300 Nights is a cyberpunk science fiction novel where a society controlled by genetic manipulation creates social classes based on neural implants and gene bums.
300 Nights is a cyberpunk science fiction novel where a society controlled by genetic manipulation creates social classes based on neural implants and gene bums. The biological superpower, the Basic Protection Corporation, controls the key to human survival. Yet, the Company stands idly by while a deadly space-born virus hurled down to Earth during an apocalyptic meteor storm annihilates the human population above ground. Exiled to the Earth’s womb, humanity now faces the BPC-born threat of another race more powerful and genetically superior to the Homo sapien. Humanity hangs in the balance with their defenders Benner, caught in the Demon’s Hole of the next generation Mindbender, and Miranda only just discovering who she really is in a gritty new world.
Please feel free to post these four chapters on your social networking and social bookmarking sites. The style is of course not correct in this WYSIWYG Editor, but it is readable. All copyrights 2010 reserved worldwide to Ruptured Media, LLC, Running Waters Productions and Kriss Perras Running Waters.
ISBN: 978-0-557-79969-5 (pbk)
ePUB ISBN: 978-0-557-82430-4 (epub)
300 Nights
A Novel By Kriss Perras Running Waters
Prologue
In the beginning, millions of humans roamed the Earth. As the ages came and went, man turned on himself; a raging machine bringing with it the harvester, swinging his scythe, scattering the smoke plumes, leaving only his sickle; a sharp edge where the ends of the world met.
Slumped, the heavy-blossomed power of a thing called coin; trap the wild bull raging free on a walled street; loathe the bear for its desperation; gasses fell upon the fruited trees of summer atolls; a towering Eden fell in the dark, turgid flood of ash. In this place of city dwellers, there would be a life more than in this time, beware.
Damn the subway, curse the highway, steel-jointed, glass-sinewed soaring altars, they shall fall and stay in ruin. A wretched set of events launched tridents into the sun, reigning down anarchy, death in waiting for its master’s call.
Not with blinded piety is this sentimentality over shadowy pasts written. It would be better that humankind comes to its sticky end one by one, rather than the poor souls of the time should stand and gaze at blinding blasts, mushroom clouds and ashes of people, shadows on a wall caught in mid-life. Not in vain is this written from a watch fire of a time yet to be. Onward let us roam, let the universe whirl around and round, forever down the helix of transformation. Through the gloom of the ashes, we mourn into a younger night.
Now comes, The Age of Revolutions. . .
Chapter One
A bristling fireball scratches a path across the black glass of the starry frontier. The flaming bolide unleashes a fiery wake on its collision course with Earth. Static crackles of the English language fade in and out, an alien tongue in the far reaches of the black void. In the distance, the sun’s solar flares leap outward, spewing fiery flames and unfathomable sums of hydrogen energy out into space.
Chapter Two
Muted yellow sparks flicker beside a human hand turning a wrench against a bolt. The hand lets go of the wrench, allowing it to float away. Its tether pulls it back. Special Agent Michael Benner is spacewalking against a backdrop of white twinkling stars. Various tools float around his waist, secured by a strap. He floats next to a large satellite, without a space suit. Letters etched into the satellite’s frame spell out STORY’S GATE II. Benner pushes keys on the sat’s utility panel keyboard.
Back on Earth, the sounds of millions of world voices the Company eavesdrops on create a cacophony of noise inside a huge computer room. That room holds highly classified equipment, the kind of mosaic the black market would find tempting to mine. If any of that equipment ever got out, a spiritual tech bath of hatching cells, AI fields of horror spliced with neural hacks would organize on the other side of the wall. The Company kept it buried behind miles of mosaic, endless lines of code that sent a Mindbender’s jack point through a series of never ending loops, the Company’s virtual snare. Benner called it the Demon’s Hole.
That was Benner’s routine. Corner a Mindbender in the Hole, and he was locked in a cell on the grid for life. That equipment was not going out on the black market, not while Benner was alive. Especially not to a buyer on the other end of the Mindbender’s jack point. They were highly paid thieves. Data mining was never a Mindbender’s end objective. They played the buyer for the currency that built his business, mosaic.
The listening post voices filter in from the next room beside Benner. He wears a helmet labeled V.R. III across the top. A titanium exoskeleton connects across his limbs and up his spine to the jack in the back of the helmet. Etched into the metal of the exoskeleton are the letters of his last name. Loaded down with metal rods covering most of his body, Benner’s hands type in mid-air. In space, Benner’s hands type in a test code at the satellite’s keyboard.
