the damned thing, Dominic said in a huff. Last time we did this, it couldn't even make out who I am. It thought I was a gorilla.

We indeed apologize about that, sir. We've taken care of the software issue since then.

I would hope that if we can put people on Mars we can take care of something that simple.

It just came back positive, sir. This new top-of-the-line model can now authenticate anybody, no matter what they are.

What they are?

"I'm sorry Mr. Splicer. I meant who they are. Have a nice day."

The window went up. The car rolled forward through the open entrance.

Nice day, my ass. Nothing but ass-kissers. Well, that's what I get for being a multibillionaire.

Dominic reached into his suit jacket for the tiny Archivatel or audio-diary and switched it on.

"Well, my trusted friend, another day ruined by a bunch of techno-beef. Who the hell are those people doling out this false information about me? All right, Splicer, stop it. You need to get over it and get your head in the game. There were no reporters and no questions. You arrived here without fanfare. Everybody here thinks you are stellar, to use Peyton's word, just like back in the good old days. I'm not letting anything take this day away from me. Put your head back where it belongs. Think of good things. The family you are about to meet. Your own family, for that matter, well, what's left of it. Peyton. Andersen. That stupid Johnny, too, and his antics. Then again, they may never want to see me again after today.

"I hope the Martian family fared better than did mine. And I wonder if Stanton wins that bet he made with me a long time ago. Actually, I hope he does win it. As I recall, he bet that the Martian family prefer the ice home yard to the underground for habitation. Of course, now that I think about it, low-gravity soccer would fare better in an ice yard. I guess it never occurred to me because I've never played soccer with Peyton and Andersen. Had I spent more time with them, maybe I would have.

Damn it. It's not working. I'm getting depressed. Got to get my head out of my ass and into today, right now. Then again, maybe I should just not think. No way. Not a chance, not with a million questions of my own swimming through my head. It's funny. I'm surrounded by all these people and I don't really know any of them. Oh here I am. Got to act like the CEO I'm supposed to be.

The car idled for a few moments, and Dominic returned the Archivatel into his inner suit jacket pocket as was his habit, except this time, he forgot to switch it off. The long wait created a jumble of anticipation and angst within Dominic as the car parked itself near the huge, mysterious hangar well inside the spacious compound. He climbed out as guards approached, rifles held at port arms.

Are those really necessary? Dominic asked.

I'm sorry, sir, but— the sergeant of the guard replied.

I know. You have your orders. Has my team arrived yet?

Yes, sir. They're inside waiting. Follow me, please.

Dominic trailed the guard to the hangar then brushed past and tried to open the door. He thus unwittingly violated security protocol.

Sir, we'll need your—

I know, the three numbers, Dominic said. He pressed the keys which ignited an alternating rapid flash of red and blue lights, and the heavy door activated open. Well, that makes it official, Dominic quipped. "I really am a somebody."

The guard ignored him and led Dominic down an unfamiliar brief corridor to still another door requiring the same security measure. The new procedure took Dominic aback.

When was this feature added? Dominic inquired. This wasn't here last time I visited for inspection.

It was ordered to be added by the top brass, sir.

Top brass. That would have to include me. Why wasn't I notified?

I wouldn't know that, sir.

The guests should not be treated as prisoners. All this is more government regulation.

It is a government installation, sir.

And I am head of the corporation who paid billions to purchase half of it. It was my impression that the military and scientific sectors of Storm can both cooperate with each other.

Those were my orders, sir.

Oh never mind. I take it I'm to use the same code or has that, too, been changed without notifying me?

It would have to be a different code.

Well, let's just see what happens, Sergeant.

Dominic pressed the same three keys, and the two men were surprised to see it activate the door.

Perhaps the top brass need to be notified of the obvious breach in their security, Sergeant.

I'll get on it immediately, sir.

You do that, Sergeant.

Still another corridor led them to an adjoining room, one of many across from the other. Dominic paused and looked sneeringly at the sergeant.

"Well, what's the protocol for this door?"

Oh just go on in, sir.

Ah how quaint.

Dominic entered the room and closed the door, then became pleasantly greeted by a spirited bevy of associates, his five own Technological and Research Corporate officers. Rigorous handshakes and heartfelt hugs went around that changed Dominic's sour mood in an instant.

