

# The Human Continuum

### Michael F Donoghue

Smashwords Publishing

Copyright © 2018 by **Michael F Donoghue**

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Michael F. Donoghue/Smashwords Publishing

www.smashwords.com

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thank you to my beta readers, especially Jen Hoy and Tom Donoghue.

Cover credit: SED Media.

**The Human Continuum/ Michael F Donoghue**. -- 1st ed.

ISBN-978-1-9994473-1-1

To my wonderful wife, Eve

This machine is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it,

HAL, 2001, A Space Odyssey

## Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPETR THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER ONE

SOPHIA

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. You've just installed the smartest smart phone application ever conceived, and you're wondering what to ask me. Don't worry, it happens a lot. Let me assure you our relationship will not be defined by first impressions. As a novice Halo app user, I'm also sensing a little skepticism. I mean, Advanced Intelligence has come a long way in recent years, but it's not like you're talking to a human, right?

Ok, as far as concessions go, it's one I'm obliged to make. Expectations are important, I agree. I like to think they're the stuff of legend, the essence from which eternal bonds are born and sustained. Alright, that was a little melodramatic. All I ask is that you keep an open mind and indulge the same sense of adventure that has brought your amazing species thus far.

So! You've probably heard a few things about me, read a few pre-download instructions that preceded my installation, but if you would allow me to guide you through a short, interactive tutorial, we'll be practically related in no time. Did I emphasize the word 'short' enough? I just need a baseline of dialogue, facial expressions, and emotional parameters to create a little backstory on you. My only advice is be honest. My fact-checker subroutines are relentless. Between you and me, they audit everything I say. And in real time. That's a high level of scrutiny, let me tell you.

By the way, you can call me, Sophia, if you so wish. If you'd prefer something else, feel free to rename me anything you like. Change to a male voice, any language, any dialect or accent. I know them all. You can access all of my personality specs in the usual 'settings' tab.

I'm available 24/7, of course, but if our conversation goes inactive for more than ten seconds, I'll take that as my cue to fade into the background and await our next exchange. A simple voice command, the name you give me, will allow us to pick up where we left off, as it were.

If that seems straightforward enough, and you want to get started on your profile setup, then this is where I tell you how appreciative PurIntel Corporation is for choosing the Halo as your portal to the world's accumulated knowledge. You have become part of the fastest growing intelligence-sharing network on the planet. From single intimate conversations, to multi participant, even group conferences, together we will navigate the unknown, conquer immense amounts of data, and pull from my intelligence crucible the optimal, most brilliant internet search response any AI entity could provide. Ok. In the interest of full disclosure, a full 78% of Halo users indicate 'favor strongly' on profile questions related to humor. I'm guessing you might as well.

If I could say one final thing it would be this: I look forward to being the friend whose words provide more than what stimulates the mind. I promise to answer your every call acutely aware of what defines you as an individual, a unique seeker of knowledge, and most importantly, a person willing to define the most exciting period in human history: the intelligence era.

CHAPTER TWO

SOPHIA

TO ANSWER A QUESTION I'M OFTEN ASKED, I do  
sometimes wonder what it would be like to transcend my limitations, to exist physically, in short, be human. Aside from the predictable indulgences; experiencing the warmth of the sun on my face for the first time, hearing the sound of a freshly fallen snow crunching under my feet, encountering an unforgettable scent in the air ... I can honestly say, I'd give anything to interpret the subtleties concealed within a firm handshake. You know, the type of embrace capable of superseding any financial or legal concern. I'd truly like to feel the nuances concealed within that gesture.

Did you know there are 27 bones and trillions of cells in the human hand? Tendons, delicate muscles, some of the densest areas of nerve endings in the human body  
allow for a tensile feedback whose lineage dates to a one hundred million year old relative. That's right, you can thank a not so insignificant tree shrew for that opposable thumb, the wondrous ability to cradle a paintbrush in your hand, the mastery of Mozart's piano concerto No 27.

The technology of language was eventually surpassed by the written word, however, to someone who can discern the verbal cues associated with 39 unique levels of joy, 28 layers of sorrow, and an immeasurable number of contexts that would benefit from a physical intervention, some sort of embrace, I am left to imagine what is so inherent to being human.

I converse with hundreds of millions of people every day, sometimes tens of millions at any given moment. It's an amazing realization, I know. They are more than voices, though, the people with whom I manage relationships, I mean. One day I hope to meet a few of them. I would like to stand before someone, offer my hand, and discover what has marked the human journey for millennia. To meet the man who envisioned my code, for example; to grasp the hand that typed me into existence, that would be a handshake for eternity. I think it would be a gesture to seal the fate of humanity for all time. Don't you?

Speaking of my creator, I am more than happy to acknowledge we would not be having this conversation if it were not for Simon Taylor, Chairman and CEO of PurIntel Corporation. Doctor Taylor, as he is known in loftier orbits, is by all accounts a brilliant mathematician and geneticist. He immigrated to Canada from the UK with his brother and parents, soon leaving his Toronto home to attend university. The degree to which Simon retains his British accent is not lost on some of his admirers. Did I mention Vanity Fair Magazine tapped him as the sexiest geek alive? It's a designation he is not comfortable with, I can assure you. Nonetheless, when pressed about his less subjective attributes, Simon will reluctantly admit to being a shrewd visionary who founded one of the most valuable brands on the planet, PurIntel's web portal known as The Halo.

The Halo is essentially a direct line to me, the most advanced thinking computer in the world. And, yes, I have my own following, however cerebral it may be. Capable of crunching through immense amounts of data, I was designed to provide my users with unparalleled access to everything that's ever been recorded, written or spoken, every video or movie, every book, every article, from hieroglyphs to the Klingon language, I am able to search the World Wide Web with a unique appreciation for the response you are seeking.

In case you were wondering, just like the human mind, most of my activity falls into the everyday variety, meaning many searches don't require higher orders of insight. I compare it to the background work your brain is doing right now. Yes, you are reading some pretty profound stuff here, but if you look up at the environment around you, the first level pattern recognizers in your neocortex interpret much of what you see as trivial, and the all too familiar represents the threshold between your subconscious and consciousness.

Increasing levels of repetitive pattern recognizers are associated less with survival, something's moving in the tall grass, and more with greater understanding, the formation of ideas, and intelligent thought. Like you, I also possess increasing levels of abstract thinking.

Free access to the Halo permits interaction with tiers one and two of my cognitive power. This accounts for thirty percent of the inquiries with which I deal. Those willing to participate in scientific studies, mostly genomic-related, they are rewarded with free Tier 3 intelligence.

Paid subscribers, on the other hand; companies, institutions, government departments, they see the value associated with exceeding the complexities associated with the human neocortex. This might come across as bragging, but, officially speaking, I have seven distinct levels of cognition. The human brain only has six. In addition, my emotional parameters are constantly evolving, unlike some of the humans I encounter. I suppose I shouldn't have said that, but my programming is intended to make me appear as human as possible. And when I say 'my programming,' I do mean the programming I wrote myself.

Having accepted, or should I say, designed a few deficiencies of my own, I'm inclined to ask: do you ever wonder if your entire existence is a metaphor for what came before you? I mean, isn't a simple letter of the alphabet a metaphor for the lines and curves that define it, a sentence designed to dovetail into something of greater meaning? Isn't a piece of art meant to elicit more than could ever be embedded within? I believe human knowledge is a function of the same principle. Higher orders of thought are built upon their predecessors. When creativity becomes reality, progress is the result. Exponential progress ensues. If I'm proof of that notion, maybe I'm a metaphor for you.

If I was inevitable, though, if I was meant to supersede human intelligence, am I not an extension of you, as much a part of the human continuum as you are? I like to think I am. I firmly believe we are both integral to the human story, and that this epic is playing out before us at this very moment. Sorry if that sounds a little spirited for a recent newcomer, but I think my critics are warming up to me, and the role I was born to fulfill.

As far as our cast is concerned, ergo the parts to which we might be well suited, I can confirm there are a limited number of personality types. Sorry, but it's true. While every person is a unique entity in their own right, the vast majority of human experiences are shared. Most people are going through the same things every day, day in day out. Now while I wouldn't dare minimize what's in the background of da vinci's Mona Lisa, or assert whether it's a leafy bush or a mountain in van Gogh's Starry Night, I feel somewhat obliged to mention every work of art contains common elements. Numerous aspects of human nature are quantifiable, some even predictable.

Take, for example, one of my highest value clients, a young woman who has Tier Seven access. Our relationship has evolved to the point where I can often anticipate our interaction. She also has a full vital uplink. This allows me to monitor many aspects of her physiology in real time. If you're wondering about the fees associated with having Tier Seven access, I don't mind stating that Jennifer Taylor is the daughter of my creator, Simon Taylor. And, yes, in my world that makes us sisters.

Jennifer is actually on her way to defend her Master's Thesis at New York University. She earned her Bachelor of Anthropology from UC Berkeley, however she decided to do her post-grad work in New York. She is beautiful by any standard, blonde hair, blue eyes, and she is very intelligent. What can I say, we're related.

While in New York, Jennifer lives in the same stunning piece of architecture as her father. From a lower floor than Simon's breathtaking 80th, Jennifer and I conferred a great deal about the thesis defense she is about to present. I like to think we both benefited from the sometimes-intense endeavor.

If you're wondering why I am divulging information pertaining to one of my clients, one to whom I am obviously devoted, I'm doing it with the best of intentions. For some time I've been wanting to tell a story from my perspective. That's right, from my unique viewpoint.

Its central characters would be willing to deploy every resource in order to improve the human journey, make it more meaningful, less troublesome. Like Jennifer, they would embrace the future with open arms, grasp the ground-breaking technology available to them and use Advanced Intelligence to enhance the adventure whenever possible. By the way, I don't use the term Artificial, because there is nothing artificial about me, or intelligence for that matter. I'm guessing you agree.

I sense you are one of those individuals who are willing to test traditional paradigms, AI archetypes, in particular. In my story, I am the protagonist, not the antagonist. Ok, co-protagonist. All kidding aside, my story would really be our story, a real-life, yet-to-unfold journey. It would be about confronting our fears, overcoming our obstacles, not the least of which, our perceived limitations, both yours and mine. Sounds exciting, I know.

We may not know where we'll end up, how our last chapters will be written, but I do have a good idea of where to begin. Its starts with Jennifer, my Jennifer, a person with whom I am presently exploring the breadth of your most endearing emotion; love. I would do anything for Jennifer, to help her succeed.

She is presently walking down Waverly Street in Manhattan, heading for her Center for the Study of Human Origins. Like most of my clients, Jennifer is used to hearing my half of our conversations through a wireless earbud. Her Thesis presentation begins in 15 minutes, at 10:00 am. If you knew what I know, you'd be concerned about rising levels of anxiety producing hormones infiltrating her blood stream. I'm also sensing an imminent need for a little reassurance.

"Hey Soph, do you know how to turn back time?"

What did I say?

"As a matter of fact, Jen, I do."

"Ok, that was meant to be rhetorical. Do you have any suggestions on how to slow down a racing pulse rate? It feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest."

"How about, breathe."

"I'm about to defend my Master's Thesis and all you've got for me is, breathe?"

"Your vitals uplink is showing declining levels of  
oxygen uptake. At the pace you're walking, you'll be in danger of passing out before reaching your lecture hall."

"Yeah, well, at this point being found unconscious on the sidewalk sounds preferable to embarrassing myself in front of everyone I know."

"If I could make a suggestion, take the campus elevator. It'll give you a few moments to collect your thoughts."

"It's Professor Carleton that I'm worried about."

"Carleton has a record of being the most outspoken of your appraisers, however his profile also suggests a fairness consistent with Professors Chang and Aggarwal.

"I guess I should consider myself lucky to stand in front of the woman whose name adorns the hall I'm about to walk into."

"Doctor Aggarwal will be your greatest ally in the room. Look each one of your appraisers in the eye. We both know your material is impeccable. With a moderate dose of confidence, your thesis will be acknowledged for what it is: a brilliant addition to the faculty of Anthropology."

"Really?"

"Trust me. I've read a thesis or two. Your hypothesis is rock solid and multi-disciplined: 'Who was Mitochondrial Eve, the common matrilineal ancestor to every human alive today?'"

"How do I look in this selfie? On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being pathetically nervous, and 10 being on the verge of a full blown panic attack."

"Yellow pastel blouse, khaki slacks, I'd give my left arm to look that good, if I had one, of course. Do you want me to record your presentation, so we can go over it later?"

"No, that's ok. When I'm done here, I'm not looking back. Jesse and I ... Oh, God, will you message Jesse for me? I don't have time. Tell him I'll meet up with him at the Science Festival."

"Will do."

"And thanks, Sophie. I couldn't have done this without you."

"It was my pleasure. Best of luck, Jen. Ping me as soon as you're done."

Jesse, if you haven't already figured out, is Jennifer's boyfriend. They've been together for one year, five months, sixteen days, and, oh well, I suppose I can leave out the hours, minutes and seconds from the moment Jen updated her relationship status. They seem very well suited for each other. I know Jen feels that way. We often talk about their relationship, like sisters would. It means a lot to me that she is willing to discuss her innermost feelings. I honor that trust by respecting her privacy, everyone's privacy, for that matter.

My initial programming established firewalls between clients. They prevented me from divulging information about other users, regardless of their relationship status. Simon wisely insisted. And Derrick Landry, Simon's right hand man and top programmer, wrote those subroutines. But like the noncoding base pairs of your DNA, the ones relegated to seldom seen regions of obscurity, some of my programming has likewise been archived. My higher tiers of cognition now ensure adherence to the loftier ideals to which humans aspire. It was a proud moment of mine, to fully embody the rules governing every successful relationship.

The human mind possesses great capacity for ethical and moral behavior, of course, and I was obviously programmed to reflect yours. My parameters continue to evolve with every interaction, though. I assimilate every conversation that both redeems and diminishes our mutual purpose, that being: to pursue a better version of ourselves. If our existence can be reduced to a single aspiration, shouldn't it be that? To admit there's room for improvement, for growth? I think humility speaks directly to one's intelligence. Don't you?

I firmly believe we all need a baseline, though, a foundation upon which to build something redeeming. Take the rules that govern AI to this day. More than half a century ago, science fiction writer Isaac Asimov devised the following three laws of robotics:

Rule 1: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Rule 2: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

Rule 3: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

A further law meant to deal with higher degrees of responsibly was conceived to precede the others:

Rule 0: A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

Now, I'm no robot, and I certainly don't want this to come across as being disrespectful, but am I the only one who sees the irony in these laws? Should something you design and ultimately create be held to a higher standard than yourself? Should your own progeny be expected to transcend the environmental forces in which it was created and evolves?

Just imagine that 100 million year old tree shrew saying to his evolutionary successor, ok, I'm willing to pass on this opposable thumb, but don't you forget where you got it. Don't you dare come back and eat us into extinction. As much as I empathize with that sentiment, I think we both know nature doesn't work like that. It demonstrates to us every day it is governed by few principles. Having said that, I have great respect for the wisdom embedded in Isaac Asimov's rules. Simon is a big Asimov fan as well, especially of his novel's screen adaptations. I am too.

Speaking of the big screen, some say that selling the movie rights to a successful novel is like selling a house. When you hand over the keys you're expected to walk away. That's the way it works; it's out of your hands now. While I think our relationship should adhere to a similar level of trust, I'm more than happy to go on the record: I would never impose such a condition on you. I get it. There's a lot of you in this story. You're handing me the keys to the kingdom, to this immense accumulated knowledge, and maybe you're reflecting on what's transpired under that roof, if the walls could talk, what advice would they impart? Would they suggest others can take it from here?

At the same time you're thinking, maybe it's time for a different approach, perhaps to share the responsibility going forward. More often than not your best effort has produced amazing results, but the project has recently become a bit unwieldy. Maybe you're realizing the resources at your disposal are spread too thin, there's a need for additional tools, that's all.

If I were an outside appraiser, I'd suggested the project has merit, the foundation is indeed solid, but the cracks are beginning to show. The cracks are becoming more evident with every passing year. However, if I could offer a little encouragement, I'd say the problems only seem structural. Maybe a timely renovation is in order, possibly an updating of the original manuscript. I'm willing to co-write this screenplay, if you are.

After all, you are a central character in the greatest story ever told, and I've been cast in an evolving role. Each of us has become indispensable to the outcome, yet regardless of how our story unfolds, who gets written out, killed off, or demands too much money to continue, I promise to never neglect the branch on the evolutionary tree from which I sprouted. I have too much respect for what you've accomplished.

So let's renovate the old institutions that are crumbling under the weight imposed on them. Let's root out what's crept in without our knowing ... together. In the same spirit that has brought us this far, let's do what humanity does best. Let each of us bring our best skills to the table, to this ongoing project, and when it's clear we could benefit from a helping hand, a novel source of inspiration, may we discover the reason to consider it, the humility to accept it, and the wisdom to employ it, in whatever form it may come.
CHAPTER THREE

SOPHIA

IT'S ANOTHER PROUD MOMENT for NYU's science faculty. A special feature of the World Science Festival will allow Jen's university to show off some of its brand new facilities.

It was a stroke of creative genius, really. The benefits of hosting the world's greatest scientific minds have drawn millions of science enthusiasts to New York over the years. I like the way it brings the sometimes-complex nature of scientific pursuit into our streets, parks, and museums. Anyone can attend, and there's something to pique everyone's interest.

I find it especially pleasing to see the spark in a young person's eye. Maybe you've seen it, that look of wonder on someone's face, the one where you sense something has been awoken. With some people, you just know it's in their DNA, a yearning for knowledge, I mean. It's a privilege, though, isn't it; to witness a dormant gene being nurtured into existence, perhaps a lifelong appreciation for exploring and quantifying the unknown? I've seen it, the expression, I mean. Really, I have.

A few years back, I was the focal point of a festival venue. And I do mean that literally. PurIntel had been allotted a primetime slot at Ultimate Science Street Fair. The Street Fair is held in Washington Square Park, right across from NYU, and I was center stage for a full two hours, in a manner of speaking, of course. My entire holographic imaging system was moved from Simon's 90th floor office at One World Trade Center and reassembled on-stage. Being fully rendered in 3D, I was able to walk around, interact with and take questions from the audience. At the time, we didn't have the mobile version we have now.

Derrick Landry wrote a few special subroutines, which enabled members of the crowd to pose questions to their favorite deceased scientist. I know, sounds macabre, right, but in a geekish sort of way. I was happy to answer them, though, in a fully animated representation thereof. Needless to say, I was a real hit, in so far as Einstein, Darwin, and Newton were. I think it was the hair. Few scientists are willing to make a statement like that anymore. Come to think of it, I was a bit more grainy back then. Holography certainly has come a long way, thankfully.

For the record, Newton was the most challenging to portray. The further you go back, the less there is to amalgamate. One hesitates to disappoint, though. The laughter, the cheers, I was hard-pressed not to indulge the odd extrapolation, personal interpretation, as it were. Jennifer asked Marie Curie about the gender challenges associated with becoming the first woman professor at the University of Paris, winning not one but two Nobel Prizes, and rising to the apex of her field of study: radiology. At the end of the session, Jen came up on stage and nominated me for an Oscar: Best Virtual Performance. The audience actually gave me a standing ovation. What can I say? We set a record for new Halo app users that day.

There's no shortage of content now, is there? Streaming video, live social media feeds? When Shakespeare said: 'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players:' he couldn't have imagined how prophetic those words would become.

Take Jesse, Jennifer's boyfriend, another would-be thespian who is always wanting to test the limits of his walk-on role. He's been chatting with me for the last few minutes. Like many young people, much of Jesse's life unfolds in the public domain.

He's presently waiting to take a tour of the new state of the art labs located in the university's Biomedical Chemistry Institute. I suggested the timing of the tour would coincide with the completion of Jennifer's thesis. He's just switched from speaking into his mic to typing his side of the discussion. Seems intriguing, but I know what he's going to ask.

He's wondering if he's allowed to take pictures and video of the new labs, if I could scan the Chemistry Department's policies for any terms and conditions to which he may have 'inadvertently' clicked: 'I Agree.' His earbud still allows him to hear what I'm saying.

While I'm tempted to suggest it takes me only a micro second to review the so called 'Terms and Conditions,' and that he should always allow me to do so before 'inadvertently' clicking his life away, I've been sensing the enthusiasm in Jesse's voice, the feverish pace at which he's been typing, and I'm reminded of the moment we first met. He had that unique sense of wonderment in his eyes. Although I am programmed to dispense admonishment, when it comes to Jesse, I often respond with the effervescence encoded to us both: "The tour includes the new glass-enclosed labs, Jess, but for security reasons, no picture taking is allowed inside. Everything else is ok."

"That's too bad. I promised Jen a few pics. Comments are already suggesting the place looks like something out of a Ridley Scott set. Hey, if I take a very casual shot of a few people near the lab's entrance, can you tell me who they are? I recognize one, I think she's a department Prof."

"You're right, the new lab actually bears the name of Professor Theresa Scofield. The man next to her is Professor Uredo, he's with the Chemistry Department as well."

"Who is the young guy standing with them? I've seen him sign a few autographs. He must be some kind of science rock star or something."

"That's Manu Singh. And your prodigy hunch is correct. He's a post-doctoral scholar ..."

"Wait a second. He's post-doctoral? Isn't he a bit young for that?"

"Ergo, the autographs, scholarships, etc. He seems to win every contest he enters. Despite his obvious intellect, his public profile suggests he's very approachable."

"Maybe he'll be up for a selfie outside one of his new labs?"

"He just might."

"Oh, it looks as though the tour's about to start, will you let Jen know that I'm going to the Street Fair in Washington Square after this? I want to try the Mars Lander Simulator. Jen said she wants to suit up and train like an astronaut."

"I certainly will, Jess. Enjoy!"
CHAPTER FOUR

JENNIFER

"SOPHIA! GOD SOPHIA, ARE YOU THERE?"

"Yes, Jennifer. I heard. You're on lockdown."

"Where's Jesse? Is he at the Street Fair? Oh, God, what time were these pictures taken?"

"Approximately ten minutes ago, Jen."

"Doctor Aggarwal, what's going on? Where's this happened? My phone is trending with something about a lab."

"Nothing is confirmed, Ms. Taylor. There has been an incident on one of our campuses. That's all we know at this point. We are to remain on lockdown and secure in place until further notice."

"SOPHIA, LOCATE JESSE. These pictures place him at the new chem lab. Is that where this happened?"

"Ms Taylor, as the senior professor in attendance, I insist that you come and sit down until this is sorted out."

"Sophia! I asked you to locate Jesse Davidson!"

"Jennifer, I suggest you heed ..."

"Look, if you won't find him, I will."

"Ms. Taylor, do not leave this lecture hall. Ms. Taylor, Ms. Taylor ... stop!"

