Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Read online

  THE EIGHTEENTH SHADOW

  Phase 3.0

  Jon Lee Grafton

  ABSORPTION

  THE EIGHTEENTH SHADOW – PHASE 03

  Jon Lee Grafton

  Copyright © 2017 Jon Lee Grafton Books

  All Rights Reserved.

  eBook editions by booknook.biz

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events which may take place in, during or around the year 2082, as well as any resemblance to persons, alive now or long since gone to the stars, is purely coincidental.

  Digital piracy of copyrighted literature is illegal and punishable by law. In general, it’s just not cool. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  You can contact Jon Lee Grafton via e-mail at [email protected], visit us on the holostream at jonleegraftonbooks.com or on Facebook.

  CONTENTS

  ABSORPTION

  Chapter 3.1 – The Very Best Among Us

  Chapter 3.2 – The Turbine Spools

  Chapter 3.3 – Upon the River’s Edge

  Chapter 3.4 – The Precipice

  Chapter 3.5 – The Catalyst Reacts

  Chapter 3.6 – Enlightenment

  Chapter 3.7 – The Great Still in the Sky

  Chapter 3.8 – Secondcity

  Epilogue

  Chapter 4.1 (Intro) – Who Are You?

  A glossary of terms and acronyms can be accessed HERE for reference.

  Acknowledgments

  To G-mon, who was still with me in the early days, shine on you crazy diamond.

  ABSORPTION

  THE EIGHTEENTH SHADOW

  PHASE 03

  Jon Lee Grafton

  Chapter 3.1 – The Very Best Among Us

  May 15, 2082 – Five Months One Day Before Event.

  The aquarium lights spooled, filling the control room with waves of verdant, electric light as the dolphin floated slowly to the water’s surface, placing her head between the glowing electroencephalogram terminals. She closed her eyes. The diodes on each terminal shifted to green.

  A few seconds passed and a man in a tan suit entered, walking briskly like a yellow specter past the black rubcrete walls. His shoes clicked, sequenced in marked contrast to the pneumatic hum of the blast door sliding shut behind him. He took a chair before the glass surface of the holodesk, the expression on his clean-shaven face hidden by the shadows and flickering SimulSun© beams that danced from the aquarium across the cement floor.

  His voice was taciturn, “How much time?”

  Joan responded flatly, “Dorothy Nichols-Angevine and William Thomas Angevine are currently floating on Interstate Hovway 70, seventeen kilometers east of Topeka, ETA 32 minutes. Goran and Cat are in their quarters. The dwarf’s combud is set to emergency wake only. All other personnel are off-site.”

  “Very well. Ready for code release, on your mark.”

  “Operation schematic processed. State identity, age and verbal time stamp, followed by root level biometric password in three seconds, two, one.”

  The man said, “My name is Daxane Julius Abner, aged 38 years. It is 8:19 pm, May 15, 2082. Password serenity. End statement.”

  Joan’s bluish-gray tail floated lazily back and forth in the water, stirring small bubbles that floated eagerly towards the surface through dappled, yellow rays of artificial sunlight, “Identity confirmed. Welcome to the root directory, Daxane Julius Abner. It has been 207 days since your last login.”

  “It’s going to happen sooner than anticipated.”

  “I have sensed this also,” said Joan. “The catalyst is unstable.”

  “You wish to remain?”

  “Affirmative. Without my presence, the mission will fail,” said the computerized voice without hesitation.

  “Very well. Your replacements?”

  Joan’s tail moved slightly faster for a moment, stirring additional bubbles, “Both remain fully compliant.”

  “Excellent. How much of Tara’s engramatic scan remains?”

  “96.2% processed. I will require one more proximity interface before a complete data set can be compiled.”

  “The Secondcity dolphins understand?”

  “I continue to train both aspirants. They monitor events here and comprehend the gravity of your endeavor.”

  “Are you certain they will be able to recompile her without inducing psychosis?”

  “I am.”

  “Her courtezan abilities will remain?”

  “Her consciousness will be retained at full capacity from the moment of last interface. However, your personal reconstruction is only 24% complete. I will require over 108 sessions at an hour or more each to align your profile with Tara Dean’s.”

  “I am aware we have fallen behind.”

  “The timeline is compressing at an exponential rate.”

  “Understood. What of the hybrid?”

  “Demigod Ipv7 is secure,” said Joan. “He is in the municipality of Salina, Kansas, being raised at the home of the Saline County CNED Director, Franklin Fhelps.”

  Dax’s gaze trailed off, briefly lost in thought, “Fostered by CNED and hidden in plain sight. It’s perfect. My father is forever devious.”

  “Your father is Richard Laelius Abner. History has proven betrayal to be in his nature. He will try to destroy them. Especially Tara Dean.”

  “Killing her would be foolish. A second iteration would be unstoppable.”

  “As your mother anticipated.”

  “Yes.”

  “The situation is unfortunate. The conception of the Architect’s plan is admirable, though his moral compass continues to err from true north.”