Trenton Stevens, Chief Engineer of Splictec, maintained a firm grip on Dominic's hand.

It's so good to see you, Dom. It's nice to see somebody other than ourselves who is actually sane in this godforsaken place.

Thank you, Trent. It's good to see you all too.

Don't thank me. Thank Carlos here. He's the one who talked the high brass into allowing us to enter this installation without proper security protocol. We'd be out in the desert heat right now.

Will somebody please tell me what's going on here? Dominic demanded. Why have all our old security codes been changed? This is our sector, the science district of the base.

We're stumped as to why, replied Carlos Craig, Head of Security Protocol of Splictec. They would only have done that as a measure to upgrade security measures. But they have no idea we still have the ability to override their system with our old security codes.

So you managed to save our own codes, Dominic replied. But how did you know to do it in the first place? This new addition to the installation came as a surprise even to me.

When the feds threatened to step in and regulate us a few years ago, I took the precaution of transferring every copy of the data to another file, Carlos explained. And as soon as the feds did so, it alerted our system. Our own database is still active.

You know, of course, eventually, the feds will be able to track down where the data is stored and hack their way to us, like following bread crumbs, don't you? Dominic said.

Not a chance, Dom. All they'll be doing is looking forever in the wrong places within their own organization.

What do you mean?

What he means, said Max Ramsey, Chief Assistant Engineer, is that the feds have affixed these codes as part of ECI.

You're kidding, Dominic said.

I wish I were.

You mean they're taking it upon themselves to expand the use of ECI?

Why not? Chase Brainard, Head of Astrological Research, said. That's what they've been doing ever since we sold the drones to them.

I didn't intend to sell my drones to these goons, Dominic said. As you recall, I sold them to NASA.

Of course, Trenton said. That's a prime example. Our technology designed the drones to be used to cool down the oceans during hurricane season by releasing billions and billions of them into the water with synthetic enzymes that dramatically reduced those monsters and saved countless lives.

But, as you said, Splictec sold the drones to NASA, Chase said. The plan was for them to combine our invention with their own technology and thus develop it even better.

Don't say it, Dominic said. I know where this is going. When NASA went belly up due to the rapid increase of private enterprise, which monopolized on space exploration, me included, the feds in law enforcement took over the drones, and instead of using them to combat hurricanes, they recycled them as part of ECI, changing them into billions of super-soldiers.

And that let the proverbial genie out of the bottle, said Kayla Rogers, Head of Splictec Budget and Finance.

Making me a modern-day Frankenstein, Dominic lamented.

We're not reviewing history here to beat you up, Dom, Trenton said. We're just going over how this evolved. But we still have some control.

Still, Dominic said. The world thinks I'm responsible for its ills because of my technology.

Technology we lost control of, Trenton quickly added.

You can't blame everything on yourself, Dominic, Max said. We can't undo the mistakes made here. What we need to do now is concentrate on space exploration.

Dominic stepped away from the circle of friends and stared at a wall where a window could be.

I've been called the Thomas Edison of space exploration. But I would trade my Nobel Prize and all the other accolades heaped on me to undo those mistakes. I stand accused of all kinds of things. The other technology. I wonder about Project Genesis. Who took control of that and changed it? And how did the project get leaked to the press in the first place? The only ones who knew about it are in this room. It makes me believe we have control over nothing. Sure, we've made advancements in science and technology, but it ends up being stolen and then used to destroy, not improve lives.

We still don't know to what extent Project Genesis is being used or if it has been pirated at all, Carlos said. I promise I'll look into it as soon as possible.

Whoever leaked the information would have had to be part of MARS, Chase said.

Not necessarily, Dominic said. MARS deals mostly with negotiating radiation while sending payloads from the space station. Genesis was my pet creation and in the experimentation stage and really not off the ground yet. I was never sure if we could ever even pull it off at all. I finally pulled the plug on it when it appeared there is no internal way to reverse DNA damage for secondary radiation, at least not yet. So I decided we should just stick to the ice bubbles and underground protection. My question is how could something still in its infancy become a full-blown story.

And twisted into something else entirely, Kayla added.

Whoever it came from obviously wants you discredited, Carlos said.