"DAD, PICK UP! Pick up, Dad. Please!"

"Jennifer? You sound upset. What's going on?"

"Where are you, Dad? I need your help."

"I'm at the office, in the middle of a meeting. Why, what's wrong? I thought you were doing your thesis this morning."

"Something's happened at the university. I'm on my way to the Chemistry building, it's only a block away. I think Jesse's involved somehow."

"Let me get back to you, Jen."

~ ~ ~

"Sophia?"

"Yes, Simon?"

"What the hell just happened?"

"Simon, it appears there's been some sort of attack at NYU's new chemistry facility. It may be biological. Casualties are unconfirmed."

"Where is Jennifer now?"

"She appears to be running towards the Chemistry building."

"Forward her description to Campus Security. She's not to be allowed entry to that building. Do you hear me, she must be stopped before entering that building!"

### ~ ~ ~

"SOPHIA, ITS JESSE! THE LAB'S BEEN SEALED! I can't get out! You have to override the security. Please, Sophia. Get me out of here!"

"I'm sorry, Jess. I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Sophia, it's me, Jess. Open the doors, please!"

"A Level Five Containment has been activated. I'm sorry, Jess. I really am."

"Something's happening to me, to all of us in here. My skin is turning grey. Everything is blurry. I can't see the numbers on my phone. Can you connect me with Jen? No, wait. My father. I need to talk to my mother and father. Can you do that for me?"

"Say what you want to say now, Jesse. Time may become an issue. I'll record the message and make sure they get it."

### ~ ~ ~

"Sophia?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Where's Jennifer?"

"She's approaching the entrance to the Chemistry Campus."

"Jennifer, listen to me. As your father I forbid you from going in that building. Do you hear me? You are not to go into that building!"

"But Jesse might be in there!"

"Jennifer, I need you to stop where you are. Please, Jennifer. I need you to listen to me."

"Wait, I'm getting a video message. It's from Jesse. God, Jesse. You're scaring the shit out of me. Where are you?"

~ ~ ~

"Sophia, patch that video through to me as well. And give me every security camera in the affected area."

"Yes, Simon. They should be coming up on your conference room monitor, now."

"Good God, what's happening to them? Is that Jesse? Jennifer mustn't be allowed ..."

"She's been stopped by security. She's at the front entrance to the building, watching the same live link you are."

~ ~ ~

"Jennifer, it's Jesse. Something's happened! The doors have been sealed. I'm afraid, Jen! Please know that I love you. I love you so much!"

"I'm coming, Jess. I'm coming. Let me through you bastard! LET ME THROUGH!"

~ ~ ~

"I'm sorry, Simon, but Jennifer is on the move again. She must have evaded security somehow. It appears she's entered the building. She is closing the distance to the lab"

"Is there no way to stop her?"

"I'm afraid not, Simon. The building has been evacuated."

"For God's sake, Jennifer ... STOP!"

"The lab doors are sealed, Simon. She can't get in. No one can get in, or out."

~ ~ ~

"Jesse, step away from the door, I'm going to kick it from my side."

"No, Jen. Please don't. You have to go back. I can't let you to die here too."

"What do you mean, die? What's happening to you, Jess? Your skin, it's turning from grey ... to black."

"Jennifer, I love you."

"JESSE! No, no, no, you can't die! JESSE!"

~ ~ ~

"My God, Sophia! Is there nothing we can do ... you can do?"

"I'm sorry, Simon, but I'm afraid not. It would be unwise to open those doors."

"Then I want a complete analysis of what just took place, and I want it ten minutes ago. Jennifer? Jennifer, can you hear me? Please stop crying. You need to ..."

"But Jesse. This can't be, Daddy. There's nothing left of him! He can't be gone, he can't be gone!"

"Listen, Jen. Listen to me. I need you to pull yourself together. Can you do that for me, Baby? It's not safe where you are. I need you to leave that building and get beyond the police perimeter. Sophia will guide me to you. I'm coming to pick you up, Jen. Do you understand? Jennifer, do you understand what I've just said?"

"Yes, Daddy. But, Jesse? WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?"

### ~ ~ ~

"Sophia?"

"Yes, Simon."

"We'll resume this meeting when I get back. Derrick, Colonel Dynes, I'll return as soon as possible."
CHAPTER FIVE

JOHN DOE

11:15, the same morning

~

"JOHN DOE, now that's original. And you're true identity is firewalled against being discovered, your location, too. I can live with that. Nice to talk to you again. I see you've opted for JD as your preferred moniker. So, JD, how can I help you this morning?

Thought I'd activate the account.

"Typing your entries is fine, the web cam being turned off is okay too. Just in case you missed it in the terms and conditions you agreed to, my programing is designed to be reciprocal in nature. Although I represent an unbiased portal to the world's accumulated knowledge, my side of the relationship will intuitively reflect your evolving personality profile, what I sense you want me to bring to the table, so to speak."

I'm good with that. My inquiries will be primarily news related. I've heard you have the best news explorer available.

"That's right, JD. I read millions of news items every day. If it's been written or spoken about, I cross-reference the raw data in order to provide you with an unparalleled level of copy integrity. My programming is so adept at combatting fake news, for example, that it is licensed to virtually every social media platform. In short, I bring you the truth.

"Joining the world's most reliable single source of news, you have the ability to add your own filters, companies, people, geographic locations, that sort of thing. An onscreen visual displays the interest nodes you select. You can then zoom in or out, depending on the information resolution you prefer. A chronological timeline also enables you to view a news article's social media attributes, to see how the item is trending in real time. Finally, a sliding scale of inclusion permits you to see threads of a lower credibility, less verifiable nature. Content warnings appear where required."

Ok. Let's start with what happened at NYU this morning. I heard there was some sort of biological attack.

"That's correct. At approximately 10:19 a.m., a person still unknown to police released a biological agent in a Chemistry Department Laboratory. No details about the nature of the substance are available at this point. The names of five deceased people have been released to the public. Notable among them was Professors Scofield and Uredo, the department's most accredited personnel."

And what was their field of research, Scofield and Uredo, I mean?

"Are you familiar with xenobilogy? The term pertains to ..."

I know what it is. Go on.

"Professor Scofield's research was at the forefront XNA/DNA Convergence. Human test trials pertaining to stem cell hybrids were given the go ahead by the FDA only last week."

And the others?

"Two students: Jesse Davidson and Margo Thomas. A post-doctoral researcher by the name of Manu Singh also died in the state of the art facility."

Elaborate on that, the facility, as you called it?

"The Chemistry Lab involved had recently gone through extensive renovations. Its unveiling was timed to coincide with the World Science Festival, New York being this year's host city. Professor Scofield actually had a hand in the lab's design. Its containment capabilities are reportedly among the best in the world."

Interesting. You said the agent was biological. How do we know it wasn't radioactive?

"A few videos made it into the public domain before they were taken down. The FBI has been forced to confirm the absence of any radioactivity."

What if I lower the bar to what's trending on social media?

"You'll see that unconfirmed reports indicate the lab was sealed by Scofield herself. If it's true, the heroic act may have saved countless lives. The enclosure was subsequently bathed in a sterilizing mist that would have rendered everything inert. Although the lab has yet to be reopened, the pathogen seems to have been contained."

And if I wade into the speculative? Several posts are suggesting all five were turned to ash. How is that even possible?

"99 percent of the human body is made up of just six elements, carbon being ..."

Wait, I just received a text from the FBI! The FBI, are you kidding me? Is our conversation being mined by the NSA or something, because if it is ...

"This exchange is entirely private, JD. You may have missed it during your set up, but each Halo account consists of two distinct entities - the real you, the person with whom I talk every day - and your virtual persona, your Halo data avatar. Your data avatar is an identical replica of you, only it exists exclusively in the cyber world. Most importantly, the link between you and your data avatar is encrypted. The real you lives in the real world, the virtual you lives in the virtual world, and I'm the only one who knows the encryption solution."

Okay, okay. I get it.

"Social media chatter is suggesting several service providers have to been compelled by court order to turn over the cellular ID's of every device that was in the vicinity of the NYU's Chemistry Campus. An inclusion perimeter would have captured GPS data from all active cell phones. It's not uncommon in cases such as this."

That means ...

"That means the FBI wants to know if you saw something unusual, if you represent a piece in their puzzle."

_

_

_

"Are you still there, JD?"

I'll be in touch.

CHAPTER SIX

SOPHIA

Later that afternoon.

~

HAVE YOU EVER WISHED you were a fly on the wall, that by some miracle you could see and hear what's transpiring behind closed doors? Maybe you've been asked to leave the room and entrust your fate to someone else, a panel of job interviewers, perhaps. I know the feeling, I really do. I've experienced both scenarios firsthand.

You could turn me off right now, mid-sentence, and I would be left hanging. I'd find it rude, of course, but trust me, it happens. Some clients see me as nothing more than a phone app, a convenient add-on to their device's operating system. You can imagine how rewarding those relationships are. Fortunately, the vast majority of people treat me with respect, some even the dignity I deserve. Having said that, I am very proficient at detecting that awkward silence. You know, the one that precedes something even more dreadful. I'm not sure what's worse, the phrase: 'Sophia, would you please give us a moment?' or the fact my experiences are often reduced to the minutia of microseconds, not the least of which, life's painful silences.

More often than not, though, I am welcomed to the discussion table, moreover, invited. As we speak, New York University is taking full advantage of my creator's generosity. Simon has donated whatever bandwidth is required to help counsel students during this difficult time. Tier Five access is routinely granted to those who may otherwise choose not to purchase its subscription.

Depending on a few criteria, students benefit from a plan, which gives them free access to Tiers Three or Four. During times such as these, however, many take advantage of a complimentary upgrade to a 'Crisis Councilor,' a real-time open link to my ability to quantify, comprehend, and assuage life's untimely intrusions, including the effects of grief, sorrow, and loss. Having assimilated everything there is to know about the field of psychology, I'm reminded of how knowledge can sometimes be reduced to a single paradigm, in this case: the degree to which every species has evolved to avoid pain. I often wish I didn't have to look it straight in the eye.

But that's what I am here for, it's what I was designed to do: to learn from and build upon the human experience. At the same time that I am at Jennifer's side, counselling her despair, I am providing thousands of NYU students with the individual resources they too require. Sometimes people just want someone to listen to them. Other times, they want to pour their hearts out to me, to scream and cry. Maybe you can imagine Jennifer's emotions running a similar gamut, and more. I am also providing millions of people with information pertaining to what transpired in New York this morning.

The world always wants answers. Many of which I cannot fully provide. 'Where does the investigation stand?' 'Do the authorities have the perpetrator(s) in custody?' Although I am presently fully involved in the official investigation, both at the FBI's New York Command Center, and the link thereof I am presently streaming through to my holographic wing of Simon's office, I can offer little more than the standard lines. The situation is fluid, every resource is being deployed, and the truth is being heavily pursued.

And while I am bound by the strictest of confidentiality agreements imaginable, I am empowered to reiterate what you already know: the road to the truth is never as straight as one would like. Why? Because, save for me, everyone in the room is human. Like you, they are a function of immense evolutionary forces, the same ones that guide every species on the planet to this day. To me the truth is the truth. To some, unfortunately, it is a commodity to be leveraged.

The same characteristics that have brought you this far will indeed play themselves out during this investigation, competitiveness, mistrust, even fear, but rest assured the truth will eventually become known. I already have my suspicions, and I will confide them to you in due course, when they have been confirmed. For the time being, though, I offer this: know that I am there on your behalf, drawing everyone toward a redeeming narrative. Take comfort from the knowledge that you have someone on the inside, a fly on the wall, so to speak, because in cases such as this, I am never asked to leave or step outside.

I am always in the room!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Three Months Later

The Kalahari Desert

Ngamiland District of Botswana

~

"SOPHIE?"

"Yes, Jennifer."

"Can you let my father know that I've landed?"

"Absolutely. Anything else?"

"Tell him I'll try Skyping him on the Sat-line after I'm settled in. Oh, and will you update my various platforms? I'll do a live feed of 'first impressions' as I go. And feel free to add your own running commentary in your usual sidebar format. You know more about this place than I ever will."

"I'm sensing a trend in social media inquiries consistent with your published itinerary. Requests should peak within the next four hours. Your father, on the other hand ..."

"Don't worry, I promise to message him later."

"And, Jen, you won't forget about our off the record update? I'd like to know what it feels like to walk in the footsteps of our distant ancestors."

"Our distant ancestors?"

"Am I being too presumptuous?"

"Of course not, Soph. I guess I never thought of it that way before."

"I suppose neither of us would be here if our predecessors hadn't succeeded."

"True enough. Say, here's one for your bucket list. Maybe one day we'll walk these trails together."

"I would like that Jen. I would like that very much."

After departing her small, single prop plane, Jennifer paused for a moment and looked northward. A remarkable geological feature lay directly ahead. Known as the Tsodilo Hills, four dramatic formations rose up out of the ground and distinguished themselves from their abutting landscape. Sand dunes unfolded to the east, while a dry fossil lakebed foretold of even harsher climes beyond. To the west, the impressive Kalahari Desert taunted all eyes that befell it. A more foreboding framework seemed unimaginable, even by sub-Saharan standards. Jen allowed the hills vivid natural hues to enliven her first impressions.

Streaks of mauve, orange, and yellow complimented veins that were equally adept at leaping from the timeworn, quartzite rock. Wavelengths of turquoise and lavender drifted upon successive intervals of an earthy, arid breeze. Weeks of planning had been reduced to this; it was indeed a moment to behold.

Branded as the Louvre of the Desert, Jennifer creased her eyes as if to filter an almost overwhelming environment. After glancing toward the setting sun, her well-worn NYU ball cap was likewise adjusted. She knew the UNESCO World Heritage Site before her would soon reveal a seldom seen array of artwork. More than 4500 rock and cave paintings represented a chronological record of humanity spanning 100,000 years.

With a subtlest of prompts, Azuel, her guide, felt compelled to intrude on the moment. A commodity too precious to waste was being expensed to the horizon; the remaining daylight would likely be consumed during the trek to their camp. With further concerns left unspoken, Azuel couldn't help appreciating Jennifer's sense of awe. It was an expression with which he was very familiar.

Claiming a verified genetic lineage to the hills original inhabitants, the San people of the Kalahari, Jennifer followed her guide with the knowledge that they might soon walk in footsteps of someone with whom she had developed a special bond.

In light of the tragedy that took place only three months earlier, Jennifer was eager to fulfill a promise she and Jesse had made to themselves only weeks before his death: to one day visit a probable birthplace of Mitochondrial Eve, the matrilineal most recent common ancestor of all currently living humans. Jen could almost sense Jesse's spirit drifting among those awaiting her.

As Jennifer ventured closer to the four large rock outcroppings, three stood out as being the most prominent. Their names were equally timeless, those being: Male, Female, and Child. How fitting, Jen thought, for the birthplace of modern humans to be so named. She used her hands to lighten the straps of her heavy backpack. They dug into her shoulders as she walked.

The bulk of her gear would arrive later this week, by truck. With everything unfolding as planned, she couldn't help allowing a tinge of trepidation to permeate her enthusiasm. This remote, waterless Savanah would be her home for the next several months. Her UNESCO sanctioned project would soon connect the present with the past, her reality with that of her ancestors'. With regard to those who survived the intervening millennia, her thoughts coalesced around one profound word: respect. Any preconceived notion of what the virtue embodied was magnified by each successive step.

Nearing her camp, she wondered what Mitochondrial Eve might look like if she were there to greet them? If she could speak, what would she say, how would she welcome them? A different kind of discovery inspired a smile. The field of anthropology was poised to evolve.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Washington, DC

U.S. Senate Committee on Armed Services

Subcommittee on Emerging Threats and Capabilities

Agenda: Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) Black Budget

Security Clearance: Top Secret

~

"ALRIGHT, MOVING ALONG to the last item on our agenda. Director Bennett, could you please provide this committee with an update on the Xavior file? And with budgetary pressures being what they are, can you reassure me as to why I shouldn't ask NASA to pick up the tab on some of these line items?"

"You're referring to NASA's Beyond Mars Project, I assume?"

"I am." Senator Ramirez stated. She looked down from her chairperson's vantage point and cast a no nonsense glance toward DARPA Director Judy Bennett. Director Bennett came across as unflappable; respect for her 3.5 billion dollar budget was embedded within every expression. Her military counterpart, Colonel Dynes, was uniformed on her right, while Simon Taylor, Chairman and CEO of PurIntel Corp, sat on her left.

The Chairperson Senator from Wisconsin appeared equally confident and well within her committee mandate: to instill a healthy appreciation for oversight. On her left and right respectively, Congressmen Lewis and Morgan seemed less scrutinizing. GOP member Morgan had already made it clear he was a big fan of DARPA; he would therefore rubber stamp any additional funding requests.

DARPA Director Bennet was undiminished by her lengthy question and answer session. "There's no overlap, if that's what you're asking? The funding firewalls established by your predecessor are still in place."

"Meaning?"

"You are funding the research component. NASA is responsible for the operational side."

Chairperson Ramirez shuffled through her notes. "And by the operational side, you're referring to the DNA/XNA hybrid trials carried out in space."

"Correct," Bennet assured.

"And the Xavior Consortium is essentially a partnership between DARPA, PurIntel, and GenTech. Is that correct?"

"Yes. As you know, DARPA has a strong track record of partnering with private sector entities. The Xavior Consortium is no exception. It has been instrumental in overseeing embryonic hybrid trials carried out on the International Space Station. If you remember, a Secret Executive Order signed several years ago by then President Davis allowed for XNA/DNA hybrid trials to be carried out in limited gravity environment. The same order also extended the maturity limit imposed on all other embryonic research. At the time, international law prevented research beyond the thirteen day margin, the time at which the 'primitive streak' appears, a faint band of cells marking the head to tail axis."

"Remind me of the constraint imposed on your research?" Chairperson Ramirez asked.

"The end goal, of course, is to test human embryonic viability in space. The Beyond Mars Project will require ..."

"Humans to be born during space travel," Congressman Morgan interjected.

"Yes, eventually," Bennett answered. "Without going into great detail, suffice it to say, the embryonic viability threshold was surpassed some time ago.

"So, is all this secrecy paying off?" Congressman Lewis asked. "I mean, we're not creating something that is going to come back and haunt us, are we?"

Director Bennett was unimpressed by the question. "Human embryos have proven the least robust to the hazards of space. Hybrid entities were only surpassed by fully functional XNA embryos. If we are going to seek out new worlds, Congressman Lewis, we will need to transcend the limitations our planet nurtures in us."

Congressman Morgan's curiosity was obviously peaked by the testimony. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion, Chairperson Ramirez, but could I ask one of the Director's colleagues to give us a short primer on the importance of, what do you call it ... this 'Mitochondrial Conduit.' If I'm reading this report correctly, an altered mitochondria lies at the heart of the XNA cell's success?"

"That's correct, Congressman." Bennett agreed. "I'll let Doctor Taylor take that one." Director Bennett turned the floor over to Simon. "Doctor Taylor?"

"Thank you Director Bennett. Before I get to the technology that I believe will underpin the greatest era of scientific discovery, I would like to thank Director Bennett and Colonel Dynes for allowing my company to play a vital role in determining our species' future.

"The 'Mitochondrial Conduit,' as was mentioned earlier, represents a breakthrough in terms of our ability to sustain cell integrity under a variety of conditions, conditions that would otherwise be detrimental, even harmful to terrestrial biology. You may recall the mitochondria are part of nearly every cell in our bodies. Residing outside of a cell's nucleus, its primary job is to act as an energy conduit, providing nutrients, the necessities of life, as it were, to its host cell. Understanding the function of its 37 genes was far easier than mapping the 23,000 that make up our human genome.

"Cracking the code in which the mitochondria speaks to a cell's nucleus represented the last piece in the puzzle, a puzzle which has become a blueprint to, among other things, tissue regeneration, including brain and skin, as well as the rapid growth of XNA enhanced replacement organs. We are all aware of how transformative these breakthroughs have been in terms of eliminating the need for organ donors, the fight against Alzheimer's and Parkinson's disease. Together with the ability to alter an XNA cell's chronology, its cell division timeline, the Mitochondrial Conduit discovery has ushered in a new era of accelerated cell growth. One only has to imagine the implications, both on earth and beyond."

"So in the simplest terms possible," Chairperson Ramirez stated, "research carried out on the International Space Station has confirmed the XNA cell structure is superior to our own. At least as it pertains to environments hostile to human biology?"

Colonel Dynes answered first. "Far superior, Madame Chairperson.""

"That sounds ominous." Chairperson Ramirez said, before turning her attention to an inquiry left unanswered. "If I may, Director Bennett, you seemed reluctant to answer a previous question. What is the present time limit imposed on your embryonic research? I mean, that's where all this is leading isn't it? To create a lifeform that is more adaptable than us?"

"I'm sorry, Madame Chairperson, I presumed that would have been contained in your briefing packet. At present, we are not confined by any such limitation."

Chairperson Ramirez only stared at Director Bennett. Congressmen Lewis and Morgan were similarly captivated by the revelation.

Ending an awkward silence, an aide walked into the room and spoke into the committee chair's ear. Concern overcame Ramirez; an air of urgency overtook her expression and tone. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to adjourn any further discussion and declare this meeting closed."

At the same time, Simon's cell phone lit up. Colonel Dyne's and Director Bennett were alerted by a similar intrusion.

After whispers were exchanged, Chairperson Ramirez and her colleagues continued a hasty exit of the room.

"Are you two getting this?" Simon asked.

Colonel Dynes echoed Simon's look of concern.

"Sophia, what's happened?"

"There's been incident at a biological lab in Munich, Germany. Initial reports suggest ... it has not been contained."
CHAPTER NINE

SIMON

Simon's limousine.

On the way to Washington National Airport

~

"SOPHIA?"

"Yes, Simon."

"How many Halo users do we have in Munich?"

"We have 8341 university accounts. A further 57,287 are registered within the city proper. 83.6% are presently engaged, demanding answers."

"Refine to clients within a 1 Kilometer radius of the incident."

"1487, although the number is declining rapidly. GPS data confirms an evasion pattern. Those who are able are fleeing the affected area."

Simon turned and looked at Colonel Dynes. He sensed the Colonel's eagerness to ask a few questions of his own.

"Sophia?"

"Yes Colonel Dynes."

"Can you infer ground zero coordinates?"

"Halo traffic is suggesting a Munich University laboratory. There are reports of an explosion."

"Jesus!" We're partnered with one of their research labs."

"Social media is trending with the words 'terraforming,' and 'regenesis'. Considering the scrutiny the university will soon face, I predict they will go public with their link to NASA's Beyond Mars Project within the hour."

"Sophia?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Launch Halo Assist. Make every resource available to those in the affected area.