“Propulsion works, but nav is down,” said Benner in space, even though his physical mouth does not move in the computer room on Earth.
“Can you move the satellite manually?” asked Special Agent Miranda Solomon.
She is back on Earth in the large eavesdropping room next to Benner. He sits on the Company’s V.R. Floor, while she is on the Com Circle. Miranda types at her keyboard at the top rung of the circular terminal posts. Stairs bisect each rung of computers on the way up to her position on the circle. She is slender and has a gun strapped to her thigh, part of her black leather Company uniform. Her black hair hangs straight down her back and around her blue, television eyes, the kind tuned to a channel full of static and noise. Benner had it in for Miranda. She could get up his nose before he even noticed. Before he knew it, she was in his head.
“Switching to manual override on your mark,” said Benner, over the Com Circle’s PA.
“Com releasing to manual mode now,” replied Miranda.
She clicks the Manual Override button on her computer screen image of the Story’s Gate Two satellite.
In space, Manual Mode flashes across the satellite’s computer screen. Benner pushes the propulsion button in the sat’s utility panel. The satellite haphazardly shoots off, quickly zigzagging away from him.
“That didn’t work,” said Benner.
“Let’s try getting into her mainframe then,” said Miranda, in his helmet speakers.
“I don’t think so. I got incoming,” said Benner, starring down the path of a flaming piece of space rock.
“Abort mission,” said Miranda.
Benner thought he heard a smidgen of concern in her voice. On Earth, he tries to lift the helmet’s visor to disengage the system. Inside the helmet, the visor screen alert states System Freeze.
“You’re visor screen froze,” said Miranda in his helmet’s speakers.
“Reboot my helmet,” said Benner.
“No, you’ll comatose. BPC protocol prevents a Captain from leaving a Lightwalker caught in virtual reality,” said Miranda.
“Reboot,” said Benner.
“It’s part of your Basic Protection Corporation rights. No neural damage,” said Miranda.
“Reboot it,” said Benner, getting a little nervous.
To date, he has never won an argument with Miranda, but this time he needs to win. On the Com Circle, Miranda hesitates to click on the word reboot, the drop down menu choice beside a visor image with Benner’s name. She can see on her screen that the bolide is on a collision course with Benner, and the satellite’s solar panel. Miranda clicks on reboot. In space, the bolide clips the satellite’s solar panel, knocking it out of orbit and on a descent into Earth’s atmosphere. The bolide fireballs over the location where Benner was spacewalking, leaving a dusty trail of glassy-red flaming sparks as it descends towards Earth. On the V.R. Floor, Benner collapses beside his chair. The front of his visor screen goes dark.
“Mike? Are you alright?” asked Miranda.
Nothing but silence comes from Benner over the Com Circle’s PA. In the adjacent chairs to Benner, similar set-ups like his V.R. III, minus the exoskeleton, are hard at work. Numerous agents sit in chairs wearing only the V.R. III helmet. Agent Kevin Benner, Junior removes his helmet.
“OMG, not again,” said Junior, rolling his eyes.
Junior heads to his older brother, Benner, lying on the V.R. Floor.
Chapter Three
Coursing through the last vestiges of space, harbingers hurtle into Earth’s atmosphere. A private hypersonic plane headed for NORAD is traveling Mach 25 at 30,000 feet in the air. On board are the Joints Chiefs of Staff and National Security Advisor William Johnson, the core of the White House Charlie Team.
“Just my luck that Charlie Team would be a bunch of hawks,” said Johnson.
“If it weren’t for the Pentagon’s Science Division, you’d be buried two-hundred feet under a bolide,” said the General sitting across from Johnson.
“Why didn’t your science division get the word out sooner?” said Johnson.
“We got the word out as soon as we had enough data to confirm there was a damn meteor storm,” said the General.
“You cost the President his life,” said Johnson.
“The President knew the risks when he chose to stay at the White House instead of going with Charlie Team,” said the General.
Out the window, a satellite has lost its orbit. It is hurtling towards Earth with its front aflame. Johnson is looking out the plane’s window, watching the satellite fall. It shoots downward, just missing the plane’s wing. The etched letters of the satellite’s name are visible: STORY’S GATE II. The flames licking its sides cast shadows, darkening the letters’ existence into a charred imprint.
“There goes any hope of knowing why this disaster happened,” said Johnson.
A huge blast wall of hydrogen energy hurtles down on the hypersonic plane. The bolide hits the plane, crumpling its structure. The plane tears it into a million pieces of tiny fireballs of obliteration. The bolide continues its descent towards Earth.