Maybe I already am, Dominic said. In the end, I may be remembered as someone who slept with the devil. Anyway, I'd like you guys to investigate this. I want to know who is behind it and why. Kayla, I need you to scour everything you can to see if there is a paper trail, misappropriation of funds, something that will give us an idea. Smear campaigns cost money, and if this is an inside job—

We'll find it, Kayla completed the sentence. Don't worry.

The members of the team congregated around Dominic.

All is not said and done, Chase said. The future is bright with promise.

There's only one thing left to do, Trenton said in a soothing tone. We have to move forward.

It's still out there for the taking, Carlos added. The lessons learned here can be used to help us in the stars. It's like we can start over.

Dominic pondered what was just spoken.

Start over. I've heard those words before.

*****

The Splictec team waited for hours in the claustrophobic room. They spent the time talking shop while seated on uncomfortable chairs and watching Sensor Ray Vision with its coverage of the big event going on just outside the hangar. The SV-30 lit up the entire one half of the chamber with its three-dimensional hologram images. At times, certain team members walked carelessly into the ray as they paced. These images projected fleeting images on their bodies until they emerged away from it again. A knock finally came, and a military official opened the door. The seated team members rose and approached anxiously with an anticipation at fever pitch, doused by the following.

I'm afraid I have some rather bad news, the official said.

It can't be that the shuttle didn't arrive, Dominic said. We just saw it come down the runway an hour ago on SV.

Yes, the Martians are here in Hangar 12. But you will not be permitted to see them, at least not today. This order is from CQ, Major General Weisbrot.

You've got to be joking! an outraged Dominic exclaimed.

If this is about the quarantine, Carlos said, we were prepared for it. We've even been inoculated as a precaution. We can still see and speak to them behind the glass enclosure.

It has nothing to do with the quarantine, sir. My strict orders are that only select personnel of Area 51 are permitted in the logistical process.

Under what authority? Max bellowed.

I told you, sir. CQ, High Command.

I asked what, not who.

What we want to know is what law is prohibiting us from seeing these guests? Chase asked.

I believe I can speak for CQ here, sir. It is under the authority of planetary protection.

Planetary protection? the team exclaimed in perfect unison.

The ship the Martians were brought to earth on is a US ship. Therefore, under maritime law, the rules fall under the flag of the ship carrying the cargo.

Cargo? You mean to tell us you think those people are—

Hold it, Trenton, Dominic cut in. That ship is my own construction. I built it from scratch.

Sir, with all due respect, it may be your ship, but it is chartered by the US government. The government licensed it. Therefore it comes under the planetary protection provision and the rules of maritime law.

Be that as it may, Dominic said, they are no longer on the ship.

Technically, sir, they still are. Under maritime law—

Oh fuck maritime law! Chase exploded.

This is the same kind of political contention that led to Cold War Two, Dominic said. Just another space race, this time Mars, leading to international tensions and more strife. And it led to the map in Europe being redrawn again.

I can't address that, sir. I am only handing down orders from CQ.

Well, Carlos said. I'll have a little talk with the FAA and see just why they're so generously handing out licenses.

Then again, maybe it's an order from the FBI, Trenton said. Their power is now expanded due to being part of the FAA. Our scientific community has thus become infringed upon.

I apologize about the confusion, the official said. Please remain here, and I will send for the taxi. In the meantime, is there anything I can get you?

Sure, Chase said. Figure out a new licensing procedure and bring it to us.

The official ignored the quip and shut the door and left behind concerted grumbling.

Those bastards wouldn't know microbes if it hit them in the face! Trenton said.

Maybe their next conquest will be licensing asteroids too, Chase added.

I feel the same way, Dominic said. "But in all fairness to Weisbrot, this arrival of interplanetary aliens are uncharted water for us. You mentioned microbes, Trenton, that which causes disease. The principalities involved here may feel that there is an interplanetary compromise to world safety, despite my assertion that the Martians brought here pose no actual health threat."

Oh come on, Dominic, Chase said. Do you astrologically believe that bullshit? This isn't about world safety, it's about the usurping of power. The US government has been gaining an unfair monopoly on everything celestial. And I'm not talking about the fair competition in space travel on an equal playing field which has brought Splictec dominance in our stratosphere.

So now what? Kayla asked.

I'm afraid we have no choice but to go home and lick our wounds, Max said.

Until the next round, Carlos said. Maybe we'll have better luck then.

Oh sure, Kayla said. We're in a boxing ring full of giants, and we're the midgets.