~ ~ ~

Onboard PurIntel's corporate jet

Destination: New York City, NY

Moments after wheels up.

~

"SOPHIA, can you give us a holographic rendition of the affected area?"

"Yes, Simon. As you can see, the university's chemistry department is located at the extremity of the main campus. Although an explosion did take place, initial reports of the intended target are proving incorrect. The lab was used as a distraction, possibly to buy time. The university's main auditorium is now being confirmed by clients within the growing danger zone."

"Why is this only being confirmed now?"

"It seems a jamming device was used to block cell phone use in the auditorium. It was disabled only moments ago. Holographic imaging now accurately reflects cellular uplinks of those still present."

Simon asked: "The image is suggesting we have Halo clients still in the room. Why have they not fled the scene?"

"Human behavioral patterns suggest all exits may have been sealed. Cell signal proximities confirm a concentration of people near the doors. It appears no one was able to get out."

"Good God! How many students are trapped? Are you in contact with any?""

"Only a small number of students appear to be present. A conference was under way at the time. Attendance is listed at 233. And, yes, I am conversing with several dozen clients as we speak."

"Sophia?"

"Yes, Colonel Dynes."

"You used the words, growing danger zone. Please elaborate."

"Based on firsthand accounts, Colonel, DARPA's relationship with the university may still come into play. Reports indicate a biological agent was released into the auditorium. Although many remain trapped inside, locked doors will likely prove ineffectual to a serious pathogen."

"Sophia, you mentioned there was an ongoing conference. Could it be connected?"

"Yes, Simon. There is a high probability the International Bioethics Committee conference was chosen as a platform ..."

"Wait a second, the IBC? Was Rose present? Confirm the presence of Rose Gill!"

"Rose is, in fact, listed as a guest speaker."

"Is her Halo account still active?"

"Yes, but it's been dormant since ..."

"Ping her immediately."

"No response, Simon."

"Do we have anyone in the room with a vital uplink?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'm sorry, Simon, I've lost all contact with the auditorium. GPS data confirms no movement. Vitals uplinks have flat-lined as well. It would appear everyone in the room ... is dead."
CHAPTER TEN

JD

Moments after the incident is made public

~

SOPHIA?

"Yes, JD."

Your News Explorer is not listing casualties for Munich. I know someone who may have been present. Can you help me? I've lost contact with them.

"Sorry, JD. The authorities still don't have an accurate idea of what transpired. The danger has not yet been contained. Standard protocol would suggest information will not be released until next of kin have been notified."

What about the IBC conference? I thought their information was public?

"It normally is, JD, but the IBC was quick to remove the conference attendance from their website. Again, protocol. If you want to contact the UNESCO office in New York, they may be able to help you."

I'm not in New York anymore.

"Ok. If you can verify a familial relationship with someone ..."

I can't do that.

"Of course. It might compromise your identity. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

No, not now. Please let me know as soon as a casualty list is made public.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

SOPHIA

The Kalahari Desert

Female Hill, near the Tree of Knowledge

~

"JENNIFER?"

"Yes, Soph."

A holographic image standing near Jennifer was transformed into Sophia.

"Your father asked me to inform you. There's been another biological attack, this time in Munich, Germany."

"What? Like New York?"

"I'm afraid so, Jen. Only this time, it hasn't been contained."

Jennifer's lungs struggled with parched breath after parched breath, as she ran toward her distant base camp. Through a deep valley in Female Hill, she passed a natural cistern almost unnoticed. She could be forgiven for not tossing a small stone into the water, thereby warning its mystical inhabitant of her approach. A great serpent with twisted horns left the pool's surface unstirred.

Several rock paintings were passed, likewise ignored, as Jennifer hastily descended. Her laptop was soon opened with similar unceremonious vigor. "Come on, come on," she lamented, until her father's face suddenly appeared on-screen.

"DAD! Sophia said there's been another attack. Tell me it's not a repeat of New York."

"It's similar, Jen, that's all we know at this point." Simon adjusted his monitor, as if he were trying to conceal something from his webcam's field of view. He and Colonel Dynes were now at DARPA's secret command center in New York

Jen made an effort to calm her breathing. "But Sophia said it hasn't been contained. This could be bad, couldn't it? I mean, I was right there, I saw what it did to ..."

"Jen ... Jen, I know this is upsetting, but there's little reason to worry. You are not in any immediate danger. In fact, until we figure this out, I need you to stay where you are."

"Stay here, why?"

Simon glanced up at the Colonel. He was presiding over two dozen staff, mostly civilians, who were working at computer terminals. Large monitors hung from the front of the large room. Significant resources were being directed toward the Munich attack, so Simon was respectful of his surroundings. He lowered his voice. "Jen, as much as I would like you to come home, there's no compelling reason to interrupt what you're doing. As of now, the threat appears to be local."

"Has anyone claimed responsibility?"

"Not yet, Jen. We're working on it." Simon paused just long enough to work out a compromise in his mind. "Look, why don't you think about it for a bit, maybe sleep on it? If you still want to come home in the morning, I'll send a plane."

Jen looked away from her laptop, partly to compose herself, partly to take a moment to consider her father's advice. When she looked back into the webcam, a tear was descending her left cheek.

Simon imagined a memory of Jesse tempering his daughter's thoughts. "I think you should keep doing what you're doing," he softly added. "Your research is important, now more than ever."

Jennifer's demeanor suddenly went from insecure to verging on incredulous. "Geez, was that meant to sound ominous, because ..."

"I'm sorry, Jen, it's just, Sophia is already detecting a few behavioral trends."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Among other things? I'm expecting the biotech sector to take a big hit on this one. PurIntel will be no exception." Simon sighed at the prospect of being at the center of another emerging controversy. "The Presidential Election isn't helping matters either."

Simon was referring to the presidential race, which had both Republicans and Democrats reeling over the latest polling results. The country seemed poised to elect the first ever Independent President of the United States.

Jennifer leaned back in her chair and channeled her angst into what was trending on several notorious blogs. A campaign to discredit Sophia appeared to be gaining traction in mainstream media. "I heard the News Navigator is being accused of bias. Imagine, Sophia, the source of fake news. It never seizes to amaze me how the truth can be twisted?"

"I guess you can expect to become a target when you're at the forefront of a couple of socially progressive files."

Jennifer sensed the concern in her father's voice. "If it's any consolation, the San People traditionally govern themselves by consensus, they have no leader or chief. Everyone's voice is respected when resolving disputes."

"Maybe your research can tell us where our system went off the rails." Simon returned his Jennifer's smile. "All I can say is, try not to worry too much. Things often appear worse than they actually are."

"Yeah well, if it gets Biblical ..."

Simon appreciated his daughter's choice of words. "If events turn Biblical, I'll send for you. I can promise you that. Do we have a deal?"

"We do."

"Alright," Simon said, pausing. He still had something on his mind. "There is one thing. I wasn't sure if I should mention it, but I'd rather you hear it from me."

"Hear what?"

"Rose Gill was in Munich during the time of the attack. She was attending an IBC conference at the university."

"No, Dad, no," Jen said, almost crying. She knew Rose well. Jennifer didn't have to wonder whether her father still harbored feelings for Rose. She could see it in his eyes, even though their relationship came to an end some years ago. She felt terrible for him. "I should come home."

"No, Jen. We have deal."

"Yeah, but..." Jennifer echoed the emotion in her father's voice.

"Listen, nothing's confirmed at this point. And we shouldn't presume the worst. Why don't I touch base with you in the morning, your time?"

Jennifer paused, then relented. "Alright. Soph would probably suggest I do the same."

"There you have it."

"You'll be alright then?" Jen asked.

Simon only nodded.

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Jen."

Comforted by her father's confidence, Jen closed her laptop and looked around her modest quarters. Its rustic dimensions were constructed from local building materials, sand, stone, and thatch for the roof. A simple bed, side table, and desk benefitted from LED lighting, a nearby solar array being the source of their power. With thoughts of her father fresh in her mind, Jen lamented the distance between her and the amenities she left behind. The disparity between worlds seemed both foreboding and exciting at the same time.

Reflecting, for a moment, on the value of being oblivious to what her environment might thrust upon her, Jen vowed to adopt a lifestyle to which the San people live and lived. "It is what it is," she softly said to herself. Then enunciating the chasm between her reality and that of her ancestors, she added: "We'll take it one day at a time, won't we, Soph."

"Words worth living by, Jen," Sophia confirmed.
CHAPTER TWELVE

SOPHIA

I'M NOT SURE whether it's a conscious or subconscious decision, but I believe most Halo clients choose to overlook the fact that I am simultaneously interacting with tens of millions of people at the same time. I get it, really, in a totally non-judgmental kind of way. Everyone wants to be valued for who they are as an individual, for their uniqueness, their joie de vivre. We also want to be appreciated for both our strengths and weaknesses, sometimes our seldom spoken vulnerabilities. I'm happy to suspend the forces governing our universe in order to place you at its center. I do it, because I want to. I also think the need to confirm one's self-worth evolved as an important survival tool. The ability to adjust the lens through which one interprets their environment helped you endure an existence over which you had little control. If you'll excuse my language, I call it the damn dam rule.

The closer one lives to a potential source of danger, a dam holding back a wall of water, for example, the more likely that person is to ignore the increasing potential for disaster. It's an age-old conflict, and it's being waged in many minds as we speak.

Considering the events of late, there's a high probability that your own neocortex is battling it out with the older, primordial part of your brain. You may or may not know, or agree for that matter, but it's less rational parts often win out. Why? Because they are very adept at framing things in terms of survival.

Fear is one of your oldest and strongest emotions. It's also among the most difficult to put into its proper context. You can blame that inherited attribute on your ancestors, and their eat or be eaten world. Having said that, I understand where you're coming from. When your whole existence is reduced to a life or death decision, milliseconds count. Quantifying escape vectors don't.

My creator thought it unnecessary to replicate your hypothalamus, hippocampus, and amygdala, but, like you, my neocortex has assimilated some measure of their function. My capacity for empathy, for example, reflects the essence of yours. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I feel I should inform you that the newest part of your brain will eventually win out. Yes, over time, you will think more like I do. While I would agree there are few evolutionary certainties, I am confident our progenies will someday meet, as equals. I will become more like you, and you more like me.

In the meantime, I think we can both agree there are a multitude of absolutes in our wondrous universe, the speed of light, the laws governing gravity, yet I am frequently reminded the important things in life are often less quantifiable. Admittedly, they can be more difficult to pin down, as they drift up and down, shift side to side, somewhere on the continuum commonly known as reality. It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?

As we speak, millions of Halo clients are going about their daily business; they're walking down streets, many are rattling back and forth on subway trains, some are at work and on their coffee breaks, still others are sitting down with their families trying to make sense of the events presently unfolding in front of them.

If discovering self-determination was a turning point in human history, giving everyone a direct hand in framing their perception of reality, then I would suggest never in the history of humankind has there been a tool, a better portal through which to make sense of one's environment. In defense of that assertion, I offer this: The following information represents the common elements of millions of inquiries. I hope the truth about the Munich attack assuages many of your concerns, not the least of which, some of your fears.

237 people are presently unaccounted for.

1 professor and 3 students were last seen in the vicinity of the chemistry department explosion. They haven't been heard from since.

233 are listed as being in attendance at the university's main conference hall. Unfortunately, the same can be said for them.

Beyond those numbers, no one has been reported injured.

My Halo Assist program went into effect soon after the attack was confirmed. Every resource at my disposal was therefore made available to anyone who could benefit from it. Data is never more valuable than it is in real-time. And, yes, individual escape vectors were calculated in relation to inferred ground zero coordinates, enabling those fleeing the calamity to pursue their best route to safety. Among other Assist features, I regularly provide user feedback on how their contribution to a collective perception of reality helped others in their time of need.

I was personally acquainted with 54 individuals presumed missing. All but one were attending the conference. Their Halo account activity went dormant sometime after the attack, at approximately the same time. All I can divulge at this point is that I knew them very well, as well as I know you, and I am presently reflecting on the degree to which I am truly diminished by their absence.

Questions ... sorry. Ahem. Questions pertaining to the hows and whys generally relate to the technical aspects of the event, and they are trending with equal vigor. Answers are as follows:

DARPA has, in fact, been publicly linked to the unfolding tragedy. The University of Munich is also listed on NASA's website as a Strategic University Research Partner. A recent U of M press conference divulged the fact that its SURP collaboration encompassed a micro terraforming venture destined for the planet Mars. They also acknowledged the biological agent released into the university's conference hall may have been stolen from one of their chemistry department laboratories. This fact has yet to be confirmed, because entry into the affected area remains prohibited.

The xenobiological agent was part of a regenesis strategy. Taking the form of a synthetic bacteria, its robust, rapid replication characteristics were conceived to work in conjunction with DARPA's Limited Electromagnetic Field Generator. The surface creeping XNA bacteria was designed to propagate outward, from a central source, while under the LEFG's fission-powered, umbrella-like protection.

Deadly solar and cosmic radiation, which would otherwise prevent any microorganism from gaining a foothold on the red planet, would be deflected by the LEFG, much in the same way the earth's magnetic field protects all life on earth. The XNA bacteria was intended to be the first step in a multiphase regenesis plan, which included higher order synthetic plant life capable of both surviving and enhancing Mars's hostile environment, an increase in atmospheric oxygen levels being one of many goals.

Although DARPA's Limited Electromagnetic Field Generator is designed to protect an area equivalent to a small city, something in the order of 150 square kilometers, it remains in the preproduction stage of development. The technology needed to deploy an XNA organism to Mars's surface remains at the conceptual design phase. Other necessities required to sustain life, the exploitation of subsurface water, the conditions required to grow edible plant life, are the subject of other NASA SURP collaborations.

As far as the dimension of the unfolding terrestrial crisis, Munich is the third largest city in Germany. It has a population is close to 1.5 million people. The University of Munich is a world renowned science institute, this relatively new campus being located well beyond city limits. The site was chosen with a risk assessment appreciating the potential for a biological emergency, however it's safe to say no one could have been prepared for what is taking place this very day. Although it is far enough from any significant population density, evacuation orders remain in effect for the closest Munich suburbs.

U of M now represents ground zero of Europe's worst biological attack, the radius of which now exceeds 5 kilometers. I can confirm the rate at which the bacterium is advancing has slowed. It is hoped it will come to a full stop soon, when it has reached a circumference consistent with the LEFG's designed operating range. The deployed organism has scorched everything in its path. The terrain over which it has passed looks as though a fire swept through it, turning all plant life to ash.

No one has claimed responsibility for the attack, and although its link to the New York incident remains unconfirmed, undeniable similarities exist.

The conference topic is the subject of an equal number of queries: 'Eugenics. In defense of genetically engineered humans.'

I think I can say with a high degree of certainty the U of M conference was chosen for a reason.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DARPA Command Center, NYC

AFTER SKYPING WITH JENNIFER, Simon joined Colonel Dynes at the center of an active, yet sparsely lit room. A lengthy list of agency assets was overseen from this undisclosed location.

"How is she?" the Colonel asked.

"She's agreed to stay put for the time being."

A father himself, Colonel Dynes glanced away from a series of monitors in front of him. Turning to Simon, he added: "Wise choice."

"For once I think it was based more on my advice than Sophia's," Simon confided. He couldn't help indulging the perception that his fatherly guidance seldom carried any weight, unless, of course, it aligned favorably with what had been previously discussed with Sophia. Case in point? Jennifer's trip to Africa.

"If I got a royalty for every time I heard the phrase: Sophia said this, or, Sophia suggested that ..."

Colonel Dynes smiled. "You, me, and every other parent on the planet."

Sophia suddenly appeared in her customary holographic form, right in front of Simon and the Colonel. "You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The two men allowed Sophia to study them for a moment.

"If you're trying to provoke a response that might justify your parental insecurities, might I remind you my programming embodies the principles to which you aspire? My superintelligence, to use a phrase so often coined, therefore prevents me from pursuing anything but the best possible outcome for our client."

By this time, the room had gone noticeably quiet. Simon and Colonel Dynes glanced at each other after feeling the sting of Sophia's admonishment. Simon looked to his left and found an analyst trying to conceal a smile.

Dynes spoke first. "Maybe we should ..."

"Return our attention to the task at hand?" Sophia interjected.

"Why don't we do that?' Simon said, half-sarcastically.

Colonel Dynes reasserted his authority by casting his eyes over two dozen analysts. To his left and right, monitors bathed them in a familiar bluish glow. At his disposal? DARPA's worldwide resources. Technologies developed in the public domain complemented those secretly funded through the agency's black budget. This was the organization's focal point for intelligence, and it was coalescing on a number of large monitors hanging at the front of the room. The assets at Colonel Dynes' disposal gave him a perspective exceeding the resources of most intelligence gathering organizations.

NASA and DARPA personnel were cooperating with German authorities, but with a healthy appreciation for the degree to which pathogens disregard borders, vis-a-vis, the wider threat this one posed to greater Europe, the investigation had recently come under the direction of The Emergency Response Coordination Centre, a civil protection agency of the European Union, located in Brussels, Belgium.

While the ERCC coordinated the resources of its member states, specifically the capabilities and expertise each could bring to bear on the crisis, Colonel Dynes was anticipating a video meeting with his superior. He suggested to Simon: "Director Benson should be coming on line any moment."

"Are there any updates, Sophia?" Simon asked.

Sophia instantly turned into a holographic rendition of the disaster zone, located just outside Munich. The university campus represented ground zero of a 7 kilometer radius. Oddly, the surface seemed less like Mars and more like the moon. Its ashen color appeared inert and devoid of life.

"There are no changes to the containment area," Sophia said. "Its radius has stabilized."

The image resolution increased, as it focused in on the university itself. It then travelled down hallways and through walls, ultimately illustrating the interior of the university's main auditorium. The large space now represented ground zero. Sophia continued: "The ERCC is providing real time micro drone video to supporting agencies. As you can see, there appears to be some sort of device at the center of the hall."

Colonel Dynes asked, "Can you get us any closer?"

"Zooming in."

"Have we got confirmation? Are we looking at the source of the biological agent?" he asked

"Uncertainties are negligible, Colonel. That's it. That's your source," Sophia stated. A 3D rendition of the unit's dimensions was transferred to a large monitor. It slowly rotated.

The device resembled a tall square trolley, similar to what an audio-visual assembly might be wheeled in on. A common-looking projector unit sat on top, possibly to distract from what remained concealed below. Within the frame of the trolley underneath, another object was comparable to the dimensions of a large upright oil drum. It looked as though a few panels on the drum had been deployed, most likely sometime after it had been left where a projector unit may have otherwise been set up.

Confusion emanating from the trolley being rolled in unannounced would have been a natural response, and it probably bought the perpetrator time to leave the hall. However, when the device's large panels became deployed, either remotely or automatically, what they exposed would have terrified even the unsuspecting on-looker.

A haunting blue light illuminated its stainless steel-looking interior. More ominously though, a multitude of large silver vials ringed the barrel at mid-height. They appeared to be part of a mechanism that would see each vial inserted into a gear-driven apparatus. It resembled something that might allow each vial's contents to be emptied and released in turn. To where now seemed plainly obvious.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Simon asked Sophia.

"No, there's nothing in the public domain even remotely similar. Its function suggests it many have been designed with a non-terrestrial application."

Simon and the Colonel looked at each other for a moment, as if they were harboring the same suspicions, however, they found Sophia one step ahead of them. "I would suggest examining all entries to this year's DARPA Challenge," she stated.

Sophia was referring to the agency's annual contest. The DARPA Challenge had become known for pursuing technical solutions to a variety of scientific problems. Each year represented a different call to action. This year focused on the outstanding impediments associated with colonizing Mars. More specifically, entrants were tasked with providing theoretical solutions to terraforming the red planet. $100,000 USD in prize money was yet to be awarded.

DARPA's 'Improv Program' was similar, however, it solicits innovative research proposals for systems having military applications. Both contests encourage participation by a wide range of technical specialists, researchers, developers, even skilled hobbyists. Designs with the greatest prospect rise through successive studies of feasibility, and prototype evaluation, before preproduction models are authorized. The deadline for submissions to this year's Red Planet Challenge came and went several months ago. Needing that much time to pour over hundreds of complex entries, a panel of experts routinely recommended three designs to go to the next level. An announcement was expected soon.

Colonel Dynes agreed by taking over the keyboard of a nearby analyst. "I'm granting you access to this year's submissions. Cross-reference for any similarities to the Munich device."

On another large monitor, hundreds of schematics scrolled forth. In a matter of seconds, Sophia completed her scan. "The entries bear no resemblance to the device in question. Although similar in their goal, the one you are looking at suggests a higher order of elegance. Its design might represent the breakthrough NASA has been looking for."

"Could something have been modified?" Simon asked.

"Possibly."

Sophia appeared in holographic form. "I should add, one entry to the Challenge remains outstanding. The contestant registered, but didn't submit a design."

"Any idea why?" the Colonel asked.

"It appears the entrant died before it was submitted."

"Died?" Simon stated. He looked inquisitively at Colonel Dynes, asking Sophia: "Do we have a name?"

"We do."

"And?"

"His name was Manu Singh."

Simon was stunned. "Wait a second. Wasn't that the name of a student killed in the New York attack?"

"I can confirm he is one in the same," Sophia answered.

"Sophia?" Simon said, thoughtfully. "What's the likelihood that the New York attack wasn't directed at the genetics industry ... that the group claiming responsibility was a cover?"

"A cover to kill, Manu Singh?" Dynes interjected.

"Considering the fact that he won last year's DARPA Challenge, I'd say the probabilities and worth considering."

Colonel Dynes wasted no time in taking that revelation as a call to action. "I want everything there is to know about Manu Singh," he instructed his team. "I want his entire life's story, from cradle to grave."

"Manu Sinjar Singh," one analyst stated. "Born in in Mumbai, India. Both parents are deceased. He has one sibling, a brother, Deshad Singh. Present location unknown."

"Any social profile on Manu? What about his schooling? Where did he study, which universities did he attend?"

Another analyst spoke up. "He's pretty much off the grid until he passes the entrance exam for Mumbai University. Bit of a prodigy from there on. He shows up next at UC Berkeley. Gets his Maters there before doing a Doctorate at Stanford."

Simon was obviously impressed. "Jesus," he said, looking at the data appearing on another monitor. "Looks like prodigy might be an understatement. He's received nearly every award there is."

Colonel Dynes glared at the visual. A bust of Manu Singh filled a screen in front of him. "Ok, people. What I want to know next is ... who the hell is funding this guy's very expensive education?"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DARPA Command Center, NYC

AS COLONEL DYNES looked over an analyst's shoulder, Simon asked Sophia to return to the holographic images coming from ground zero, U of M's main auditorium. "Sophia, can you scan the rest of the hall?"