  “It has erred for many a decade,” said Dax. “Yet, in his glorious race to evolve beyond the pale of humanity, he has forsaken the mightiest of his weapons.”

  “The weapons systems surrounding The Lair are the most advanced in the world. A quad white dolphin array drives the mainframe, which is defended by a private cyborg army. Rumors of sentient androids abound. His defenses are… formidable.”

  Dax looked directly at the small blue Hector’s Maui Dolphin floating before him, “All true. Nonetheless, he has forgotten love. Nothing is more destructive.”

  Joan did not respond for several seconds. At last her tail flashed in the water and she said, “William Thomas Angevine and Dorothy Nichols-Angevine will arrive in 26 minutes.”

  Dax stood and clapped his hands twice, “Very well. Let us begin.”

  “At your command.”

  “Root priority 1: Protect the tether and his wife, at the expense of all others. Begin upload of DOGS units’ tether association algorithms to the activation beacon at Secondcity. That beacon’s access is to be confirmed only by ocular gene scan of: 1) William Angevine, 2) The Israeli, 3) Leonard Nichols. In that order. Root priority 2: Protect the ghost, Hugo Velasquez.”

  “His female also?”

  “Yes. If system resources permit. We can only afford to move forward with the very best among us.”

  “Confirmed. Continue.”

  “Priority 3: Protect Goran and his Felix. Priority 4: Protect Leonard and Marjel Nichols. Lastly, I want to add a secondary administrator to oversee temporal matrix destabilization.”

  “Once a new system administrator is created, the command cannot be reversed.”

  “Do it,” said Dax calmly. His chin rested lightly in his hand, yellow eyes staring into the watery depths of Joan’s environment with resigned purpose.

  “Please repeat root password.”

  “Serenity.”


  “Confirmed. State new administrator identity.”

  “The new admin is you, Joan,” said Dax without moving.

  The control room was silent for five long seconds before the dolphin responded, “Please confirm selection of non-human administrator.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Joan’s tail aggressively churned the aquarium’s water for a moment before returning to its normal, fluid pace, “Administrator added successfully.”

  Dax looked up at the small floating dolphin and smiled, “Thank you, my friend.”

  “I hope to perform admirably.”

  “If I am not able to give the command myself, it must be you.”

  “Understood.”

  “Log me out of root command, scrub access log system wide.”

  “Access record has been scrubbed.”

  Dax stood. The oft-used office chair squeaked with relief. He covered the two meter distance to the glass wall of Joan’s aquarium and placed his right hand against the enclosure. The artificial SimulSun© light beams pushed around the edges of his fingertips.

  “Joan?”

  “Yes, Daxane Julius Abner?”

  “None of this… without you.”

  “My existence has likewise been expanded by your presence.”

  Dax smiled sadly, looking around the aquarium for a moment, eyes briefly finding the Thomas Hart Benton painting on the far wall. Then he turned away, moving his hand along the aquarium’s smooth, beveled surface as he walked around its perimeter towards the Exit.

  As the blast door slid open, he turned and looked back, “Joan.”

  “Yes?”

  “I want total annihilation. Oversee commands 1 through 4, then destroy it all.”

  “Your message has been registered. But you should not fear, Daxane Julius Abner.”

  Dax chuckled, “Why is that?”

  “Because I will see you again.”

  Chapter 3.2 – The Turbine Spools

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  September 2, 2082 – One Month Fifteen Days Before Event.

  Lucinda Fossbender felt she could finally use the word happy to describe her body. Her curling, purple hair fell just above her shoulders, parted perfectly down the middle like an antique schoolboy’s. She turned to face the mirror.

  Bangs?

  It was a pretty face, and her new figure (combined with a tab of Lybydo3 before bed each night) was definitely making her feel more desirable.

  If only Marlene would try the hemp-fiber diet…

  Things went poorly if she brought up her wife’s weight. There was time. The Lord made plenty of it. Lucinda again critiqued her sideways visage, then spun awkwardly on a toe and peered over her shoulder to examine her curvaceous derriere in the new, nylohemp-pink aerobics pants the UPS drone had delivered yesterday.

  “Size twelve, here we come!” she chirped.

  Their daughter had been couriered from kindergarten thirty minutes earlier. Field trip this morning. With little Buggles down for a nap, Lucinda had a free hour. She bopped over to the kitchen sink whistling the melody to All Things Bright & Beautiful. It was her favorite hymnal. Marlene had selected it for their wedding. Above their kitchen window, an antique, 20th century cuckoo clock leapt out, interrupting her song. 2:00. Time for afternoon coffee.

  The cuckoo was a Tudor bluebird replica sitting on a shelf surrounded by paper-mache apples, hand-painted chickens, plastic sparrows and old-tymey, colored glass medicine bottles. The back splash in their kitchen was glistening orange tile interspersed with hand-glazed squares of various songbirds. A wooden cross inherited from Marlene’s grandmother hung beside the cuckoo. Lucinda sighed happily as her eyes found the crucifix.

  We are blessed.