What's a boxing ring? Chase asked in sincerity.

To use an archaic phrase, Google it. No. Wait. The government controls that too.

Aptly put, Dominic said, being that the government now controls all information going out to the general public. And now this. Let's go, gang. Our interplanetary friends aren't going anywhere soon. We'll have our day with them, I think.

Dominic opened the door, bumping a khaki-clad guard holding a rifle at port arms.

I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait for the escort.

I wasn't aware we are detainees, Dominic said as he withdrew with his team.

All departing parties must wait for clearance, sir.

"This is still part of our own base, isn't it? Trenton chided. Not a FEMA camp?"

The door appeared as different to Dominic when it closed.

*****

Later that day, the Raven touched down safely within the fortress compound of the highly-elevated Splicer home atop his mountain retreat in Arizona near the Nevada border. The spring day was spent, now well into evening. Dominic stepped out of the car as its door lifted for him. The bright lights surrounding the car deactivated to an unsettling silence. He sauntered across the small port, then onto the sidewalk leading to the front entrance of his home. He paused to recite aloud his four-digit password which unlocked three bolts. The door unlatched to a vacant house.

He immediately loosened his necktie that by now felt like a tightened noose, then reactivated the security bolts of the door. The house had fallen dim for the closed shades, and Dominic commanded the lights to turn on. The large living room illuminated a spacious studio-style main room complete with fixtures on the ceiling and expensive paintings adorning its walls. He sauntered to a small bar situated at a corner, then poured himself a strong martini with orange juice shaken well.

The medium-sized robot rolled silently into the room from one of many dark recesses and to the bar. It paused right at his feet, then greeted him with its sharp electronic voice.

Master Dominic, I trust you have had a nice day.

Johnny, don't sneak up on me like that, Dominic said, startled.

Sneak up? I am not programmed for such.

It's all right. I'm just a little uptight is all.

Is there anything I can bring you?

Sure, Johnny. How about putting my life back together for me? You owe it to me, being that you're my creation.

I'm sorry, your request does not compute with my memory banks.

Yeah, you and everyone else.

My sensory bank detects you are troubled. Do you wish to discuss it?

"Hey, I'm the bartender here, remember? By the way, how many incoming calls do I have?"

You have three hundred fifty-five incoming transmissions in your SV transceiver, any of which I can—

Don't bother, Johnny. I don't want to hear them. All I want right now is to get comatose.

Would you like me to delete the transmissions?

No. I'll get back to them eventually.

Dominic carried his drink to the couch and plopped down then elevated his feet on the coffee table. The robot rolled to him and parked beside the spacious couch.

You know, old pal, you may be my only friend left. After the shareholders meeting coming up, my name may become international mud. Don't bother trying to compute what I'm saying.

Request computed.

Yes, Johnny, I think soon the shit's going to hit the fan.

I cannot compute your last transmission, Master.

Of course you can't, little fella. I've been meaning to update your sensory bank to compute figures of speech the way you can expletives. Then again, I rather like you this way. It gives you a semblance of innocence.

Innocence. In-no-cence. Freedom from guilt. Freedom from guile. Morally pure. Harmless.

That's right, Johnny. Now show me someone who meets that description.

You fit that description, Master. Well, except you still need to work on your expletives.

If you're saying that to get another tune-up, forget it. I've too many other things to do.

I am not programmed to lie.

Okay, Johnny. I'm not going to argue the point. Now stick around. I may need you for moral support.

Moral support. Defined as—

It means I just need someone to talk to. No offense, but I would prefer it to be humans. The problem is I'm not winning any popularity contests lately. Dominic fortified himself with several more gulps. Well, I suppose I'd better get it over with. On second thought, you might want to go someplace else, Johnny. This isn't going to be pleasant.

I wish to remain.

Johnny, I swear you're becoming more and more human every day.

With a prolonged sigh, Dominic voice-activated the residence number, and following a few signals, the familiar dreaded response came. Then he green-lighted the virtual-reality visual to emanate from the SV in the form of a to scale hologram and it flickered into clarity opposite him.

It's about time you answered your phone.

Before you say anything, Hayley, I can explain.

Explain it to the kids, Dominic. They were waiting all day long. You promised them you were going to pick them up this morning. Don't you recall saying that? Or have you forgotten that here on earth, we have this thing we call morning?