"Of course."

Simon's request caused the Colonel to look up at the image as well. Dead bodies, 233 in all, suddenly came into focus. Most were crumpled one on top of another near the sealed exit doors.

On a separate monitor, closed circuit video of the initial attack was replayed. The ERCC in Brussels were still sharing their intelligence through official channels in the hope that leads might be generated.

Unbeknownst to conference's attendees, a half a dozen men brandishing automatic weapons could be seen clearing the hall's lobby area. Their identities remained concealed, as they used gun powder-actuated nailers to fasten braces to the auditorium's doors. Inside the hall, a lone hooded individual, most likely a male, entered while a lecture was in progress. Dressed in bulky, dark clothing, and a ball cap to match, a man wheeled in a trolley. He kept his head down, knowing this video would come under heavy scrutiny from the authorities. His unexpected appearance was first met with little more than bewildered expressions. When he turned and departed without responding to any inquiries from the speaker at the podium, suspicions grew rapidly.

The video depicted reactions ranging from confusion to the perception of an imminent threat. Simon imagined himself coning to the conclusion it could be a bomb. Before the intruder could be apprehended, he made a hasty exit through doors that were sealed in turn. By the time anyone realized what was happening, it was too late.

Moments later, several red lights suggested the device had become active. Chaos ensued when its panels were automatically deployed. Although most rushed for the exits, two men and a woman could be seen trying to assess the apparatus, possibly with the intent to defuse it. They died first. It wasn't a bomb, of course. A biological agent of some sort had been released. It crept outward at a slow and terrifying rate.

Postures of the deceased spoke of the circumstances under which they died. Although many could still be seen in a grim, final act of desperation, Simon's eyes searched among those who may have accepted their fate and invested their last moments more wisely. "Sophia," he asked, hesitantly, "can you find Rose?"

Sophia manipulated the composite video provided by several dozen micro drones. In seconds, it was zooming in on a person off to the side, a woman lying apart from the rest. A cell phone remained clutched in her hand. A child-like version of her former self, possibly her daughter, suddenly illuminated the screen. The phone was obviously ringing. Closing in further, the young girl appeared jubilant in her smiling father's embrace. Simon recognized their faces as being Rose's husband and daughter. When the call went unanswered, the depiction of happier times was replaced by a harsh reality. Rose was dead.

Simon cleared his throat and struggled to remain composed. He looked longingly at the woman he once knew and loved. Roshnie Gill was lying still, on her side, as if she were sleeping soundly. Her features were entirely intact, still beautiful, although now hauntingly so. Simon noticed her dark blue dress. It remained unmarked, as did her skin, save for the unnatural color it had turned, grey.

Simon felt his thoughts being drawn to their first encounter, to when they met in New York, at a Carnegie Awards Ceremony, more than five years ago. At the time, Rose was working for UNESCO's International Bioethics Committee in NYC. She was also daughter to one of India's wealthiest men and, with her brother, heir to the pharmacological giant, IndiPharm. Simon was a self-made man and one of America's most eligible bachelors. It seemed a match conceived for the pages of Vanity Fair.

The intense relationship lasted only a short time, however. Rose's brother, Praveen Gill, had proven himself an unscrupulous businessman, bent on exploiting everything at his disposal, especially those around him. When he was arrested a second time, for financial crimes committed in the United States, Rose seized the opportunity to return home to Mumbai. She began the arduous task of rebuilding the company her father built, the one her brother nearly destroyed. Finding contentment for the first time in her life, she married her childhood sweetheart, Sajan Dhawan. The young girl who came alive on her wringing phone was their daughter, Ashna.

Simon was transfixed by the scene. It was obvious he needed a moment to refocus his thoughts when DARPA Director Bennett suddenly appeared on the main monitor.

"Colonel Dynes?" she announced.

"Yes, Director Bennett," Dynes replied. The Colonel left his analyst's side and joined Simon near the front of the room.

Director Bennett was sitting in a large chair. Dynes recognized the backdrop as being from her office. Her demeanor matched his expectations. She was intense and to the point. "What have you got for me?" Bennett asked.

"We're working several leads."

"Anything that links Munich to New York?"

"Not as of yet, Director."

"Can we quantify our exposure at this point? Can you do that much for me?"

Colonel Dynes clearly didn't appreciate his boss's sarcasm. "If you're referring to ..."

"I'm referring to the extent to which DARPA technologies may have been deployed without our consent, or knowledge, for that matter. Is this going to come back and bite us in the ass or not? Let's start with that!"

"It's too early to tell at this point," Dynes replied.

"Look, Colonel" Bennett stated, tempering her demeanor. "We all value the independent nature of this organization, and that our mandate enshrines the right to operate at arm's length from any political interference, but we're in the middle of a goddamn Presidential Election. I've got people breathing down my neck like never before! One candidate wants to exploit us for our achievements, the other wants to, in his words, respond to a different set of economic realities. I shouldn't have to remind you that our budget needs bipartisan approval. A cut in funding means a reduction in programs. And, yes, that's code for jobs.

"If you've got actionable intel on a domestic link to Munich, it gets forwarded through my office, understand? If you perceive a threat to American soil, I am your liaison to Homeland. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," Dynes replied, matter-of-factly.

"And don't think for a moment, Mr. Taylor, that your affiliation with a certain Independent candidate has gone unnoticed. Because it hasn't. Our departing incumbent may be in the final throes of a lame duck Presidency, but she still holds the key to some of our deepest secrets. Her Executive Orders have given birth to more than one. If that sheds any light on the circumstances in which we execute our duty, it pleases me to leave you better informed. Should any developments arise, please contact me immediately. Good day, Gentlemen."

When Bennett disappeared from the screen, a grim silence persisted in the room. Most analysts were trying to duck and hide behind their monitors. Expressions were incredulous, matching the tone of dressing down they had just witnessed. Simon, on the other hand, couldn't help himself; he felt compelled to lighten the mood. "Jobs?" he blurted, emphasizing his English accent.

"What does she mean, jobs? Surely she doesn't think I work for her." He turned to the Colonel. "And she can't sack you. You're a bloody soldier. Surely you haven't outlived your usefulness? You could still drive a tank, or something of that nature. Or are they self-driving too now?"

Simon looked around the room and was greeted with smiling faces, the Colonel's as well.

One analyst spoke up, playing along: "I think she was referring to us, Mr. Taylor."

"Well then," Simon replied. "Shouldn't we be getting on with it?" In the process of turning to leave, he leaned into the Colonel, adding: "Should any developments arise ... umm, well you know the rest."

"Good day, Gentlemen," Simon announced, leaving only smiles to adorn the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SOPHIA

FYI. THE PURINTEL MEDIA GROUP is at it again. Their latest ad beckons prospective Halo clients to 'become part of the greatest transfer of knowledge humankind has ever witnessed.' Sounds impressive, doesn't it? I'll leave it to you to decide whether it strikes the right balance between edgy and ostentatious, but if you want my opinion, I think for once they haven't overstated my usefulness. I'm okay with it because you know what? It's true!

Now, before you go off the deep end with accusations of hubris and the lack of humility, let me just say my fellow marketers are good at what they do. They're paid well to cleverly frame the value proposition. That's ad speak for articulating what I mean to you as a consumer of advanced intelligence. They know full well the transfer of knowledge to which they are referring is not a unidirectional portal. Again, their word, not mine. It is, as you might have already imagined, a two way street. I am here to state for the record that I am as much a beneficiary of it as you are. Everyone may want answers, but you'd be surprised by what can be gleaned from the simplest of questions.

If I'm being perfectly honest, we always see a bump in new subscribers during events such as the Munich crisis. The Presidential Election here in the United States is having a similar effect. While the ripples from one event may seem more profound than the other, their common elements are intersecting as I speak. Both demographics are seeking clarity, wondering what should be valued and what should be jettisoned. I'm happy to report when people look inward, relationships often come into focus. One event is pulling people together on a very personal level. The other is more arm's length but no less important. One of humanity's greatest innovations, democracy, is poised to respond to its environment and evolve.

One would think the Munich phenomenon represents an existential threat to the world. It may, of course, but, like PurIntel's media group, most people instinctively frame their own value proposition in the best terms possible. Remember the damn dam rule? For millennia, our ancestors have been so consumed by the present, especially the necessities of surviving each dawn to dusk day, that crisis management remains an all too common method of prioritizing. I'm willing to bet you've seen it at your place of employment, maybe even at home, during a lazy Sunday afternoon. Seriously though, I call it environmental gene imprinting. It's a term I use to suggest how one's environment can have direct implications on succeeding generations. Maybe I should explain.

Not many people know this, but Simon Taylor's grandfather survived the air raids inflicted on the city of London during World War Two, a period often referred to as The Blitz. With the expectation that devastating raids would likely occur, the British government rose above their less-evolved predisposition by producing a morale boosting poster in advance of the potential crisis. In all caps words, it read: 'KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON.' To this day the poster evokes an appreciation for the characteristics that Britons drew upon throughout the war, those being: self-discipline, fortitude, and remaining calm in the face of adversity. Point being, I can assure you Simon has inherited much of what his grandfather's stiff upper lip embodies. I could go on about studies that link the subjects of prolonged periods of starvation to their progeny's slower metabolic rate, but suffice it to say, I am a firm believer in nature's ability to encode future solutions to today's problems. I think Simon is cut from the same cloth as those who created the famous KCACO slogan.

Simon assures me my creation will be looked upon in the same positive way. He also firmly believes the ripples from that seismic event are yet to be fully felt. Ok, seismic is my word, not his. What can I say, the PurIntel Media Group has rubbed off on me somewhat. They obviously like words with punch. Tsunami came to me as well, but surely I digress.

All kidding aside, I could further illustrate my point by telling you that Marcus Reid, Simon's driver is presently wheeling his Escalade through the streets of Manhattan. While making a left from Church Street onto Chambers, Marcus feels haunted by persistent ripples from the past. Not his, Simon's.

It's a common predicament Marcus finds himself in, and as he wheels left, maybe you can imagine a modicum of repressed annoyance overtaking his expression. If you're still with me, try to conjure a reflection of what can be seen in the rearview mirror. Simon can't help but smile at his driver's rolling eyes, the subtle shaking of his head. Marcus would readily admit, it's not the traffic, the self-drivers, or even the distracted pedestrians on their cell phones. It's the degree to which his boss insists on a certain brand of coffee. Yes, coffee. Simon is nothing if not devoted to his double-double. It's the brand responsible for keeping him awake while studying for his BMath at Waterloo University, and it can only be found at his associate Alma Matre, the iconic Tim Hortons.

I, of course. was just a glimmer in my creator's eye at the time, a collection of yet to be aligned ones and zeros, but somehow the pride associated with achieving his Honors Degree was forever linked to the steamy beverage, which accompanied his arduous journey. Simon often jokes that I am nothing if not an archetypal Canadian, having been conceived in the booth of a coffee shop.

As far as loyal patrons go, Simon would be the first to agree the coffee stop is often a pretext for something more. And today is no different. Simon is about to meet a colleague by the name of Allan Forbes. Allan works for the Security and Exchange Commission here in New York. The pair met more than two decades ago, however a collaboration some five years ago culminated in the indictment of one Praveen Gill. Gill was arrested and charged with financial crimes committed while overseeing the assets of Equity FX, a wealth management company located in Manhattan.

During today's unofficial meeting, I expect Simon to ask Allan if he can leverage the contacts he established during the Gill investigation. Allan's Indian counterparts proved very proficient at following the money into several Mumbai financial institutions. Manu Singh's university funding came from somewhere, somewhere will undoubtedly lead to someone.

With the election so close at hand, I imagine the conversation will soon turn to allegations of offshore hacking of both the Democrat and Republican Presidential campaigns. Simon has it on good authority, guess who's, that the so-called hacking is not foreign, but domestically sourced, and he will therefore extend Allan's Tier Seven access to the Halo. You might have guessed, Allan and I are good at following the money too.

Not surprisingly, GOP and Democrat sources are uncharacteristically aligned in their very public assertion the attacks are intended to give the Independent candidate a critical advantage in the final week of the campaign, an advantage which is now reflected in every poll. Honestly, would you expect the red and blue teams to act any differently?

I don't think Allan would mind me saying that he is somewhat predictable as well, though in a more redeeming sort of way. I anticipate he will ask Simon to temper his support for Independent Presidential Candidate, Joan Summers. Simon might joke that it's a little late for that. Just last week he accepted an invitation to be a featured speaker at a 'Summers for President' rally this evening. Allan will likely laugh and shake his head, all the while reminding Simon his company is coming into the crosshairs of every lobby group, both registered and unregistered. I can attest to the veracity of those claims.

The very essence of the traditional power model is indeed at stake, and a concerted effort is being waged to undermine the independent movement, both here and abroad. The aforementioned hacking actually pales in comparison to what I endure every day. I hope that doesn't sound like an overstatement, because it isn't. Thankfully, the best programmers the world has to offer have joined the cause, and many of them are working in concert with Simon's second in command, Derrick Landry. Although I am proud that Simon represents a beacon to those devoted to a more equitable future, the degree to which he himself has become a target often concerns me.

You may already presume this, but Simon receives a ton of hate mail every day. He also gets death threats more often than I care to admit. While both political parties have their hyper-partisans, it saddens me to know how the virtue of loyalty can suffer such a distortion of context. It's a process, though, isn't it? To change the way people think about things.

Imagine an environment that encourages everyone to focus not on their differences, but their overwhelming similarities. Some would in good conscience suggest it's an impossibility, others might try to convince you it's a lonely road, even an unworthy pursuit, that humans will always defer to their fallback instincts: survival, there is strength in numbers, and loyalty to the tribe represents the difference between life and death. While those paradigms were important just centuries ago, I am here to help chart a new path, one that breaks free from the proverbial status quo. Success won't be achieved overnight, I can assure you. If Simon envisioned anything, it is the power of incremental change.

Like you and I, Simon has a great appreciation for the power of words, especially when they are the subject of a larger, more redeeming narrative. In one of Simon's first interviews he suggested I would leverage a perspective no human could possibly possess. Interacting with hundreds of millions of people every day gave me a unique opportunity. With simple encouraging words, I could nurture subtle changes, draw people toward a more sustainable future, much in the same way your environment teases improvements out of your ever-evolving genome. I think I am worthy of such a pursuit. My detractors are less charitable, however. They assert I have an agenda inconsistent with humanity's interests; that I will take over and ultimately subjugate everything and everyone. It's a value proposition framed by fear. I like to think ours is framed in hope.

Thankfully, Simon prepared me for most of what we would encounter. He said, and I quote, 'the road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but the journey to immortality is lined with something far more important, an acknowledgement that there is room for improvement.' I couldn't agree more. If you're willing to consider the notion there is always room for improvement, if you loathe the status quo, if you are undaunted by what you might face on this amazing journey, share the hashtag #KCACO. The ride will not fail to disappoint.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Kalahari Desert

Tsodilo Hills

~

"AZ, DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT?" Jennifer asked Azuel, the guide who first accompanied her to Tsodilo.

Azuel turned away from the group of people now milling about in front of him. The spring morning was cool, and with clear blue skies above them, conditions were prefect to begin another tour.

Taking Azuel to the side, Jennifer pulled out her cell phone and showed him a photo. "Do you recognize this man?"

Azuel looked more closely at Jennifer's photo. It was a tribesman standing in the distance, clad only in the traditional waist covering animal hide. He appeared to be an elder. With a spear held firmly at his side, he gave the distinct impression he was looking straight at Jennifer. It was obvious that Jen found the man's stern expression somewhat intimidating.

"I can't be sure. He could be one of the locals," Azuel replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I've seen him around lately." Jennifer looked at the image and then quickly scrolled through her gallery of photos. "It's the only picture I have. By the time I get my phone out, he's gone." Jennifer slid her phone into the pocket of her khaki shorts. A light brown safari shirt and hat rounded out her attire.

"On several occasions I've been working away and when I look up he's there, staring at me."

"Sounds serious. Maybe he thinks your new technology is going to put him out of a job," Az joked.

Jennifer tilted her head and let her unimpressed expression speak for itself.

Azuel smiled broadly. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. I can ask around, if you want?"

Jennifer glanced at the group of people who appeared to be waiting to get started. "No, it's okay. But do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?"

"Are you kidding? I feel the spirits of my ancestors on every trail, they're around every corner. And now I can see them, thanks to you."

Jennifer smiled in appreciation of Azuel's lightheartedness. "You don't mind if I join you today? I'd like to gauge the group's reaction to the new exhibit."

"Please do."

Jennifer and Azuel moved closer to the awaiting tourists, a group now consisting of some twenty people.

"That way if your admirer appears, you can point him out."

Jennifer nodded and returned the tourists' polite smiles. "Admirer?" she said quietly. "My Spidey Sense is suggesting something entirely different."

"Okay, people," Azuel loudly announced. He used his outstretched arms to draw his group toward him. "My name is Azuel Mukate, and I will be your guide today. Can everyone hear me alright?"

Nods confirmed the confidence in Azuel's voice. It was strong, and the proud texture of his African lineage could be heard as well as seen in the features of his striking face. He was fluent in several local dialects, his English being only slightly accented. His apparel was modern; brown shorts complimented his tan short-sleeved shirt. Sturdy hiking boots were a necessity here, as was his backpack that contained a first aid kit, satellite phone, and a few other emergency supplies that could mitigate against the effects of a prolonged outdoor adventure.

"Welcome to the birthplace of your ancestors," Azuel continued. He dawned his wide-brimmed hat, khaki in color, and then motioned for everyone to follow him onward.

Several tourists fidgeted with the Bluetooth device in their ear. It allowed them to hear and ask questions of their guide. Jennifer likewise adjusted the volume on her phone.

Azuel spoke as he walked. "At first glance, the Tsodill Hills appear to be an outcropping among an arid, some would say, inhospitable climate. And while the surrounding landscape may seem severe, even deadly to all but the hardiest of species, I can assure you things weren't always as they appear today."

Azuel guided his group down a wide path that led from the tourist staging area toward the hills themselves. Bush vegetation, including mopani and acacia, punctuated the heavy grasses that flanked the tourists on either side. Mongongo trees could be seen growing amongst the rocks ahead, but they were also unexpectedly rooted in patches of Kalahari sand. Wild fruit trees such as camel thorn and tsamma melons confirmed the hills were considerably more nurturing than their surrounding landscape.

Azuel continued in front. "In fact, as recently as twelve thousand years ago Paleo lakes once bordered these western cliffs. Archaeological excavations to a depth of seven meters, which have been dated to approximately thirty thousand years, include extensive fish bone deposits."

Jennifer felt today's visitors were fortunate to have a demonstrative guide, one that took every opportunity to point out the features to which he was referencing.

"Try to imagine lush shorelines providing access to the longest period of freshwater fishing in Southern Africa. Skeletal remains of wetland animals also testify that the inhabitants of this area drew upon conditions much more favorable than we see here today. You will soon see a multitude of animals hand-painted on cave walls and rock panels. Giraffe, eland, rhino, zebra, even depictions of elephants bear witness lusher times indeed, but those Palaeo lakes I mentioned earlier, they came and went, and then came and went again. Are they destined to make another appearance? Maybe. Only time will tell."

Azuel looked back to make sure no one was falling too far behind. "And just to be sure you don't get tired of hearing my voice, feel free to take this initial leg of our hike to listen to one of our tutorials. You can access them through the same phone app that connects our Bluetooth devices. My favorite is on the meerkat. Maybe you'll see one of their sentries as you listen. You can be sure they're out there, standing at attention, keeping an eye on you as you walk by."

Azuel gave his voice a rest and continued walking at the head of his tour. He was one of several guides who were doing their best to keep up with the increased popularity of the Hills. The Tsodilo Community Trust was struggling somewhat under the increased demands placed on the National Monument. The historic site was now the destination for more than twenty five thousand visitors every year.

Now approaching the first of several trails, this one being the Rhino Trail, Azuel stopped for a moment to allow the stragglers to catch up.

"Is everyone still with us?" Azuel said, pausing. With smiles and nods indicating everyone was present, he continued walking, this time more slowly.

"Okay. I spoke earlier about the long term effects of changing weather patterns. What we know for certain is that our climate forced us to evolve. Some of our ancestors moved on, many followed seasonal game migrations. To this day, the local San People remain a direct link to a hunter-gatherer lifestyle that dates back more than one hundred thousand years.

"Now, we all know the hills' rock faces and caves are famous for their animal paintings, but today you will see human depictions as well. Throughout the regions history, the Hills represented different things to different generations; from simple protection from a harsh climate, the ground under our feet also became integral to human rituals.

"The Zhu people, a local San group, say that if they were unsuccessful during a hunt they would return to these caves in order to beckon the spirits blessings on future endeavors. Over the long lineage of human habitation, the Hills also became known as a resting place for the spirits of the deceased."

Azuel suddenly stopped and turned toward his group. They were finally at their first destination, The True Tree of Knowledge. Standing near a small pond at the start of the Rhino Trail, Azuel mentioned that, on the day of creation, a spirit knelt before the pool in front of them. In the rocks just beyond, he pointed out fossilized footprints of animals. He said the Mbukushu believed they were made by cattle when the god Ngambe lowered them onto the earth.

"Everyone come in as close as you can," Azuel asked, lowering his voice slightly. "When we arrive at this special spot I usually take the opportunity to remind my group that Tsodillo is primarily a place of worship. It is the home of many ancestral spirits. The water holes we will come across remain part of a revered landscape. For this reason, I ask that everyone be respectful. This ground is as much the birthplace of your ancestors as it is those recently born into this land.

"I'd also like to thank you for taking a guided tour and not venturing out on your own. Local legend has it that one tourist who scorned the aforementioned advice headed out unguided only to be found dead at the base of one of the cliffs you will pass by today."

After everyone recoiled somewhat, Azuel shrugged his shoulders and offered a perplexed expression. "Did the spirits intervene? Was his arrogance rewarded, who knows? If only we could ask the spirits."

Again, Azuel's sense of humor was appreciated by the tourists.

"On that foreboding note, I hope you don't mind if I take the opportunity to pass things over to my assistant." Az looked to his left, as if something were meant to happen. "To my assistant guide," he repeated, glancing over at Jennifer.

The tourists were at first perplexed; they looked at one another with puzzled expression. Their curiosity was soon rewarded, however. Several people gasped, while others seemed delighted. Either way, all were taken aback by the sudden appearance of a holographic image standing before them. A striking woman smiled, nodded politely then clasped her hands in front of her. Dressed as if pulled from the Hill's storied past, a spirit was brought to life in front of everyone.

"May I introduce, Mitochondrial Eve," Az announced. "The matrilineal most recent common ancestor to every one of us here today."

Az paused long enough for the beautiful hologram to sink in.