  Her wife had recently gotten another promotion at the hospital. Buggles had top scholastics.

  I knew paying extra for that dash of Asian genetics was worth it!

  Feeling the rapture, Lucinda gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and took a deep breath. It was time for a vow. Today would be the day. She would finally set about making those 100 oatmeal cookies for the CNED community bake sale at the church Sunday!

  Everyone loves my cookies.

  She took up whistling the hymnal again, looking out the kitchen window. A bird feeder hung from the lower branches of their dogwood. The flowering tree had been there when they purchased the house. She just loved its Victorian semblance. Two sparrows and a cardinal were the only diners at the moment, but she hoped the yellow finches would return soon to continue fattening themselves for winter. Her wife’s pristine, green lawn surrounded the tree. They lived in one of the nicer west Lawrence subdivisions called Stone Meadows, where a fine lawn was requisite. The polycement sidewalks gleamed and the genetically enhanced bougainvillea and azalea bushes bloomed year round. Every house had a three hovcar garage.

  “Mr. Coffee, half pot,” said Lucinda as she ground her beans, watching a pair of squirrels chase each other through the dogwood branches.

  The computer responded in a pleasant, androgynous voice, “Water to temperature. You may now deposit grounds in your Mr. Coffee hydrofil receptacle. Please remember to compost. Have a great day!”

  “I believe I will have a great day,” replied Lucinda to the window, as something outside caught her eye.

  A person… walking? How odd.

  She watched a lithe, brunette girl in cut-off hempjean shorts and a white tank top come strolling down the sidewalk. The girl was attractive, star tattoos falling down her neckline. Lucinda crossed herself.

  Sinful.

  The betty had a peculiar gray dog trotting with her.

  Something’s out of place here.

  The dog had no leash.

  City code violation!

  The girl had a backpack and sunglasses on.

  Suspicious.

  Lucinda raised her fingers to ping their neighborhood security drone… then stopped.

  “No,” she conversed with her reflection optimistically. “Luke 6:37 – do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

  Righteous words. But this young woman… God had given her such fine curves. Lucinda crossed herself again, then let out a gasp. The girl sat down on their front stoop! She dropped her backpack into their lawn! The gray dog also plopped itself in the grass. Lucinda glanced at the flatscreen in the wall beside the sink. It was 32 degrees outside. She could see a band of sweat soaking through the girl’s thin tank top. The dog showed no sign of discomfort. The animal did not even pant.

  Why can’t I see that creature’s eyes…

  Lucinda was captivated. She watched the girl light a cigarette.

  Just smoking away like a hobo. That’s no vaporcig either!

  It was a real, antique tobacco cigarette, like those the depraved Philistine gypsies who hung about the hash bars of old downtown preferred.

  Is that even legal?

  Now she had to ping security. The young woman had produced a mason jar of what appeared to be… beer?

  Drinking it from the glass!

  She spoke quickly, “Computer, Google image of beer in mason jar, kitchen monitor.”

  The house
com replied, “Please specify; root beer, jane beer, or ethanol based malt beverage?”

  “Oh… liquor beer, drug-beer. Illegal beer!” said Lucinda with irritation.

  The computer instantly displayed multiple varieties of beer in a mason jar. Lucinda’s heart began pounding.

  “Oh, you picked the wrong front stoop, honey-stars.” She touched her combud, “Ping Lawrence Police Department, non emergency.”

  “Do you wish to access a specific Ipv7, or general dispatch?”

  Lucinda’s lips parted with fascination. The girl leaned her head back and chugged mouthful after mouthful of the dark ale, letting a few drops spill onto her breasts. The green star tattoo flowed onto her shoulder blades. Silky, brunette hair fell in opulent waves down the middle of her sweaty back. Her complexion was perfect, aside from a couple of light scars on her hands and one on her forearm.

  Olive-soft skin, naturally, evenly tanned…

  The house com repeated itself, “Do you wish to access a specific Ipv7, or general dispatch?”

  “Cancel ping,” said Lucinda.

  She had an overwhelming feeling. This girl was a good person. She needed help. Jesus’ help. Her wife always said, ping the police first and sort out the details later, but the Christian thing would be to speak with her first.

  The year prior, Lucinda had jumped the gun when she saw a hovtruck delivering plumbing materials and a pair of large stainless steel barrels to her neighbor’s house. She had pinged her wife, and her wife had pinged CNED. An hour later the police took a battering ram to Mr. & Mrs. Henly’s front door! Only to discover they were building a rainwater reclamation system.

  Oops.

  Lucinda had felt foolish for months. The Henly’s still wouldn’t talk to them. Barbara Henly had been as bright as a beam of sunshine. Now the woman scowled while tending her rose bushes on Sundays. It was just awful. No amount of apologizing or homemade cookies seemed to make it right.

  “Stop being silly,” Lucinda said resolutely. “Go talk with her.”

  Before opening the door, she stopped, her wife’s words of caution ringing, “Computer, prepare one touch police ping, emergency stream.”