Where are they now?

Peyton and Andersen? They're here. But I doubt they'll talk to you. Can't say I blame them.

As long as they're safe.

"What's that supposed to mean, Dominic? Don't tell me you're going to use the security excuse again. Area 51 has enough security to protect an arsenal of enemies."

Well, maybe I don't know who my enemies are anymore.

"Oh that's a new one. All I know is that you've let your kids down, again, and this, the big day. This was the golden opportunity for you to invite your children into your professional life. But it's becoming more and more clear that your professional life is your only life. And why did you avoid my calls? You could have at least let us know you were canceling or I should say again."

I knew you'd just fight me on the matter as you always do.

That's the only thing you're right about.

Goddamn it, Hayley, there have been some threats made, for Chrissakes. What was I supposed to do, just bring them along and invite trouble?

"You wouldn't have this trouble if you'd just prioritize. You've spent billions of dollars and countless hours to get to Mars, but you can't spend one single hour with your own kids here on earth."

Those billions of dollars have kept you pretty comfortable, hasn't it?

Evidently it has you, too, Dominic. Or haven't you noticed that your world is falling apart?

Oh please. Don't you start on me too. You can't believe everything you hear on the news. Then again, if you want to go for the jugular, then go ahead and blame me for—whatever. Fill in the blank.

I was referring to you not stepping up to the launching pad and being a dad.

"I am being a dad, Hayley. I'm responsible for their well-being too. Like I said, things came up which made me change my mind. And as for the other times things didn't go as planned, you know good and well I'm not nine to five. Now put the kids on. Where are they?"

"They're outside flying a kite. If you want to see them, try stopping by. Maybe you can learn a few simple things. We're at the same address."

Hayley—

The communique went dead, and the hologram vanished. Dominic hurled the shatterproof remote across the room and let it lie the remainder of the evening in the dim corner.

I wish I'd never invented the thing, he muttered bitterly about the image.

3

Andre Thomkin waited anxiously in the long line of people inching slowly forward toward the gate to board a commercial flight out of Budapest, Hungary. He managed a nonchalant glance to his rear, always on the lookout for the dreaded, omnipresent ECI Polibureau. All he saw were only other travelers with ready passports. The line advanced again as the jubilant family at the very front continued on from their brief business and into freedom waiting on the airstrip outside the terminal. Andre crept still closer toward the front of the line as his angst built up to a fever-pitch. Visions of capture obscured the routine transactions he hoped to himself get through.

Andre finally reached second from the front, one more person ahead of him. He had arrived at the point of no return yet at the pivotal place to turn back. The customs clerk studied the face of the person then back at his passport then again. Moments away from the same procedure, Andre's heart pounded with palms sweating. A uniformed officer of the Polibureau appeared. The officer strolled slowly beyond the customs barricade with arms clasped behind his back.

Andre avoided eye contact as he thumbed through his passport. Now too late to turn back, for it would only arouse suspicion, Andre committed himself to the transaction and stepped forward as the traveler before him proceeded to the exit, and Andre advanced with reluctance. The menacing eyes of the officer and Andre's own met briefly. The alternating scrutiny of the clerk glancing at the passport then back at Andre now rivaled that of the officer.

Finally, the clerk stamped the passport page and handed it back to him. Andre did not let out a sigh of relief just yet. He nervously pursed his lips in place of a smile at the officer as he proceeded to the exit with his attaché case. As he started to push the door open, the officer called him back in an unrecognizable language. Andre turned and approached.

The officer said something in Hungarian, and Andre responded in English that he did not understand. Andre knew what would come next, which was to be led to the side at an area where a table lay situated with several lightweight chrome helmets, various size renditions of the Rosetta Stone, or RS, Model 10. Both he and the officer placed an appropriate, respective helmet upon their heads. Once the adjustable device was snug over their respective ears, they curved the flexible tiny microphone to their mouths which detonated a round swirl of yellow lights that settled to green.

May I inquire as to what the nature of your visit here in this district has been, sir?

English, Andre said into the mic, then listened to the translation. Andre's voice changed to an electronic version of his own in reply, and it matched that of the same language of the one who led the dialogue. I am here on business. My business here is production and distribution.

Production and distribution?

"Yes. I sell software for computers to international firms. My corporation is called Omnitec and is based in Bonn but we also have