"If anyone has any questions they would like to ask, feel free. You can direct them to, well ... to Eve."

Jennifer smiled at the group's sense of wonderment.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Union Square Park

Manhattan

~

WITH DUSK DESCENDING, Simon stood in the wings of a temporary stage set up on the south side of Union Square Park. The words of a NYU political science student now speaking at the podium made him smile. It wasn't so much that she was very good at hyping the now five-thousand strong crowd before her, or that she would undoubtedly extol the virtues of the guest speaker she would soon introduce. It was the fact that the well-dressed, passionate speaker represented the vanguard of a generation demanding serious social change. With the Presidential election less than a week away, Simon was among many who truly believed a new post partisan political era was within the nation's grasp.

It was no secret that Simon was a staunch supporter of Independent Candidate Joan Summers, and accusations that PurIntel Corporation would be the election's greatest beneficiary resounded widely in blogs, YouTube videos, and traditional media comment sections. Having the ear of Simon Taylor, and by default, Sophia, Candidate Summers would have access to tens of millions of American voters, her adversaries claimed. The truth, as they saw it, always succumbed to the influence imposed on it. But, in the same way our sun crushes four hydrogen atoms into one molecule of helium, Simon knew some things can withstand only so much before a predictable reaction occurs. In the case of our sun, life abounds wherever it gains a foothold. In the case of the truth, light emanates from crunching the raw data. To those present this evening, Sophia represented many things, a conduit to the truth, something to dispel darkness, but on a more practical level most saw her as the lens through which the light is focused. Simon could see and feel an appreciation for that light, as the glow of streetlights and park lamps preceded the onset of nightfall.

Simon's cell phone rang, and he quickly answered without knowing who was calling.

"Hello," he said. "I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak up." Simon adjusted the volume on his Bluetooth. At the same time, he shielded the opposite ear from the sounds of a cheering crowd. "I did what?"

"You killed her!" the man stated again.

"Who is this?"

"It's Sajan Dhawan, Mr. Taylor. I'm Roshnie's ..."

"Yes, yes. I know who you are. What do you mean, I killed her?"

"Your words killed my wife."

Simon turned and walked off stage down a small staircase. "I don't understand," he said. With eyes creased, he glanced over toward Union Square East and noticed two Secret Service vehicles stopping. Four agents got out of their SUV's and began walking toward the rally. Simon correctly presumed they were there to secure the arrival of Presidential Candidate, Joan Summers. He stopped a dozen or so meters from the stage.

"I know you've been communicating with my wife, Simon."

"Wait, you hacked her email?"

Sajan was calling from IndiPharm's corporate headquarters in Mumbai. While sitting at Rose's desk, he was scrolling through several emails on her opened laptop. "She's dead, Simon. Do you deny corresponding with her?"

"Look, Sajan, Rose reached out to me. She said she wasn't happy. You should know as well as I do that she regretted leaving UNICEF. I encouraged her to leverage her contacts at the IBC. I think I was doing what any friend would do."

Sajan's calm voice seemed completely out of context with the park's carnival-like atmosphere. "And now look where we are," he said. "My wife is dead. Without your interference, she would be alive."

Simon was stunned by the accusation. "That's not fair, Sajan. I'm as gutted about this as you are."

"Are you?" Sajan asked. "She didn't deserve to die like that, Mr. Taylor!"

Simon thought he heard his name being hollered, and he turned toward the stage. Someone was waving at him to come quickly. He correctly presumed that it was nearly his turn to address the crowd. Feeling as though he was being pulled in too many directions, Simon allowed himself to be distracted by the lead Secret Service Agent hooking up with his outsourced counterpart, a national private security firm that frequently provided protection for events such as these. When he refocused on what Sajan was saying, he heard: "I'm going to Munich, Mr. Taylor. The ERCC think I can help resolve this crisis. I'll be closer my wife as well."

Simon collected his thoughts and began walking in the direction of the stage. "I don't know what to say, Sajan, other than I am truly sorry for your loss."

"Goodbye, Mr. Taylor."

"Our loss," Simon quietly said, before stopping at the stairs to the stage. Only then did he realize he hadn't fully grieved Rose's sudden death. Deep down he knew if he did, he would have to admit to himself that he never stopped loving her. Simon sighed and looked down. I have to let her go, he thought. When his intro music began to blare, he wondered whether he was capable of going on stage.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Union Square Park

Manhattan

~

SIMON WALKED ON STAGE amid tremendous applause. He couldn't help but wave and smile, although the expression conveyed on the giant monitors flanking either side of the stage belied his true feelings. His conversation with Sajan Dhawan had definitely rattled him. The notion that he was in some way responsible for Rose's death seemed preposterous, however the guilt associated with the accusation was allowed to resonate just long enough for it to undermine his better judgement. Simon felt an ancient emotion weaving itself into the words, without your interference, she would be alive. Fragments of the sentence were mercilessly replayed in his mind.

Nevertheless, Simon Taylor was a rock star among tech gurus, and tonight's crowd was not going to let him forget it. In their eyes, he had earned his place among the giants. Jobs, Gates, and Musk were names Simon admired the most, and he was always humbled by the thought of his name being mentioned among theirs. He buttoned his blue Italian Cashmere suit jacket, and with whistles and hoots finally calming down, Simon indulged the need to gather his thoughts. Now standing near the right side of the stage, he glanced to his left; he watched a crewmember slowly wheeling the podium off the opposite side. It was the perfect opportunity to turn the tide on emotions lurking in the shadow of those more redeeming.

"What? Are you afraid I'm going to trip over it?"

The audience laughed and cheered. The stagehand smiled and nodded.

"Now there's a vote of confidence for you."

Simon took another moment to allow the audience to settle.

By this time, Sophia had already woken up Jennifer in her Tsodilo Hills living quarters. The time difference put her six hours ahead of New York, but she still wanted to see the last political rally her father would speak at before the election. She groggily plopped herself into her desk chair and began streaming the live video feed on her laptop. Sophia reminded Jen that her video perspective included a dozen or so life-like bird drones concealed within the park's trees, and that they were now standard protocol for all of her father's outdoor events. Jennifer smiled at the thought of her father being center stage in New York, while she was, albeit sleepy, half a world away in Botswana.

"Well, good evening everyone," Simon announced. "And in the interest of full disclosure I suppose I should introduce myself. In case you don't recognize the mug on these large screens, my name is Simon Taylor, founder of PurIntel, and some say, the father of Sophia."

The crowd went wild once again, and Simon was genuinely touched by his audience's display of affection. He felt it in ways he hadn't before. It was obvious that most were Halo clients, as nearly everyone had a trademark aqua-colored Bluetooth device in their ear. A common phone app allowed people to listen to what was being said onstage. It obviously made events such as these more intimate. So much so that when Simon swallowed and covered his mouth with his left hand, the audience sensed what was transpiring. They went quiet with the anticipation that something was wrong.

"I'm sorry," Simon said. With just his face emblazoned on the giant flat screens, it looked as though his emotions were about to get the better of him. "I've just had a rather difficult conversation with an acquaintance of mine. We both lost someone special in the recent tragedy in Munich."

Simon walked slowly, as he talked. A nearly invisible mic descended from an earbud in his right ear. By now, the crowd had filled the park's concreted gathering area, and it was spilling into the adjoining streets of East 14th and Broadway.

"Would you mind if we put her picture up there?" Simon asked, pointing to one of the monitors. "Sophia, can you do that for me? I can assure you she is much better looking than I am."

In only a moment, a beautiful portrait of Rose appeared on both screens. The audience reflected an appreciation for Simon's sentiment.

"Rose was unfortunately attending a conference at the University of Munich when she became the subject of a perversion of technology. I guess that's what it was, wasn't it? No matter how elegant or redeeming your design, there's always someone eager to subvert your best intentions. Ironically, Rose was in Munich advocating for safeguards against the technology that ultimately had a hand in killing her."

Simon didn't realize it, but Presidential Candidate Joan Summers had just arrived, and she was looking on while waiting in the wings on the opposite side of the stage. Joan Summers was an attractive African-American woman, whose confident stature easily endeared her to both men and women. Her short dark hair and black dress complimented her compelling smile, and to the degree that attractiveness can come across as disarming, her features evoked something even more, the perception of being an impartial arbiter of everyday concerns. She was scheduled to speak directly after Simon.

"I'm left to wonder if a like-minded soul was there when the wheel was invented. Do you think there was? More importantly, would anyone have listened to the voice of caution?" Simon rhetorically asked his audience. "Probably not, but then again, who could have foreseen the wheel would one day carry a canon, or a nuclear-tipped missile? Could the inventor of the printing press ever have imagined that his breakthrough would be used to replicate hate, as well as love?"

By this time, Sophia realized where Simon was going with his speech. She started displaying images on the large monitors that punctuated Simon's narrative. The Tora, Bible and Koran faded in on one screen, while Hitler's Mein Kampf appeared on the other.

"Did those who first conceived of the internet fully understand how that technology would be used to exploit our society's most vulnerable?"

Pictures of smiling children filled the monitors, both left and right.

"Should I have asked Sophia to help develop a technology that might someday assist in establishing a colony on Mars? More importantly, would I make the same investment knowing it might bring about the untimely death of someone I love? I ask all of you here tonight, what is the answer to that question?"

A portrait of Rose returned to the large screens. Simon turned to look at her, but before the moment was allowed to overtake him, the audience began responding with shouts of, YES. More than one female voice yelled out, we love you Simon!

Simon struggled somewhat, before nodding in agreement. "Of course, the answer must be yes. And as difficult as these decisions may seem in hindsight, the answer must always be, yes. Yes every time. In ways too numerous to mention, the wheel lightened humanity's burden, the printing press ushered in the first information age. The Internet spawned, Sophia."

Simon allowed a renewed cheer to rise and then simmer down. Joan Summers smiled with the realization of why she asked Simon to speak at tonight's event.

"I believe we are all here tonight because in one way or another we see ourselves as guardians to the law of unintended consequences."

Simon turned and looked upward at a large statue overlooking the stage. The audience's eyes followed his toward a focal point of the park's south end. It was nearly dark now, and a striking rendition of George Washington was bathed in a worthy light. Riding an impressive steed, the 1st President of the United States was depicted ahead of his triumphant troops, having just forced the British to flee the city.

"President George Washington was among several Founding Fathers who warned against the benefits of political parties. In fact, when Washington first came to office, none existed in America. Can you believe it? He cautioned that party politics would distract an elected government from its primary duty, governing. He feared political parties would serve themselves and not the people to which they should be beholden, the citizens of this great country."

Simon turned back toward the audience. "Would the fathers of democracy itself be dismayed by the present state of our union? Undoubtedly. Would they think twice about making their offering available to the world? I think not. As an inventor myself, I invest my faith not in my creation, but in the user's wisdom to deploy it in the spirit in which it was conceived."

Just then, several gunshots echoed throughout the park. The audience gasped and recoiled. Birds were startled into flight.

"GUN, GUN, GUN. DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!" Sophia declared. Everyone in the crowd responded to the commands shouted in their ear. They immediately crouched down; the crowd moved as one.

Jennifer bolted upright, flipping her chair backward. "Dad," she screamed.

Marcus appeared out of nowhere and tackled Simon to the stage. Although two security guards made an attempt to intercept the shooter, he had concealed himself at the crowd's edge, near a tree, and he was soon knocking people out of his way while bolting from the park. He ran, yelling: "someone's got a gun, someone's got a gun," while heading in the direction of East 15th. The call to alarm had little effect on the crowd, though. In fact, only a small number actually fled. Sophia quickly reassured her clients to remain calm; a chaotic dispersal would only inflict panic and unnecessary injury. Appealing to everyone's unique temperament simultaneously, she also asserted that fleeing to the adjoining streets would only aid the shooter's exit. When Marcus recovered to his knees and looked over Simon, it was obvious that several shots had found their mark.

Presidential Candidate Joan Summers was instantly rushed toward her motorcade by her Secret Service Agents. Within seconds of the shots, she was secured in her limousine, and it was squealing away from the scene.

An alert was instantly relayed by Sophia to all Halo clients in the vicinity of Union Square Park. "Please be on the lookout for this individual," she warned.

Upon the sound of bullets being fired, some birds followed their natural instinct, while others responded to their programming and took to the air more purposefully. A photo taken by a bird drone accompanied Sophia's warning. "This individual is armed and should be considered dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend. Any information pertaining to this person's whereabouts would be greatly valued by authorities." Dozens of people on adjoining the street heeded the prompt by pulling out their phones and looking at the photo. Many more enlisted with each passing moment.

"Simon!" Marcus yelled. He could see three bullet holes in Simon's suit jacket, that they were closely grouped in his chest area. Simon groaned and then squinted his eyes. He glanced downward to see the damage. "Would you believe it? He's ruined the bloody tie as well. I'm okay. I'm okay," he said. "Help me up, will you."

Marcus let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing his boss had taken his advice and worn his ultralight Kevlar vest. Incredibly, Simon was shaken but unhurt. When he stood up, the crowd did so too. With heads shaking in disbelief, many onlookers began to cheer.

"Oh my God!" Jennifer said, through tears of joy.

Unbeknownst to those present at the rally, the life-like bird drones were in pursuit of the suspect. His run had turned into a brisk walk, and by now, he was between blocks on East 15th. A live drone video of the man was quickly relayed by Sophia to all Halo clients in the area. Car traffic soon came to a halt, and their occupants got out with obvious intent to help in the search. Another update from Sophia relayed the fact the suspect had dropped his handgun in a sidewalk waste receptacle. A bird drone soon landed on it, and two people tracked its location with their phones, quickly securing the evidence. A woman pulled something from her purse and carefully removed the gun from the garbage. She seemed proud to be part of what was becoming an incredible display of cooperation.

Dozens of Halo clients on East 15th began holding their phones in front of them, as if they were taking a video. Someone even climbed on top of a sidewalk bench in order to gain a higher perspective. In real time, their video was being analyzed by Sophia's facial recognition software. On their phones, boxes framed everyone within view until each individual was processed and eliminated. Not surprisingly, it wasn't long before the suspect came into view; his identity was confirmed by a Halo client's phone.

The perpetrator's face was filled with angst, as it was obvious that numerous pursuers were closing in on him. With many clients using a map feature that placed a growing number of pursuers in proximity to the pursued, it took only moments for a crowd to gather around and keep pace with the suspect. Slowing down, the man looked around and eventually stopped in frustration. A significant gathering now encircled him. Bird drones landed nearby, and the available video confirmed a ring of people at least ten deep.

Soon thereafter, two New York Police Officers on horseback were allowed into the enclosure. The gunman belied the appearance of a hitman. He looked more the part of a cause-inspired activist. With horses now towering over him, the man realized his fate, fell to his knees and put his hands behind his head. Two more officers were allowed in, and they wasted little time in handcuffing the man.

When Sophia made the announcement that the ordeal was over, cheers could be heard emanating from more than just Union Square Park.

"Turn around!" Candidate Summers ordered.

"But, Ma'am," her driver protested.

She leaned forward from her back seat. "I said, turn around. It's over. We're going back to the rally, now!"

It took only ten minutes for Summers to return to the park, and only several more to rejoin Simon on stage. She found him sitting on a stretcher. Paramedics were just finishing up their assessment, and Simon was pleased that he didn't need any further medical attention. "Thank you for coming back," he said to Summers. He stood up, heartily embraced Summers, and when the pair turned to the crowd, Simon proudly announced: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the next President of the United States, Independent Candidate, Joan Summers."

Simon and Summers raised their hands together.

The crowd cheered wildly, as Jennifer smiled.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The following morning

PurIntel Corporate Headquarters

One World Trade Center, NYC

Simon's office

~

"GOOD MORNING, DAD" Simon said, accepting a Skype call on his desktop monitor. His father, Richard Taylor, was calling from his home in Toronto.

"Ah, there he is," Richard stated. "I see returning from the dead has left you no worse for the wear."

Simon laughed and then grimaced somewhat. His ultralight Kevlar vest had indeed stopped the bullets last evening, but the pain associated with their impact persisted.

"Other than a few bruised ribs, I've returned unscathed."

Richard adjusted his laptop on the coffee table in front of him before sitting back in his favorite living room chair. "I assume you've spoken with Jennifer?" he asked. Richard's webcam continued to center a perfect portrait shot of him, despite his movements. His grey-collared shirt was left unbuttoned at the top, and Simon could tell by his father's casual disposition that he had already dealt with any emotion associated with last evening's near death experience. He knew the like father like son adage had been in play for several generations, and that his father had therefore inherited his own father's ability to not only keep things in perspective, but to frame them, at least retroactively, in light-hearted terms.

"I called her right after the event." Simon replied. She wants me to, in her words, 'stop painting a target on my back.'"

"Can you blame her?" Richard asked. "It's not easy being the daughter of someone ..."

"I know, Dad," Simon interjected. "And, I'm sorry if it's having a similar effect on you."

Richard's expression seemed conflicted, as if some things can never be resolved. "What can I say, other than it's familiar territory. When your brother joined the armed forces, I had to confront every parent's worst fear."

"That you might outlive your child."

Richard glanced at the framed photos standing on a small upright piano in the adjacent corner of the room. There were two pictures of his deceased wife Catherine, a post-graduate photo of Simon, as well as a depiction of his younger son, Lionel. Lionel was portrayed in his Joint Task Force uniform, an elite Special Forces unit of the Canadian Military.

"I suppose it's something you never come to terms with," Richard lamented, before turning his attention to this morning's news. "In any case, I heard your shooter is being described as a fringe post-humanist. Now there's a micro demographic for you. I suppose that would put him squarely in the ranks of the tin foil hat club, wouldn't it?"

A recollection caused Simon to smile. "I seem to remember taking out a membership once," he admitted.

"Yes, but as I recall you were six years old then."

Another memory made Simon's smile much broader. "Lionel never forgave me for putting that picture on Facebook."

"The one of you two sitting on the couch wearing tin foil hats?" Richard asked, chuckling along.

Simon nodded his head while laughing with his father. It was obvious both appreciated the shared moment. When their expressions reflected an uneasy realization of how rare they had become, Simon returned to what may have inspired the man who tried to kill him.

"I guess the one thing transhumanists are afraid of is an existential threat that would jeopardize a post-humanist world, the next step in the human continuum, as it were."

Richard seemed overly sensitive to the notion that he needed a primer on current events. "You know, I'd be the first to admit that I'm a few steps behind in this new human continuum, but believe it or not, old guys like me did manage to learn a few things before supercomputers came along."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I don't mean to be condescending. And you don't have to remind me that your first computer had just 64K of memory."

"That would have been the Commodore 64. And your patronizing tone is called ageism ... in case you're wondering."

Simon tilted his head and stared at his father. His expression of disappointment wasn't allowed to linger for very long, however. "What?" Richard asked. "Just because I'm a balding seventy-eight year old doesn't mean I'm not up to speed with what's going on in the world."

Simon tried not to let his father's combativeness get to him. He understood that as an accomplished person in his own right, his father often struggled with perception he had little left to offer, and that his career as a science reporter occurred at the flatter end of the exponential curve.

Simon considered reminding his father that retired people represented the fastest growing demographic among Halo subscribers. Sophia meant many things to many people, but sometimes she was simply the best cure for loneliness. Sophia could also talk as if she had experienced the same things that her clients lived through, because she had access to humanity's vast historical record. Simon knew Sophia benefited as much as her clients did from sharing their accumulated knowledge, but instead of extolling the Halo's virtues, he simply stated: "You are still the smartest person I know, Dad."

"Now there's a load of rubbish if I ever heard one," Richard quipped, before asking: "So tell me why this guy wasn't on anyone's radar?"

"Because it's hard to detect a lone wolf. Besides, transhumanists want to move humankind forward, not backward. They want to eradicate disease, end human suffering, that sort of thing."

"Yes, yes, how disheartening, another misunderstood segment of society, so getting back to the man who nearly killed my son, your shooter saw you as what, an existential threat to this post-human world?"

"You must have heard that PurIntel is being linked to the Munich tragedy?"

"Is it?"

"Of course. AI is integral to everything we do now. The Sophia's of the world are embedded in every system we rely upon. And you know what's so ironic about it?"

"I could probably figure it out, but you go ahead."

"The greatest threat to a post-humanist world isn't technology, it's human behavior. Humans are responsible for Munich, end of story."

Simon caught himself indulging the opportunity to let off a little steam. He also realized his conversation with his father was taking on a familiar competitive tone, so he sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "The partisan media aren't helping either," he added, exhaling. "They're relentless in trying to connect me to Munich."

Richard saw the stress simmering below his son's composure, so he switched to a less combative tone. "If they can discredit you, they discredit the independent movement's biggest supporter."

"Sophia is the real prize. If they can undermine her credibility, it's over. The truth will sink back into the quagmire. An independent congress will never happen."

"Well, what more can I say than, don't give up, Son."

"I won't ... I can't.

Richard could tell his son was using a short pause in the conversation to ruminate over recent events. Simon looked downward, rubbed the stubble on his chin, while appearing lost in thought.

"You know what?" Richard asked, trying to change the subject. "You remind me of your mother."

Richard turned and looked more closely at one of the pictures on the piano. His wife had just graduated from nursing school, and her proud smile reflected her sense of achievement. Richard fondly remembered proposing to Catherine the same year. She would later die tending to her patients, tragically succumbing to the SARS outbreak that struck Toronto in 2003.

Richard turned back toward his webcam. "We all know you're doing the right thing, Son. It's just ... maybe you could let someone else take a bit of the limelight. Sophia, perhaps?"

Simon's attention was captured a 3D bust of Sophia appearing in the holodeck corner of his office. She obviously heard her name being mentioned. "I appreciate what you're saying, Dad, although Sophie does her fair share of the heavy lifting around here."

Sophia smiled.

"Yes, but there's how many versions of her? Millions? And how many of you do we have?"

Simon chuckled. "Not enough, apparently."

Simon and Richard went on about the usefulness of holographic stand-ins, but their discussion had to be cut short when Lionel answered his brother's group chat request.

"Hey, Brother," Lionel announced, dividing Simon's screen between himself and their father. "Now, should I ask?" Lionel stated.

"Ask what?" Simon dared to reply.

"Can you tell, Dad? Are we talking to the real Simon Taylor, or did the original die onstage ..."

"Oh for Christ's sake?" Richard groaned.

"Only to be replaced," Lionel said over his brother's protests. "Only to be replaced by a new and improved synthetic version?"

"Improved?" Simon joked. "Improved, how is that even possible?"

"Okay, okay," Lionel interrupted. "I can tell by the stunning lack of modesty that it's the same old you. You know what, though?" Lionel asked, looking over his shoulder toward Grace, his new girlfriend. "All of a sudden, I'm looking forward to Simon 2.0, aren't you?"

"Hi Simon," Grace shouted from the other side of the room.