Chapter Four
Yawning into the darkness of encryption, Miranda’s terminal locks-down to black screen. The screen lights up, displaying the red shape of a hand.
“Special Agent Miranda Solomon,” said B, a soft-spoken yet cold, computer driven sound on the Com Circle PA. B’s voice never waivers into an emotional response. She is all ones and zeroes as she carries out her national security directive of human survival.
“You’re called under Continuity of Government Law, Section 9, to assume your shadow post as National Security Advisor. Identify,” said B.
“Voice authorization Special Agent Miranda Solomon, delta-niner-alpha-execute,” said Miranda.
“Voice authorization authenticated,” said B.
“B, confirm status of National Security Advisor William Johnson,” said Miranda.
“Former National Security Advisor William Johnson has expired,” said B.
Miranda heads to the center of the Com Circle floor where her new terminal is located. She turns to the bank of computers on the wall that are now lighting-up. The left side of the screen displays flat-lined biophysical data labeled: William Johnson. His photo is on the right side of the screen.
“Expiration occurred nine seconds ago,” said B. “Human subject was obliterated by a bolide moving at one-quarter the speed of light annihilating the hypersonic plane. Also KIA are the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
“Son of a bitch,” said Miranda, only just coming to understand the magnitude of the situation.
“Madame Advisor,” said Agent Joy Sung, standing at Miranda’s former post. “Under C.O.G., I’m authenticating with the system to assume your former post.”
Sung’s previous computer terminal is in lock down. A red hand shape displays on its screen. She places her hand on the red hand shape image on Miranda’s former terminal screen. The red hand shape immediately turns blue.
“Voice identify,” said B.
“Agent Joy Sung, echo-three-alpha-niner-sung-execute,” said Sung.
“Voice authorization authenticated,” said B.
Miranda’s former terminal unlocks, lighting up all systems on its screen.
“We’re a go, Madame Advisor,” said Sung.
“Cut the Madame crap. I’m still Miranda to everybody,” said Miranda. “We just lost Story’s Gate Two. We need to compile Two’s last SATCOM and get as much info off of Story’s Gate One as fast as possible.”
“On it,” said Sung, quickly typing at her terminal.
Miranda identifies on her new terminal in the center of the Com Circle. The screen unlocks. She taps on an icon on the screen, the one shaped like a church dome. A live video chat window opens. On-screen is Doctor Edgar Yokohama, a Japanese man wearing a white lab jacket
“Edgar, we need to know what the Hell else is headed towards Earth. Can you use the School of Divinity’s unauthorized equipment to get us some usable information sooner,” said Miranda.
“Wait, you’re actually asking me to break protocol and use the Four?” asked Yokohama.
“In the name of National Security,” said Miranda.
“Of course,” said Yokohama, with a smile. “Give me five minutes.”
Yokohama lifts his brow. Miranda closes the chat window.
“Let’s go people. We’ve got lives on the line,” said Miranda to the crew on the Com Circle. “The solar wind data is your priority. But we need to know what else is headed our way.”
“We have some data compilation off of Two already,” said Sung. “Oh my God.”
“What is it, Joy?” asked Miranda.
“I’ve never seen solar flare data like that before,” said Sung.
“The sun was due for an X-class solar flare,” said Miranda. “She was rounding the end of an eleven-year cycle. You’ll get used to it, although this one is pretty bad. What about the panoramic photo?”
“One is still in orbit and downloading now. B won’t complete One’s download for another two hours,” said Sung.
“Make it quick people. We need to brief the President,” said Miranda.
At her computer, Miranda has a browser window open that displays Secretary of Defense Richard Finley’s profile and photo.
“How’s he off the Intra-GPS grid?” asked Miranda under her breath.
On screen, Finley’s GPS status line reads Intra-GPS Inactive. Miranda turns towards Benner on the floor in the next computer room. Junior is beside him. She crosses through a set of glass doors onto the V.R. Floor. A small, blue, square light flickers on at the bottom corner of Benner’s visor screen. His head twitches.
“Mike, are you alright?” asked Miranda, standing beside him.
“He’s OK. His biostats show he just passed out,” said Junior, pulling Benner’s helmet off.
“I’m here, but I have one helluva headache,” said Benner.
“Get up. Get back on the grid. We’ve got trouble with one of our new arrivals,” said Miranda, helping Benner up.
“Who died and left you boss?” asked Benner, quite seriously.
Miranda gives him a stern look, disapproving, the one that Benner loves the most. Her whole face gets into that look. She is the kind of woman Benner would love to have on the opposite end of that look, the kind where a woman gets lost in the ecstasy of everything he is doing right to her.
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