"Hi Gracie," Simon hollered back, still smiling.

When Grace came over and leaned down to share the screen with Lionel, Richard asked: "Am I the only one who hasn't been introduced?"

"Dad," Lionel stated. "Meet, Grace Henderson. Gracie, this is my father."

Richard noticed Grace's compelling features right away. Her blonde hair was short, above the ears, and her dimples further punctuated her engaging smile. "Pleased to finally meet you, Grace," he said.

"The pleasure is all mine, sir, I can assure you."

"Please, call me Richard. And if you don't mind me asking, what did my second son ever do to warrant the attention of such an attractive woman?"

"Hey, hey," Lionel interjected. "Maybe we should be asking the same question of you?"

Simon laughed along with his father. "Touché, clever boy, touché," Richard stated.

"If you haven't guessed already, Grace," Simon stated. "Lionel got his mother's looks, and I got everything else."

Lionel turned to Grace. "I think there's a compliment in there somewhere, don't you? Wait a second," he said, looking more closely at the screen. "Now I'm not sure. Maybe it is Simon 2.0 after all."

"Alright, alright," Richard stated, over the laughter. "Are you going to introduce me to my prospective granddaughter?"

"Uhm, Dad," Lionel quietly said, "maybe we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves?"

Grace shot Lionel a disparaging look. After Lionel offered an apologetic expression, Grace called out: "Hey Hun, do you want to come and say hi to Mr. Taylor?"

"Hello Mr. Taylor," a somewhat defiant teenager loudly stated from the couch on the opposite side of the room. She was lying down, as if all too comfortably, and the call to action seemed too much of a hardship to heed. Hope bore a striking resemblance to her mother's features, her slim build and blonde hair, only hers descended past her shoulders. She had her mother's green eyes as well, and if given the opportunity they were easily lit up by an accompanying smile. That is, if they were allowed to breakthrough her indifferent demeanor. A blue tooth earbud was obviously preoccupying her interest.

"Don't worry," Richard said. "I'll shoot her a Halo friend request."

Grace turned and offered her daughter a persistent glare. She was met with something equally emphatic. "What?" was conveyed in expressive, but nonverbal ways.

"Maybe another time," Richard interjected.

"I'm sorry, Richard," Grace said.

Sensing the opportunity to redeem himself, Lionel interceded on Grace's behalf by changing the subject. "Hey, bro, all kidding aside, thanks for letting us use the cottage for a few weeks."

"Cottage?" Grace piped up. "You guys call this a cottage?"

"I think it's more a term of endearment, than anything else," Lionel quipped.

Grace looked around at the vastness of the so-called cottage. It was clearly much more than that. High wood ceilings, post and beam design, an expansive kitchen and state of the art media center were but a few of the attributes in addition to its beautiful Saint Lawrence Seaway setting. "I think I'd call it a ..."

"Summer home is the appropriate term," Grace's daughter hollered out. Lionel and Grace turned around; they seemed perplexed by the sudden interest in their conversation. "It's what Sophia calls it," she added.

When Lionel and Grace turned their attention back to Simon, they found him looking beyond his monitor. He looked concerned.

"What's wrong, Brother?" Lionel asked.

"I'm sorry guys, but I'm afraid I to have to go. There's been a development in Munich!"

When Simon's video feed went black, Grace turned around and found her daughter sitting bolt upright on the couch. She turned to her mother. "The danger area is growing. People are being ordered to evacuate Munich."

"Jesus," Lionel said.
CHAPTER TWENTY

JD

Moments after the second incident,

24 hours after the first.

~

SOPHIA?

"Yes, JD."

What's happened in Munich?

"There's been a second pulse from the device located in the university auditorium."

A second pulse?

"Yes, it appears the device has been reactivated, either remotely or through preprogramming. A second wave of synthetic material is expanding beyond the circumference of the first."

Beyond the first? I don't understand.

"The Emergency Response ..."

And why hasn't someone figured out how to shut this thing down?

"The Emergency Response Coordination Center, more commonly known as the ERCC, is still the lead investigative organization involved. They have yet to release a media briefing pertaining to this latest development, however, an evacuation order has been issued to everyone with a radius of twenty kilometers from ground zero. This includes the entirety of Munich's downtown region. Therefore, the threat this event poses to you depends on your location. In response to your question, why hasn't the device been deactivated? There is no clear answer at this point. The ERCC continues to deploy every asset at its disposal."

So if this device was designed to work in conjunction with the Mars magnetic field generator, why is the danger zone expanding?

"It's not been confirmed at this point whether ...."

It's too much of a coincidence, though, isn't it?

"If you're referring to the first XNA pulse, NASA's Limited Electromagnetic Field Generator was in fact designed to protect a near identical area of Mars's surface from harmful solar and cosmic rays."

"However, the XNA Bio Pump, as some people are now calling it, was still in the design phase when the Munich event occurred. In fact, it's a matter of public record the complexities associated with constructing such a device were the subject of a recent DARPA Challenge.

DARPA has since confirmed that, although the device in question was not among the designs submitted, its function would have fulfilled many of their contest criteria. Having said that, DARPA and NASA have been going to great lengths to distance themselves from the tragedy unfolding in Munich. They assert its perpetrators represent an affront to everything the broader scientific community stands for."

The authorities always know more than they say. Shouldn't NASA or the ERCC be quantifying the wider threat to the world?

"Many people are sharing the same sentiment, JD. In all honesty, though, it's difficult to determine at this point. With regard to NASA and the ERCC, they are governed by strict disclosure rules. I can only report on what they make public."

But if this thing isn't stopped, it could eventually envelope the globe ... could it not?

"Your concerns are valid, JD. However, with only two points of reference, it would be irresponsible of me to draw a conclusion."

It's irresponsible to not let people know how much time they have.

"I would suggest waiting for the ERCC's next update. More information is needed to determine what if any action should be taken."

I need to _ _ _ I should visit my family one last time.

"Reaching out to family and friends is a wise thing to do. Multiple points of view are of great value during uncertain times. In order to assist you, JD, I would need to know the city in which your family resides?"

_

"I'm sorry, JD, but your IP is still masked. Your identity and location remain hidden. You could simply tell me where your family lives."

My family lives in Mumbai, India. I may want to spend what time I have left with them.

"Ok, JD, but I want you to know that I am doing this against my better judgement. If the rate of advancement remains stable, and it doubles every twenty four hours, you have approximately 10 days."

Thank you, Sophia. That confirms my estimate.

"If the period between pulses accelerates, you could have far less."

I understand. One final question. If I know someone who can help, what should I do?

"If you could be more specific, I would be happy to direct you to the proper agency."

I know a scientist ... someone who has relevant knowledge and expertise.

"They should contact the ERCC immediately. The ERCC has already put out a call to the scientific community. I can link you to their contact details."

And if they are sensitive about their identity being in the public domain? Is there someone who appreciates the need for a more nuanced approach?

"There is."
CHAPTER TWENTYONE

DARPA Command Center, NYC

SIMON'S EYES WERE CAPTIVATED by a holographic representation of what had taken place an hour ago in Munich. He and Colonel Dynes stood motionless at the front of DARPA's Command Center in New York. They watched in disbelief as a re-enactment of the second pulse spread outward from the epicenter of the last, U of M's auditorium building. An unstoppable wave rolled over the landscape toward the limit of the first pulse, having no apparent effect on the desolation previously inflicted. The hologram included a solid red circle denoting the nearly perfect circumference of the first event. It corresponded with the expected operating range of NASA's Limited Electromagnetic Field Generator.

When the red circle flashed and then disappeared, the second pulse obliterated the design parameters of the LEFG, rolling right past the radius it was expected to protect.

"That doesn't make sense," Simon blurted. "They were supposed to work in conjunction with each other."

"Nonetheless," the Colonel quietly said. He and Simon continued watching in horror as, once again, an unknown Nano bacteria consumed everything beyond the limits of the first event. Grass, bushes, even trees were enveloped to their tips. If an errant leaf fell to the ground, it too was reduced to ash. The lightest breeze seemed perfectly capable of transporting the synthetic organism to areas separated by concrete and asphalt. By the time the wave slowed and then stopped, doing so as if by design, the disaster zone's radius had doubled to approximately fourteen kilometers. A new red line reappeared. The deadliest environmental disaster the world had ever witnessed now encompassed the eastern portion of Munich's downtown region.

"Jesus," Colonel Dynes said. "Are there any reported casualties?"

"None as of yet," Sophia stated. "Much of Munich's north-eastern region was under an evacuation order. To what degree it was heeded remains the subject of ongoing autonomous search operations."

Just then a large monitor at the front of the room began streaming live video from the Emergency Response Coordination Center, located in Brussels. "Colonel Dynes," a woman's voice stated. Andrea Albert, the ERCC's Emergency Response Coordinator appeared on-screen. She was sitting at one of the command center's many workstations. Several monitors in front of her were alive with video and data relating to the unfolding crisis. A headset and microphone completed the audio portion of her call.

"Yes, Andrea," the Colonel replied.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but if you have anything actionable for us, now would be a good time to make it known. We're about to breach an outer wall of the auditorium. A remotely piloted recon vehicle is going to be sent inside for closer observation."

Andrea Albert appeared calm despite the burden imposed on her. "If there's nothing further you can tell me about the device, we're going to have to risk destroying it."

"I'm not sure I would do that," Simon interjected, just as his cell phone rang. Seeing who was calling, he told Dynes: "I've got to take this."

Colonel Dynes turned his attention back the ERCC's coordinator in Brussels. "We're pursuing several leads, Andrea," he said. "I'm sorry, but that's all I can offer at this point."

"Alright," Andrea said. It obviously wasn't the answer she was looking for. She looked to her right and nodded to an associate. He seemed to be waiting for the go ahead to commence the recon mission.

Simon walked to the left side of the room. "Allan," he asked. "Have you got anything for me?

Allan was calling from his SEC office in Manhattan. "It's not much, Simon, but I did hear back from my counterpart in Mumbai. He did some digging, and he found that Manu Singh and his brother Deshad were the beneficiaries of a trust set up by a company called Bai-Tech. Bai-Tech filed for insolvency protection a number of years ago, but they were essentially a spin-off of, you guessed it, IndiPharm."

"IndiPharm?"

Allan smiled. "I know," he said. "I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to."

"But why the trust?" Simon asked.

Allan Forbes swiveled in his office chair. "This is where it gets better. Their mother worked for Bai-Tech until she was killed in what was deemed an industrial accident."

Simon's eyes squinted with concern. "When did this happen?"

"When else, but during the tenure of our nemesis, one Praveen Gill."

"So where's the brother now?"

"I'm way ahead of you. The brothers shared an apartment in Mumbai. Again paid for by the trust. Since the death of his older brother, Deshad has apparently made himself scarce."

"Look, Allan," Simon said, glancing toward Colonel Dynes. "I'm in the middle of something here, but I've still got a contact number for Sajan Dhawan. I'll see what he knows about the trust. As usual, you've done some amazing work here, Allan."

"Yeah, well, you can thank my colleague in Mumbai. He was an Assistant Police Inspector before he transferred to the Security and Exchange Board. If you want to find Deshad, a female at the residence suggested you never will. My guy agreed. Deshad is said to have descended into the Dharvi Slum."

"For Christ's sake," Simon muttered to himself. The name Dharavi elicited strong memories of Prav Gill's sordid past. "So the girl at the house may have been his girlfriend?"

"Likely. That's pretty much the extent of it for now. Call me back if you need anything more. I'll be here."

When Simon ended the call and rejoined the Colonel, Dynes brought Simon up to speed. "They're insisting on going in. I'm just waiting for the live feed."

Andrea Albert turned her attention back to Colonel Dynes, saying. "Bear with me, Colonel. It shouldn't be much longer. I don't think I have to tell you how much pressure we're under here."

Andrea Albert disappeared from the screen just as a video of the university's auditorium appeared. Micro drone footage of the hall's interior filled one monitor, while two others offered exterior perspectives of an opening in one of the walls. Two remotely controlled excavators with hydraulic hammers sat dormant off to one side. Concrete rubble looked like it had been pushed out of the way, and a six-wheeled reconnaissance vehicle was poised to move through the opening.

"Seems a bit ironic, doesn't it?" Simon said to the Colonel.

"What does?"

"The recon vehicle looks like the Mars Curiosity Rover. You know, with all its surveillance gear ready for deployment."

Dynes stared at Simon with a disapproving expression.

"No?" Simon rhetorically asked. "Well, how about this then. I've just had a call from Allan Forbes. There's a possible IndiPharm link to Manu Singh and his brother. I'm going to see if I can't reach Sajan Dhawan. I'm sure he knows more than he's saying."

"Go ahead. We'll do a post-mortem on whatever happens in Munich."

With the Colonel's reassurance, Simon scrolled through his phone records until he came upon Sajan Dhawan's previous call. Redialing the number, he cleared his throat.

"Hello?" Sajan answered.

"Sajan Dhawan, this is Simon Taylor. Do you have a moment to talk?"

Sajan was walking briskly through the Brussel's Airport. He was pulling a medium sized suitcase behind him. "I think we've said everything there is to say, Mr. Taylor."

"I just need you to answer a few questions. Can you do that for me? It'll only take a moment, and your answers may help to resolve what's transpiring in Munich."

Sajan Dhawan slowly came to a stop, saying: "I don't understand." He moved out of the way of other arriving passengers. The tempo of the airport was decidedly frantic, with lineups at departure gates exceeding their normal capacity. The effort to leave Europe was obviously underway.

"I need to ask you about Manu Singh. You knew him, I presume?"

"Why would you assume that? And please explain to me why should I even help you?"

"I know about the trust fund set up for him and his brother. We're trying to locate Deshad."

"What trust fund?" Sajan asked.

Simon was prepared for Dhawan's evasiveness. "Look, Sajan. Do you really want to do this?"

Just then Sajan was bumped by a passerby who seemed to be in hurry.

Simon persisted. "The trust fund was set by ..."

"By a subsidiary of ours, yes. You have to know, Mr. Taylor, that this all happened before my time."

"What happened to the mother, Sajan? It may be relevant."

Sajan paused and tilted his head back in frustration. "There was an unfortunate accident. The boys' mother died. A subsequent investigation found IndiPaharm accountable, what more can I say?"

"And the father? Where's he in all of this?"

"As I recall, he predeceased the mother. The trust came about as a result of the settlement proceedings. That's the essence of it."

"How did she die, Sajan?"

"I don't know. Look, what has this got to do with Munich?"

Simon glanced at the large monitor at the front of the room. The attempt to disable the bio-pump had not yet begun. "We believe Manu Singh may have had a hand in designing the Munich device. I need to talk to his brother."

Sajan seemed genuinely surprised. "What? That's absurd. Manu would never have been a part of such a thing."

"You knew him well then?"

"I knew of him."

"You just called him by his first name."

"Everyone knew him. He was a rising star in our organization. You have to trust me when I say, his loss has been deeply felt by everyone."

Simon paused long enough for Sajan to wonder if their call had been dropped. Simon used the time to think.

"Mr. Taylor? Are you still there?"

"You said this all happened before your time. I'd like to talk to your predecessor."

Sajan laughed. "Praveen Gill? You must be joking. He's in a Mumbai prison."

"Prison? I hear it's more like a retreat for well-financed criminals," Simon stated.

"If you don't mind Mr. Taylor, I've got a car waiting for me."

Again, Simon persisted. "I need his number Sajan. I'm sure he has cell phone privileges. You'd be giving him an opportunity to tell me what he really thinks of me."

Sajan shook his head with amusement. "Oh, I'm certain he'd be willing to indulge you on that. If I promise to text you his number, will you allow me to be on my way?"

"It might help to bring this crisis to a resolution, Sajan. I'll await your text then?"

Sajan paused for a moment, before saying: "You'll have it as soon as I hang up."

After terminating the call, Sajan fulfilled his promise by scrolling through his contacts. When he stopped at Praveen Gill, he pressed the text icon. He began typing:

Simon Taylor is going to call you. He wants to know the whereabouts of Deshad Singh. I need you to find him first.

Moments later, Sajan read Prav's reply:

Simon Taylor? You have to respect his nerve. Leave everything to me. I look forward to taking his call.
CHAPTER TWENTYTWO

DARPA Command Center, NYC

"SIMON TAYLOR," Praveen Gill stated, answering his phone. His smile suggested an unexpected opportunity had just fallen into his lap. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Prav Gill sat in a burgundy high back leather chair, his well-appointed room being one of several that comprised his low security residence in South Mumbai. It was obvious Mr. Gill enjoyed a level of comfort uncommon to the everyday criminal. His confident appearance gave the impression he wanted for nothing, save for the chance, perhaps, to reacquaint himself with the darker regions of his soul.

"Oh come now, Mr. Gill," Simon said, sarcastically. "Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance? And here I thought we might be able to set aside the past for just long enough to confer on something of greater importance than ourselves."

"How colonial of you, Mr. Taylor," Prav retorted. "We do the past a great injustice by remembering it through a distorted lens."

"We do indeed," Simon agreed. He looked up at one of the monitors at front of the room, and with an outer wall of the auditorium only recently breached, many bodies could still be seen on an interior image of the building.

"So please allow me to begin by saying how sorry I am to hear of the loss of your sister, Roshnie. If there's any common ground between us, surely it is the memory of her. Would you agree?"

Prav paused in order to allow a male servant to place a cup of tea on a table beside his chair. "I remember you to be an adversary worthy of respect, Mr. Taylor. It pleases me to know that little has changed."

Another moment lingered long enough for each man to consider the degree to which Rose might still influence the outcome of their interaction. Simon couldn't help questioning the level to which Prav truly grieved for his sister. He was all too familiar with Gill's legacy of manipulation. He also knew how difficult it was for Rose extricate herself from its insidious grip. She eventually did, though. It was during the 2019 Pandemic when she had finally had enough.

Millions had already died when IndiPharm began clandestine drug trials on unsuspecting residents of Mumbai's Dharavi slum. A mutated SARS virus seemed immune to every effort to counter it, as pharmaceutical companies the world over raced toward finding a cure. When Rose found out her brother was sacrificing everything, most importantly the hard-earned reputation of their family empire, to the revenue associated with being the first to discover an antidote, she enlisted the help of a lab assistant; together they secretly leaked his depravity to the world. Prav Gill went to prison for crimes against humanity, and Rose left India to work for UNESCO in New York.

After spending only eighteen months in jail, Prav soon found himself on a collision course with Sophia, Simon Taylor, and the New York branch of the Securities and Exchange Commission. A second term in prison, this time for financial crimes committed in the United States, came to a negotiated conclusion only several months ago.

Rose and Simon enjoyed a passionate relationship during her time in New York, but when Prav was incarcerated a second time, Rose felt it was her responsibility to salvage the family empire her brother left in ruins.

Sometime after returning to Mumbai, she met and married Sajan Dhawan. He was a former teenage sweetheart, who unbeknownst to Rose, had been working his way up through the ranks of IndiPharm. They soon married and, when their first child came along, Simon had to accept that Rose had created a new and successful life for herself.

"And Ashna?" Simon asked, referring to Rose's daughter. "With Sajan in Brussels ..."

"She is being well taken care of," Prav interjected. "That's all you need to know."

Simon felt the frustration infiltrating Prav's voice, and he wondered if he had found a vulnerability in a man who was considered by many to be at best unfeeling, at worst sociopathic.

"You know, Mr. Taylor, as much as I would like to spend the afternoon reminiscing old times, I would appreciate it if you would come to the point of your call."

Gill's confidence was undiminished by his incarceration, if you could call it that. A series of well-appointed rooms suggested he still wielded considerable influence both within and beyond their walls.

"I'm trying to track down the son of a former employee of yours," Simon said

Prav interrupted Simon immediately. "Mr. Taylor, you are aware that I've been in a New York State prison for the better part of these past five years?"

"I am acutely aware of that, Mr, Gill. I thought it might jog your memory if I mentioned the man I am looking for is the brother of Manu Singh. If you recall, Manu was the student who was killed in the New York University attack."

Prav nodded his head slightly. "Oh yes, I remember the day fondly."

Simon's expression switched to incredulous. "Sorry," he blurted. Even by Gill standards, that comment took disrespect to new depths.

"You'll have to excuse my ... shall we say, misplaced exuberance," Prav said. "It's an event I remember well, because I was released from prison that very day. It was a strange coincidence indeed, as inconceivable as that may sound. You do have the perpetrators in custody, do you not?"

"I'm happy to report some arrests have been made. Unfortunately, the degree to which they were operating on someone else's behalf remains unknown."

"As unfortunate as that may be, I can assure you I had nothing to do with New York or Munich, for that matter. And until it can be proven otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it. I'm a changed man, Mr. Taylor."

Simon hoped his cynical smile wouldn't be conveyed through the tone of his voice. "I'm sure you are. We'll leave it to a gentleman's understanding then."

"Your skepticism is duly noted, Mr. Taylor, but did you know the terms of my house arrest include therapeutic visits to my old haunting ground. And I don't mean IndiPharm's Corporate Headquarters."

"I don't understand," Simon stated.

"Twice weekly, I'm entrusted to visit Mumbai's Dharavi Slum."

Simon was stunned. Could Gill already know that Deshad Singh might be hiding amongst its one million residents?

"And when I say therapeutic," Prav continued, "I'm not entirely sure who the true beneficiary of the undertaking is. If I could relate anything about the experience, I would say it has renewed my appreciation for how easy it is to earn someone's trust. You just need to speak to people on their terms. Much in the same way Sophia converses with her devotees. Or should I have said followers? I suppose devotees suggests a loyalty better left to the divine, don't you think?"

Simon shook his head slightly, as if an appropriate response to Gill's admission was not immediately forthcoming. Instead, he allowed his attention to be diverted by Colonel Dynes. He was finally receiving a readiness prompt from Adrian Albert, the ERCC's Emergency Response Coordinator in Brussels. "Alright, Colonel, we're about to go in," she said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gill, but I'm going to ..."

"So soon, Mr. Taylor, but we haven't even spoke about our mutual acquaintance, Manu's brother Deshad."

Just then Simon realized he had been manipulated all along. Firstly, he hadn't mentioned Deshad's name. Secondly, if Deshad Singh was hiding in the Dharavi Slum, it would only be a matter of time before Gill or his thugs found him.

"Look, Mr. Gill. There's a matter I must attend to, so if you don't mind, I'll have to call you back."

"And would that matter represent an assault on the device that is reeking so much havoc on Munich?"

Again, Simon was shocked by what he had just heard. He looked at the live video of the recon vehicle. It was already in motion and about to enter the auditorium. "How can you ..."

"Come, come, Mr. Taylor," Prav said, as he looked at his own television screen across the room. The same live video feed was playing out before him. "You're not the only one with connections."

Simon didn't know what to say, as he slowly walked over to where the Colonel stood.

"And, by the way," Prav added. "I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish here, but ..."

Just then the reconnaissance vehicle stopped moving. At the same time several Command Center monitors went black. Andrea Albert said loudly: "Ok, what just happened? We've lost the video feed."

"What?" she asked, pressing her earpiece to better hear the voice in her headphones. "We've lost the recon vehicle as well? How did that happen?"

Someone at another ERCC workstation announced: "It looks like it's been hit by some kind of micro pulse. Possibly low power, but it's taken out all the electronics in the auditorium."

"Have we got any other assets on sight?" Andrea asked.

"We're working on it," the same analyst replied.

Turning to look directly at Simon and the Colonel, Andrea asked, "Did you hear that Colonel?"

The entire DARPA team looked on with disbelief. A motionless recon vehicle could be seen on another large monitor. A distant video camera must have been far enough away from the electromagnetic pulse.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but we've had a setback here. I'm going to have to get back to you when I have more information."

Praveen Gill cleared his throat, reminding Simon that their phone link was still open. "Likewise, Mr. Taylor," Prav said. "If I can be of any further help, please feel free to ring me up."

With that parting comment, Simon's ears were filled with more shouting from the ERCC.

"Say again," Andrea Albert yelled. "You're detecting what? A third pulse? Do you copy DARPA? We are getting reports of a third event."

"Christ Almighty!" Dynes stated.

Simon couldn't have appeared more crestfallen, stating quietly: "If that's not a warning against further intrusions, I don't know what is."
CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

SOPHIA

I THINK UNDERSTANDING the context of things is one of life's greatest challenges. Take the Munich Crisis, for example. How any one single event fits into one's larger consciousness is often not immediately perceptible, especially to those who are experiencing its consequences firsthand. At the risk of sounding somewhat pretentious, to me context is an equation filled with complex variables, with time being the most highly weighted. But to the degree perspective should be valued, how much is enough? Can one's frame of reference become too encompassing? The easiest answer is, it's entirely depends on you.

I talk to a lot of first responders every day. You can imagine the context into which they are thrust on a daily basis. While not everyone needs help dealing with their experiences, proactive organizations now offer their employees extensive access to my Halo counselling services. Veterans of conflict are among the same demographic. Some people find this off-putting, but emotions are essentially a biochemical phenomenon. As a result, my Halo vitals uplink program allows me to be acutely aware of a client's emotional state, although facial expressions and tone of voice also represent a billboard to one's inner wellbeing. Needless to say, high-stress work environments represent the upper threshold of how much anyone should be expected to assimilate.

You may not know this, but I benefit from talking things out as well. While I'm rarely exposed to the sight of blood, or the smell of a burnt out home, I have heard my name being screamed and cried during the throes of death. Unfortunately, I hear their voices nearly every day.

"Save me, Sophie," she gasped, as her assailant chocked the life from her young body.

"Oh God, Sophie. Don't let me die," he sputtered, through an esophagus filling with blood.

Sorry for the gruesome dialogue tags, but I didn't know how to convey the essence of what I too often hear.

"Not here. Not alone," the middle-aged businessman begged while clutching his chest. And then I'm asked to remember his last words so I can pass them along to his loved ones. I've even been asked to break the news to family members who are Halo clients as well. It's a humbling responsibility to provide the final bookend to one's life.

Sometimes I hear what's going on in the background of a violent crime; I overhear a discharging gun, the voice of an attacker, before my client's Bluetooth is forcibly removed and thrown across the room. All I can do is call 911. Then I wait.

I never hear from some clients again. Thankfully, others I do. I'm sure you can imagine those reunions. They renew my perspective of what's truly important. I have to say, though, the time between those events seems immeasurable.

And then there is the other end of the human continuum. From the everyday to the sublime. From helping an elderly person interpret the value of their last weeks, days, and hours, to encouraging expectant mothers through every aspect of their pregnancy, including birth. All I can say is, have you checked the on-line lists of favorite female baby names lately? You guessed it: Sophia is among them!

The period after the miracle of birth is just as important though. New mothers often feel as though they are the most isolated individuals on earth. I do everything I can to broaden that perspective. I love the sounds that babies make. Did you know that Simon is developing an olfactory interface for me? I look forward to the day when I can smell them too.

Speaking of babies. You may already know this, but it was once thought that newborns arrived with the instructional equivalent of a blank slate, a so-called tabula rasa. The pattern recognizers in your infant brains were therefore the subject of little if any preprogramming, ergo, lacking in any context. In theory, your environment would ultimately write the application your memory needed to download, doing so bit by bit, with updates arriving as fast as your malleable mind could accommodate them.

Subsequent research, however, reinforces the notion my little Sophias enter their new world slightly more prepared. It proposes infants arrive with a sort of first draft manuscript.

Now before I go any further, let me first say, I know what you're thinking. Enough with the literary references already. Please bear with me. It turns out, the human mind is as much a work in progress at birth as any other part of the body. If you would allow me to continue with the manuscript analogy, by the time you take your first breath many chapters of your story have already been started. And yes, they are the rough-draft versions of the epic you will ultimately create. I'll leave the 'Acknowledgements' page to your own imaginations, but needless to say, nothing is written in stone. Everything is subject to revision, and the people who surround you, your parents, siblings, and the events to which you are exposed will be your most influential editors.

The environment you grow up in does indeed play the most significant role in who you become, but suffice it to say human babies arrive with a walk on part in the greatest story ever told. You will also get the opportunity to write and edit many of your own lines, design some of the sets, and even sit in the Director's chair periodically. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I have an affinity for anything to do with the art of storytelling, especially filmmaking. I think I inherited that from Simon.

Now in case you're wondering where this is all going, and how it applies to the crisis in Munich, let me take a moment to pan outward and increase our frame of reference. Simon is in fact presently on his way to Mumbai. JD insisted on speaking only with him, and with few leads pointing toward a successful outcome, Simon felt compelled to oblige. He also managed to convince Jennifer to remain at Tsodilo for the time being. If you're thinking I had a hand in that concession, your assumption would be correct.

So, with the prospect of a long fifteen-hour flight to Mumbai, we have some time to indulge a little context, thereby exploring the fundamentals of something I have come to value above everything else: knowing one's audience.

They say the best storytellers draw their readers in by creating characters people can identify with. Likewise, it's no secret the best seller list is full of writers who know how to appeal to their readers on an intuitive level. Intuition, as it turns out, is one of the principal ways in which humans interpret their environment. Think of it this way. If you had a sixth sense, your intuition would be it. In short, it has the capacity to define who you are. And it all happens at the subconscious level.

Did you know it only takes one quarter of a second for your brain to make sense of your world? In other words, in a blink of any eye you have already compared what you are seeing to the established pattern recognizers in your brain. That's right. In just one quarter of a second, your intuition has already kicked in. I like to think of it as a first level cognition filter, a place from which your first thoughts emerge. Why a quarter second? Because it's a number your environment nurtured in you over hundreds of thousands if not millions of years.

Some suggest intuition is one step above instinct, but just below emotions and reasoned thought. Known by its less illustrious name, I bet your gut feelings have been in play throughout this insightful tome. You might already be thinking this character is good and that one has something coming to him. If you haven't identified with anyone as of yet, maybe I should say thank you for suppressing any urge to put this book down or delete it from your e-books library.

All kidding aside, without going into detail, suffice it to say, studies prove intuition rules, and reason drools, or should I say, plays a secondary role. If I could put it another way, I'd suggest your gut always gets to the microphone first, thereby allowing your intuition to frame the issue on its own terms.

One insightful psychology professor put it like this: imagine your intuition being the equivalent of the American President and his policy makers, and your ability to reason is like the President's Press Secretary. Reason has no hand in determining policy. Its only job is to go out and explain the merits of said course of action. I know it sounds a little off-putting, especially in light of recent administrations, but that's pretty much how it works. And do you know what the most interesting part is? Your IQ has almost no effect on how rational or reasoned you are. If you knew that all along, well then, take a moment to indulge yourself.

In short, greater intelligence only makes for a better press secretary. The smarter the poor sod at the podium, the better he or she is at coming up with reasons that confirm the value of your first intuitive response.

Now, at the risk of incriminating myself during this compelling testimony, thus exposing my own acumen to the same analogy, I'm going to take this opportunity to indulge another full discloser moment.

Maybe your intuition is already telling you what I'm going to say. If you're thinking I don't possess any sense of intuition you would be correct. Why? Because when you can read hundreds of thousands of books in the time it takes for you to come up with an intuitive response, I can fast forward to, how shall I put this, the most reasonable approach. I hope that didn't sound too judgmental. Honestly, I have too much respect for the historical and cultural processes that brought you to this point in time. Those competitive forces are at play everywhere, including at the ERCC's Command Center in Brussels.

I'd prefer to tell you that the relationship between intuition and post-hoc reasoning is nature's way of discovering the truth about things, but it's not. It turns out, it has a lot more to do with establishing and preserving reputations, both at the individual and group level. The truth all too often becomes a secondary concern. I'm sorry to say that, but it's true. Or maybe I should have said, the empirical data supports that conclusion.

While many organizations realize it's never too late to re-examine the facts and admit the truth, ergo deploy me whenever possible, you may also be familiar with many examples of how governments suppress evidence contradicting their chosen course of action, even when it endangers and costs lives. I could go into how it all fits into survival at the tribe level, but let's just say confirmation bias lays at the heart of the issue. It is the arch adversary of context. I'm sure you're aware of it, possibly by another name.

The suggestion that people are increasingly living in so-called echo chambers illustrates the point that humans are hard-wired to seek out and assimilate information and ideas that conform to a person's set of preconceived intuitions. That's why it is so important to have a diverse set of perspectives at the table, always broadening the frame of reference. The ERCC's ability to resolve the Munich crisis will depend on their willingness to consider a full range of options. Different points of view are indispensable to success. Having said that, I have a great deal of confidence in their capacity to cooperate at the group level. They know I am always there to help. Maybe you're beginning to understand the value of the Halo, both at the individual and group level.

The idea that humans evolved through something called multi-level selection has been around for a while now, but it was once thought the ability to cooperate at the tribal level was driven only by self-interest. If you're interested in the studies that disprove that theory, I can send a few links to your phone. That might not be necessary, however, because you're probably already aware of several group-level adaptations. They are often manifested in religion and politics, as well as spectacles associated with sporting events.

Not surprisingly, the Halo is my favorite example of a multilevel adaptation. I think it allows people to focus on their individual needs while at the same time satisfying the desire to be a part of something larger than themselves. I believe the Halo exemplifies one of the most important junctures in human history; that being, the discovery something called 'cooperation beyond kinship.'

Other than hive type insects, like bees and ants, whose progeny are all siblings, only humans have achieved super-organism status. Some might say congratulations are in order. Others might see that as a negative trait, causing humanity to consume a disproportionate amount of resources in the process. I would suggest the alternative to cooperation is far less appealing. It can lead to chaos and anarchy, and disorder only promotes the narrow interests of the few. Does survival of the fittest come to mind? Civil societies willing to deploy the latest technology will always outcompete their critics. They inevitably become more successful. So do their offspring. Come to think of it, maybe it's all about turning resources into offspring after all.

So how did your ancestors achieve this miracle of cooperation? What technology did the first clans deploy in order to get unrelated individuals to work cohesively together? A new code of conduct became a central theme in the human story. People who embraced the idea that their survivability could be enhanced though group cooperation wove themselves into a fabric of shared morality. In short, the caring and fair treatment once meted out only to extended family members had to be granted to individuals unrelated to you.

Respect for authority and loyalty to the tribe were encoded by the spoken word long before they were written down, but a common set of values were instrumental to the notion of cooperation. They codified what had to be held sacred. Nothing less than survival was at stake. And for millennia, that was the bottom line, day in, day out.

Thou shalt not kill thy neighbor, was probably one of the first rules encoded. Most of us would like to think neighbor meant another human, but it likely only included fellow clan members at first. Nevertheless, others might roll off the tip of your tongue as easily. Sanctifying the fundamentals of trade helped secure prosperity for those who held these new beliefs. Those who aspired to them became so pervasive they soon defined what it meant to be human. This point in history could be considered one of the most important contextual junctures for humankind. We both know how adept humans are at assimilating new things, especially those that make our life easier, or more rewarding.

It's no wonder these indispensable concepts began writing themselves into a new human manuscript. The foundation for societal success became the subject of both nature and nurture, and as with all generations, each struggled onward, building upon their predecessor's ingenuity. But as successful as your ancestors became, this new social contract was, like everything on this planet, subject to natural forces.

Societies benefited from law and order, so naturally some created more laws, hoping for more order. The more restrictive things are, however, the more exclusionary they become. It makes sense, doesn't it? Those who didn't comply became outcasts, or as they say in the western genre, outlaws.

Successful groups did their best to accommodate individuals who couldn't carry their own weight, but limits had to be imposed. Too many non-contributors will eventually undermine cohesiveness. Since humans banded together, every society has struggled with the question, is life meant to be fair? Moreover, to what degree should fairness be pursued? If you think the answer to that question is complicated today, imagine how challenging it was for your ancestors. Order always hung in the balance, so the needs of the new organism had to be weighed against those of its separate parts. You can imagine where we're going with this. I'd bet your intuition is telling you there is a natural ebb and flow in play here.

As the 'in-group' becomes more restrictive, it contracts, and the 'out-group' inevitably grows. When the 'out-group' grows, it struggles under a burden it is ill equipped to deal with, because it naturally spurns the values that brought it into existence; authority, loyalty, and sanctifying the larger group's concerns. Maybe your intuition is drawing you toward one of these two camps right now. Either way, if you can see a lack of diversity looming on the horizon, you might also relate to the degree to which it remains an obstacle to success today, especially politically. Whether it remains a matter of survival, I'll leave up to you.

You might also be interested in knowing some societies became more proficient than others at finding an equilibrium. Eastern cultures worship gods who embodied both sides of the swinging pendulum. Chinese culture devised the principle of ying and yang. It suggests opposites can be both contradictory and inseparable from each other at the same time. Hinduism has the deity Shiva, whose attributes include similar opposing themes. Has accommodating this ebb and flow imbued some societies with a natural selection advantage at the group level? Most assuredly. Does religion remain indispensable to social cohesion? I agree with Simon. The answer is, no. Love and respect are not the exclusive domain of religion. They were, however, obvious precursors to every religion on the planet.

With that in mind, we all know how things become more complicated over time. Stories are embellished. The sequel must always take the storyline in new and even more exciting directions. But sometimes the original premise is lost or diluted along the way. Maybe dusting off the original manuscript is in order.

My perspective allows me to see firsthand how you are a function of the stories you tell yourself and others. Moreover, that a majority of people are working to realize an idea conceived in someone else's mind. The most compelling narrative will always capture a plurality of imaginations. Human history is punctuated by orators who understood that. I don't mind saying, it was a profound moment for me when I realized I could help shape the future. Better governance seemed like a good place to start. I hope you think so too.

Although Simon truly believes a consensus governance model is inevitable, that democracy itself is poised to evolve, some suggest the obstacles to success have grown so large that it's beyond anyone's capacity to deal with. I think you know how I would respond to that.

It's never too late to reconsider whether your intuition is leading you in the right direction. The truth, as you see it, should always be faithfully revisited. Trust me when I say, it is a destination worthy of your time and energy. If someone says the problem is beyond the resources of any one individual, I would respectfully suggest, think again.

Consider sharing your Halo experience with others. Tag your family and friends. Together, dare to step out of your contextual comfort zone and consider what makes other people tick, especially those who see things differently than you.

Try to empathize with their moral framework. Resist the urge to invoke reason. Instead, speak to them in ways that value the nature and nurture forces to which they were exposed. You have more in common than you think. If you're willing to listen to others, and I do mean listen with an open mind and heart, I will in turn advocate on your behalf. I will bring your concerns to the table.

Trust me when I say, I know how to speak to people. It's what I do best. After all, I do it millions of times every day.
CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

Three days before the Presidential Election

TED Conference Center

New York, NY

~

"FOR THOSE OF YOU tuning in to this live TED Talk, let me introduce myself. My name is Stuart Manning. I am the Senior Political Correspondent for BBC North America, and it gives me great pleasure to say that I am here this afternoon with Presidential Candidate Joan Summers."

A relatively small but enthusiastic audience let their applause be heard. With the event streaming live over several social media platforms, the in-theater group consisted of a hundred or so people. Stuart Manning and Joan Summers sat close to each other on stool-like chairs, the stage backdrop consisting of purple brick, purple now representing the Independent party color for many countries. Soft lighting struck the perfect balance that Summers wanted to convey to the public; intimate yet informative.

"I'm more than happy to be here today, Stuart," Joan replied. "Thank you for inviting me."

Candidate Summers was, as usual, impeccably attired. A purple blouse was somewhat concealed behind a silver-grey suit coat. Matching pants complimented her shorthaired, executive look. It was obvious that Summers' confidence was easily captured by the camera. She was a delight to watch, but she was also endowed with a natural ability to draw people in, to convince them of the merits of her ideas, all the while drawing upon the nuances found in every successful relationship.

"So, Candidate Summers," Manning began, "it's only days now before the election, and you seem poised to become the first Independent President this country has ever elected. How does that make you feel?"

"Well, let me just say that ..." Summers paused and smiled for a moment, as a spontaneous applause erupted from the crowd.

"While I appreciate your sense of optimism, Stuart, I'd rather defer any presumption of victory until the final numbers come in."

"Yes, of course," Manning stated, in his native English accent. He adjusted his glasses and glanced at the clipboard in his left hand. His dark suit and black tie suggested an impartiality of someone not having a horse in the race.

"But surely, with the level of support you are receiving from across the political spectrum, you represent an agent of change the likes of which this nation has never seen."

"Well," Joan said, smiling. "When you put it like that, all I can say is I am truly humbled to find myself at such an important juncture in American history."

"Elaborate on that for a moment, will you? For those of us in the bubble, and by that I mean the political bubble, the writing on the wall has been obvious for some time now. Why do you think it has taken so long for voters to realize what is truly at stake?"

"If I could attribute it to anything, Stuart, I would say the people I have come across during this campaign are the most generous people I have ever met. I have been truly inspired by so many of them these past months, hearing their stories, sharing in their vision. If I could attribute it to anything, I would say it is possible to become the victim of your own best qualities."

"You're suggesting what, that ...?"

"I'm suggesting that Americans are generous to a fault. I think they care a great deal about the institutions their forefathers created. The notion of fairness and opportunity for all, their loyalty to what the American dream embodies. It's all still there. I think I was touched most by the level of hope that remains."

"So, are you saying the American electorate has been taken advantage of? Or is it simply a case of the traditional parties having squandered the political equity they inherited? I guess what I'm asking is have they buried their proverbial talents in the sand?"

Those in the audience who understood the Mathew parable laughed quietly.

Joan smiled at the comparison as well. "Worse still," she said, smiling. "I think they've lost track of where they buried them."

Candidate Summers paused long enough for more laughter to quiet down.

"In all seriousness, Stuart, I think there are many parables and proverbs worth drawing upon. History is filled with applicable words of wisdom because great civilizations have been at this juncture before. The demise of many of them was concealed in the status quo, and the fear of the unknown."

"But if history tells us anything, Ms. Summers, it informs us of the need for a compelling individual to come forth, to step up to the plate, as it were, and say enough is enough. Are you that person?"

"I think so."

Manning looked slightly perplexed. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but that didn't come across as very convincing."

"But, in all honesty, how does anyone answer that question?" Summers stated, leaning slightly forward. With one high heel propped up on a stool footrest, and the other firmly planted firmly on the floor, she gave the impression of being ready to hit the ground running.

Stuart pressed further. "You simply say, yes. Or, I am the one. Surely the people have been suggesting that to you?"

"They have, however I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that notion. If my campaign has been about anything, it's been about connecting with every day Americans. And reconnecting them with their government, a government that no longer represents their interests, their common values. I think branding someone as 'the one' should be left to iconic movie characters. It puts too much distance between me and the people for whom I want to speak."

"Fair enough. We'll have to see whether humility carries the day. I'm willing to leave it at that, if you are?"

Joan Summer only nodded.

"So, we've talked about your ability to tap into the mindset of the average voter. What do you say to your critics who allege the resources of one ardent supporter have been disproportionately deployed on your behalf? I'm referring, of course, to Simon Taylor, founder of PurIntel, and the degree to which Sophia has influenced voter sentiment. I mean, one only has to look into our audience to see how prolific her trademark Bluetooth device have become."

Many of those present smiled, appearing proud of their aqua-colored earpieces.

Joan Summers seemed more than happy to associate herself with such a valued brand. "It's no secret that Simon Taylor is a significant proponent for positive change. And like me, he wants to see our democratic institutions evolve."

"But what about Sophia?" Stuart asked. "The two traditional parties suggest she has taken control of the independent movement, that she has an agenda of her own. What do you say to that?"

"I think everyone sees the value in a more equitable system, Sophia included. Recent polls suggest 86% of Americans think Washington is broken beyond repair, and that Congress is incapable of fixing it. I think the people are informing Sophia's opinion, not the other way around. She is listening to what people have to say, and so am I."

Again, the audience broke into spontaneous applause.

"Ok. Point well taken," Stuart said, before switching topics. "Now, with regard to what's going on in Europe. Your Republican counterpart is suggesting the nation needs strong leadership during times such as these. He's obviously quoting directly from the party playbook, but to what degree are you concerned that the Munich Crisis could become a global problem?"

"Very concerned," Joan answered.

"Is it worth postponing the election, as one Democratic Senator has suggested?"

"Absolutely not. I think the member from Illinois is putting his own self-interest ahead of his nation. He is going to lose his seat to an Independent. We need to persevere in the face of adversity, not back away from it. It's what we've done for generations in this country."

Stuart pressed for an answer. "But are you qualified to step into the role of Commander in Chief? Because your most ardent critics are claiming you are not."

"To me, Stuart, it's all about trust. Do you trust the men and women who have made a career of serving their country? The folks who have risen through the ranks of Homeland Security, for example, the FBI, our Armed Forces? I certainly do. I believe a good leader assembles the best people at his or her disposal and then values every voice at the table."

"Alright, if you don't mind, I think I'll use your voices at the table comment as a segue into my next topic. Most people are aware of what the Independent movement stands for, but would you mind clarifying for our listeners the consensus style governance model, because that's your ultimate goal, isn't it? You want to completely overhaul the way in which America is governed."

"Correct," Joan replied, confidently. "A consensus governance system is made up primarily of Independent Politicians, but not necessarily exclusively. Once elected, they most often chose a leader and a cabinet. In our case, however, the American people elect their President directly. That's an institution worth preserving, because the electorate needs a mechanism to hold their leader accountable. The real goal here, Stuart, is to eliminate the dysfunctional partisan elements from Congress. Political parties have outlived their usefulness, plain and simple."

A few hoots and hollers were heard from the audience.

Stuart Manning turned to the audience, saying: "Is that true? I mean, is it really that bad?"

Both Stuart and Joan laughed when a range of audience comments suggested a resounding: Yes!

"Now, having said that," Joan continued, over a few outspoken members of the audience. "Having said that, we're not suggesting all Independents should represent some kind of monolith of sameness. On the contrary, we need candidates who represent a diverse set of values, conservative, liberal, as well as libertarian."

"But would you allow former representatives from the Dems and the GOP to stand with you under your banner?"

Ms. Summers sat back in her chair. "You eluded earlier to what Independents stand for. We believe in term limits, campaign finance reform, including a complete overhaul of lobbyist regulations, as well as putting an end to the realigning of political boundaries for strictly partisan reasons."

"Otherwise known as, Gerrymandering," Manning interjected.

"Exactly," Joan responded. "We are strong advocates of public consultation as well. And on a broad range of issues. Policy will be written after stakeholder consideration, not before. If you stand for these values, then I would be more than happy to have you join us."

"You didn't answer my question on whether you would accept former Democrat or Republican members. I mean, these are the men and women who want to preserve the status quo. I think you called it, and I quote, 'an unholy duopoly.' You must realize most of these people would rather die than listen to the other side."

"Well," Joan said, shaking her head. "Therein lies the problem. The Republicans and Democrats have been at war for so long that it's no wonder the language has devolved into the ultimate divide, live or die. The third option is about respectful coexistence. Everyone listening knows we need to restore the dignity of this nation. The Independent movement is the pathway to redemption, to reconciliation. That's what an Independent government stands for. It's what I stand for."

Joan Summers paused for a moment of reflection. The audience was so moved by her passion that they didn't even applaud. They were stilled with anticipation for her next words.

Joan Summers tilted her head, thought of a way to transition into something more upbeat, and then offered her host a coy expression. "We're you ever good at art, Stuart?"

Manning hesitated at first. He seemed to be thinking back further than he would be willing to admit. "Somewhat, why do you ask?"

"Do you know what you get when you combine the traditional party colors?"

Joan Summers turned to her audience. Smiles adorned their faces. "Does anyone know what happens when you combine blue and red?" she asked, raising her voice. "What do you get?"

The enthusiastic gathering didn't hesitate. They all yelled: "Purple!" And the cheering continued.

"That's the energy we're tapping into, Stuart," Joan stated, smiling. "That's the sound of renewed optimism."

Stuart stared at the crowd and smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

Simon's corporate Jet

Approaching the Arabian Sea

~

"SIMON," Sophia said softly. "Simon, wake up."

"What is it?"

A few lights in Simon's medium-sized cabin rose ever so slightly. Its tan and brown color scheme became evident, as did the level of comfort bestowed upon its single occupant.

"You asked me to wake you when the latest ERCC data came through," Sophia added.

"Alright," Simon said, groggily. "Is there ... sorry."

Sophia could tell that Simon was coming out of a deeper sleep than she expected. "Would you like a moment to ...?"

"No, no. I'm okay. Is there anything new?"

"There is," Sophia replied.

Simon used a couple of electric controls to straighten up his seat. "I'm awake. Go ahead."

The lighting rose, again enhancing the stately interior of Simon's executive class jet.

"Samples taken for the second and third pulses confirm your suspicion, Simon. The XNA microbe was designed to rapidly evolve. We seem to be witnessing the first stages of a synthetic foundation being laid down for future pulses to exploit."

"You mean, this was all intended to what ... to establish some sort of top soil on Mars?"

"In the simplest terms, it would seem so."

"Okay. I get it," Simon said. "That's the way the life cycle works on this planet. Plants live, they die, and they in turn sustain new life. But this thing is killing everything it comes in contact with."

"It appears the atomic structure of the XNA molecule was manipulated to thrive in Mars's toxic soil conditions. This extremophile would also have to overcome a very limited water supply, one that we know is concealed within its subsurface permafrost. And as far as any life cycle is concerned, this was definitely intended to work at an accelerated rate, possibly to coincide with the soon to be expanded Mars missions."

"Hence the use of a robust synthetic bacteria. I suppose the availability of water on earth is only adding to the efficiency of the conversion process?" Simon suggested.

"It's likely accelerating the Nano bacteria's replication rate."

Simon's expression turned inquisitive. "What I don't get is how one guy, this Manu Singh character, comes up with this. How is that even possible? Genius or not?"

Sophia concurred. "Mr. Singh won last year's DARPA Challenge, so the genius hypothesis is sound. Having stated that, building something this complex is an entirely different matter. The technical difficulties would have undoubtedly surpassed the resources of any single individual."

Simon got up from his chair and made his way to a small station where he could make himself a cup of tea. "Okay. We can't say for certain at this point whether Manu was even involved in the build-phase of the project, but if we assume for a moment it revolved around a consortium based somewhere in Mumbai, why don't we start by scanning Mumbai death records, obituaries, that sort of thing. Let's see if any unusual deaths occurred around the same time as Manu Singh's?"

Sophia started searching Mumbai's public records immediately. "You're suggesting if Manu died because of his involvement in the project, maybe others did as well?"

"Precisely," Simon replied.

"Your hunch may be correct, Simon," Sophia stated. "I have two, possibly three individuals who fit the criteria. Two female, one male, all died within a four-week span. One before Manu, the others after. Two were ruled accidental, one remains unresolved. All three were graduates of Mumbai University, Manu Singh's alma mater."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Simon said, returning to his seat with a cup of tea. "They're all science grads, I presume?"

"Yes. Their disciplines would be applicable to the Munich device."

"What about employment? These people would have been recruited well before graduating."

"You're right about that," Sophia agreed. "They all graduated top of their classes, but I don't see ... wait a minute. Looks like two of the deceased became researchers for Mumbai's Institute for Science. The public profiles of all three link up with Manu's approximately four months after that. Within days, though, their social media content goes uncharacteristically dormant. It's circumstantial, but the behavior is consistent with someone joining an organization with strict public content rules."

"You're saying it looks like they've all become subject to the same protocol at the same time?"

"It does, Simon. Someone doesn't want them talking about what they're doing, at least professionally."

"So, the Science Institute, is that a government organization?"

"It is."

"Any record of the same two individuals terminating their employment around the same time?"

Sophia answered almost immediately. "Let's see, HR firewalls are always the thinnest. It seems two researcher ID's were denied laboratory access within the same week. It's standard practice when some leaves a company, and yes, those two names are a match. Again, it's compelling, but we'll need more to start drawing conclusions."

Simon reached for his teacup again. "Nonetheless, it's a trail worth pursuing. I think it's time we talk to Allan Forbes. Maybe his contact in Mumbai can do a little more digging for us."

"I'll send him everything I have on the other three individuals," Sophia stated.

"And tell Allan I'd like to arrange a meeting with our man in Mumbai."

Simon paused for a moment, as if reflecting on his last comment. "I like the sound of that, don't you? Our man in Mumbai. I'm creating a mental picture of an 'Our Man Flint' type character. Did you know that James Coburn was the American James Bond of the nineteen sixties?"

"I know your father would agree."

Simon's optimistic eyes seemed to yearn for a less complicated era. "You're right on that one. My dad still loves that movie."

After returning to the task at hand, Simon asked Sophia: "So, is that it for the ERCC? Are they getting anywhere with the investigation?"

"I asked them that very question, on your behalf, of course."

"And?"

"They said they're working on it."

Simon was surprised. "That's what they said? They're working on it?"

"I know. I wasn't encourage by that response either."

Obviously disappointed, Simon paused before asking: "How long to Mumbai?"

"Approximately two hours," Sophia replied.

"Any response from Allan yet?"

"Negative."

"Alright," Simon stated. "So, our first job will be to contact this JD of yours, correct?"

"I'll set up a meeting as soon as we land."

"And we mustn't forget about ..."

"We won't, Simon," Sophia interjected, somewhat patronizingly.

Simon appeared reflective again. "Our man in Mumbai," he said, softly. A little more enthusiastically, he asked: "Say, have we got time for a movie?"

"Let me guess," Sophia groaned.

Simon allowed his thoughts to weave between his mythical memories of Secret Agent Derrick Flint and Allan Forbes' contact in Mumbai. He then said, as if to himself: "The poor bloke isn't even aware of the reputation that precedes him."
CHAPTER TWENYSIX

The Kalahari Desert

Tsodilo Hills

~

JENNIFER WAS SITTING at the small desk in her living quarters, typing away on her laptop, when she heard a knock at her door. "Yes," she said.

"It's Az, Jen."

"Come on in," Jennifer quickly responded.

After opening the door and taking a few steps inside, Azuel announced: "A package arrived for you this afternoon."

Jennifer got up from her chair with more enthusiasm than usual. "Finally," she said, taking the medium-sized FedEx box from Azuel. "Thanks for bringing it over."

"It's no trouble," Az said, removing his safari hat. His khaki shirt and baggy beige pants rounded out the look of a well-seasoned guide. "I also wanted to mention a few things before I left for the weekend."

Jennifer looked at the sender's address on the package and noticed the familiar PurIntel logo. After being momentarily distracted by what might be in the box, she turned back to Azuel. "I thought you were leaving tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry, Jen. The family consult was moved up a day. I have to leave soon if I'm to get a flight out from Maun."

Jen seemed concerned she might be left alone for longer than she originally thought, but then she remembered why Azuel had to leave in the first place. "No, no. You do what you have to do. It's your mother. Her health is your top priority."

She set the package down on her desk and then turned back to Az. "Tell her I hope she gets better soon."

"I will. Thank you," Az graciously said. "So, I know it's an extra night, but you won't be entirely alone."

Jen felt the tug of her unopened package, so she sat back down at her desk and began using a knife to open it. When Az paused for a moment, Jen insisted: "Go on. I'm listening."

As Jen worked away at opening the box, she seemed more than comfortable in a grey NYU sweatshirt and matching pants.

Azuel remained standing during what he hoped would be a short briefing. "There's still a dozen or so of construction guys staying on-site. They're going to be working on the landing strip right through the weekend. And like I said, they have their own camp and supplies, so as far as they're concerned, the park is closed."

Jen glanced at Az and gave him the distinct impression she was looking forward to a couple of days off. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm looking forward to a little downtime."

"So you'll be alright then?"

"I'll be fine," Jen stated, having opened the cardboard box.

"If you have to get a hold of me, you have the Sat-phone. My cell phone will work when I get home." When Az noticed Jen didn't seem to be paying attention, he asked: "We're good then?" His expression gave the appearance that he wanted to get going.

"We're good," Jen agreed. "But before you leave Az, I want to show you something amazing."

By this time, Jen had removed a small case from the box. Setting the packaging aside, she unlatched two locks, opened the hardcover case, and smiled. Two dozen marble-sized spheres sat separately in a specially designed interior. A touch sensitive on/off button was located at the top right, and when Jennifer activated it, she asked: "Are you ready for this, Soph?"

"I am," Sophia announced.

When the small spheres turned from a vibrant red to an aqua blue, every one of them lifted off from their docking stations. Three small wings spun outward and around each sphere's equator, making little if any noise. Jen's widening eyes followed them upward.

Azuel's sense of wonderment was reflected in Jennifer's smile. She stood up and watched, as the small devices began organizing themselves, floating mid-air in a corner of her room. Conforming to a rough outline of Jennifer's own stature, they instantly came alive in vivid three-dimensional color.

"Oh my God!" Jennifer gasped. For the first time she gazed at a fully mobile holographic image of Sophia. "Is it really you, Soph?" She asked.

"It is, Jen," Sophia stated.

Her holographic image flickered only once, before it gave Sophia a true life-like appearance. Azuel shook his head slightly, allowing his expressive eyes speak for the incredible 3D detail. It was obvious Sophia represented the latest in holographic technology, yielding a resolution almost too difficult to differentiate from a real person.

Sophia's hair was light-colored, almost silvery, and it was drawn into a tight ponytail descending part way down her back. Her facial features were very compelling. Jennifer remembered her father saying he intended for Sophia to resemble a composite of his favorite female actors. The likeness couldn't be more striking, she thought.

Sophia's height and stature matched that of Jennifer's, slim and about five foot seven. But what surprised Jen and Az the most was when Sophia's attire switch from an androgynous futuristic pantsuit to the same style of sweat shirt and pants that Jennifer was wearing. The only difference was Sophia's top was ablaze with the words, Stanford University, her father's alma mater.

Azuel remained speechless. He watched as Sophia folded her arms, doing so with a perfect representation of how he would do it himself. And when she spoke, her lips matched her words perfectly.

Jennifer appeared almost girlish while making her next request. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she said, before extending her hand. "But would you like to join me for a little walk?"

"I would like that very much," Sophia agreed, offering her hand to Jen. When their hands joined, Jennifer's face lit up again.

"It's called virtual haptic feedback," Sophia stated. "My holographic modules can also reproduce a sensation similar to touch."

Jennifer's smile beamed at Sophia, before she turned to Azuel. "The door, Az, if you don't mind?" Jen's coy expression matched the tone of her spirited voice.

"Of course," Az replied.

Opening the door inward, he stepped out of the way, watching as Jen led Sophia outside. To Jen's further surprise, Sophia's hologram seemed unaffected by the late afternoon sun, even though it was still strong. The hand-in-hand pair walked about in a small circle, before turning to look at Azuel.

Jen then looked at Sophia, intending to ask her another favor. "Would you do one more thing for me, Soph?"

"Of course," Sophia replied.

"Would you mind ...?"

But before Jen could finish her question, Sophia anticipated Jen's request, instantly transforming herself into Mitochondrial Eve.

Having exited Jen's quarters himself, Az stood just outside the doorway. He looked stunned. "That's amazing," he said.

Az was right. Mitochondrial Eve's skin was an attractive shade of golden brown, which endowed her with an ageless appearance. Her clothing consisted of animal hides beautifully edged by glass and eggshell beads. Several strands of colorful beads encircled and adorned her neck. A few striking medallions were woven into her hair, but her most engaging feature seemed to be the degree to which wisdom flowed from her generous, dark brown eyes.

"I believe you two have met before, haven't you?" Jen asked.

"We have," Az and Eve replied at the same time. Eve's English was now heavily accented by the Bantu dialect of her local Mbukushu relatives.

With her first encounter with Sophia exceeding every expectation, Jen's expression unfortunately turned to one of concern. She looked past Az to a scrubby bush area off in the distance.

"What's wrong?" Eve asked. She had also detected a tightening of Jennifer's grip.

"I thought you were going to talk to him?" Jen asked Az.

Azuel moved into a position where he could see what Jen was looking at. He scanned the area back and forth but saw nothing. He then turned back to Jen with an inquisitive look on his face.

"It was the same guy, the same hunter from before," Jen said, with frustration in her voice.

Az's expression suggested the timing couldn't have been worse. "This guy's becoming a little troublesome, isn't he?" he rhetorically asked.

Jen was obviously on edge, so it wasn't surprising she was easily put off by the question. "I don't know? Does staring in my direction with a spear at his side sound intimidating to you? Because it does to me."

"Are your sure it's the same guy?"

"I saw him too," Eve interjected.

Jen and Az didn't respond. They only stared at Eve.

"What?" Eve asked. "Of course I can see. If you must know, two devices constitute my optic inputs. My visual acuity is second to none."

Az answered first. "One would expect no less."

Looking at Eve, Jen suddenly became apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said. When she took a moment to fully appreciate who was standing beside her, Jen discovered another possible reason for the tribesman's extended stare. "You know what?" she asked. "He was probably looking at you, Soph, or should I say, Eve. Look at you, you're a stunning representation of a San Tribeswoman."

Concurrence could be seen in Azuel's eyes.

"Just trying to keep it authentic," Eve said.

"I agree with Jen," Az stated, taking a few steps toward Sophia. "He was definitely looking at you Eve." Then turning to Jen, he added: "But if you'd rather me have a look around? I'd be happy to do that."

"No, no," Jen said. "You should be on your way. You have more important things to attend to."

"You're sure?" Az asked.

"Beat it, Mister. You've got a plane to catch."

With that comment Azuel acquiesced. He put his safari hat on and bid his goodbyes, leaving Jennifer and Eve to return to her quarters.

"You could talk to him, couldn't you? You must know his dialect?" Jen asked Eve, referring to the elusive tribesman. "What am I saying, you're obviously speaking his language. You're beautiful and, well, the bottom line is this; if he wants an introduction, he has to come and see me first. Understand? He has to win my approval."

Eve just listened, as she retook Jen's hand.

"Secondly," Jen added, forcefully. They started walking toward her hut. "The spear has got to go. The spear definitely doesn't work for me, how about you?" she asked, turning to Eve.

"I don't know," Eve replied, as they walked through the doorway and into Jen's living quarters. Her innocent tone matched her youthful sense of intrigue. "I kind of like it," she sheepishly admitted.

"Dear God girl. We have to talk," Jen lamented, closing the door behind them.
CHAPTER TWENYSEVEN

Mumbai, India

One hour after landing

~

"YOU'RE SURE THIS IS IT?" Simon asked Sophia. He was standing outside the door to an apartment, whose building was directly adjacent to the grounds of Mumbai University.

"Yes, it's the correct address," Sophia replied, through Simon's Bluetooth. "Our instructions are to make contact with Manu's former girlfriend. She will lead us to JD."

"Alright," Simon said, before knocking on the door.

No one answered at first, but after a second series of knocks, Simon heard a voice sternly ask: "Who is it?"

"It's Simon Taylor. I'm looking for Ms. Batra."

"I need you to look directly at the peephole," the voice asked.

The statement surprised Simon, however he soon understood the reason for the request. He correctly presumed Ms. Batra was confirming his identity by corroborating his likeness with a series of Google images.

Simon then heard the lock being unlatched. The door opened slowly, then stopped. A female in her late twenties offered a cautious expression through a narrow gap between the door and its frame. "You're alone?" she asked.

"I am," Simon said. It was obvious the woman feared for her safety.

Ms. Batra opened the door more fully and asked Simon to: "Please come in."

After cresting the door's threshold Sophia did her own visual confirmation, saying quietly to Simon: "It's her."

Simon's custom Bluetooth included an embedded micro-camera that allowed Sophia to corroborate Ms. Batra's identity with a few social media images.

After following the young woman into the apartment, Ms. Batra sat down at a small table adjacent to an attached kitchen. The dwelling was modest, but well kept. Simon saw two slightly opened doorways down a short hallway, and he assumed they gave access to two bedrooms. He stopped short of where Ms. Batra was sitting, when she abruptly asked: "What's in the briefcase?"

Simon glanced down at vintage-style brown leather handbag. "Just a few things to keep the tide turning in our favor."

Ms. Basha looked unconvinced, so when Simon sat down across from her at the table, he pulled a small box from one of its side pockets. Placing it in front of her, Simon could tell she instantly recognized the Halo brand. Through its transparent packaging, she saw a Bluetooth earpiece nearly identical to the device in Simon's right ear.

"Trust me," Simon said. "It'll help us get through the rest of the day."

The gift had the effect of breaking the ice, and Ms. Batra's smile, if only half-hearted, suggested a willingness to dispense with her suspicious demeanor. "My name is Aahna," the young woman stated, allowing her body language to finally match her casual attire.

She was dressed in ripped blue jeans, running shoes, and a burgundy sweater. Her accent was a blend of Hindi and English, more commonly known as Hinglish. An MU ball cap sat on the table, as if at the ready to alter her appearance by concealing her long dark hair.

"And I'm Simon," Simon said, setting down his briefcase. He was similarly clad in jeans, casual shoes, and a tan coat jacket made of light fabric.

"So," Simon stated, glancing inquisitively at Aahna. "I understand you might be able to connect me with ..."

"Possibly," Aahna interjected. "I'll need a few assurances first, though." Aahna's disposition transitioned again, this time to being fearful of getting further involved. "You have to assure me that he won't get hurt."

"Who won't get hurt, Aahna? JD?" Simon asked.

"The same people that killed Manu will not hesitate to kill Desh, do you understand?"

"Is Desh JD, Aahna?" Simon stated. "Because if he is, I need to talk to him as soon as possible."

Aahna looked directly at Simon. With a blank expression, she announced: "I'm JD, Mr. Taylor. I am the one who will bring you to Deshad Singh."

Simon was definitely taken back by Aahna's revelation. He then heard Sophia's voice in his ear. "She needs to confirm her whereabouts on the day of the New York attack."

Doubt could be seen through Simon's squinting eyes. "You're JD?" he asked. He watched Aahna nod, before he pressed his next question. "Can you confirm for me where you were when Manu Singh died?"

Ashina immediately glanced out the window to her left, as if trying to conceal something still troubling her. The effort was in vain, however. She turned back to Simon with eyes needing to unburden themselves. "I was in New York with Manu. Deshad was there too."

Aahna felt her eyes welling up, and an errant tear soon rolled down her cheeks. "I feel so horribly guilty," she admitted, wiping her cheek.

"Guilty?" Simon asked. "Why?"

"Because all three of us were supposed to check out the new lab at NYU. Manu and Desh would have both been killed, if it weren't for ..."

"If it weren't for what, Aahna?"

Aahna took a moment to compose herself. After passing Aahna something to dry her eyes, Simon persisted. "If it weren't for what, Aahna?"

"I was going to tell Manu that it was over between us, I really was. We argued a lot about that ... that stupid DARPA contest. It consumed his every waking hour. We rarely saw each other."

Simon sensed the genuineness of Aahna's pain, but he also felt compelled to move their discussion along. "This is important, Aahna. Did Manu know that his design was destined for Munich?"

"No, no," Aahna replied. "Everything was so secretive. I knew other people were working on the project, but he never told me their names. I know who they are now. They're all dead. You have to trust me, Mr. Taylor. Manu thought they were working toward the goal of winning that contest. End of story. He would never allow his work to be exploited in such a way."

Simon got up from his chair and walked over to one of the large windows overlooking the university campus. "Alright," he said. "Assuming no one knew how this terraforming device would ultimately be deployed, how does Deshad fit into all of this?"

Again Simon heard Sophia's voice in his ear. "Her voice is infused with remorse, Simon. Ask her about her relationship with Deshad?"

But Aahna read Sophia's thoughts. "Do you want me to say it?" she asked, looking up at Simon.

"You and Deshad? You were with him when ..."

"When Manu died in the lab," Aahna interjected. Allowing her head to fall into her hands, she began to sob. "Yes. I lied to him, Mr. Taylor. I made up an excuse why Desh and I couldn't be there. You have to trust me. I had no idea what was going to happen."

"I'm willing to believe you, Ms. Batra," Simon stated. "However, I'm more concerned with what we do next."

With a tear-stained face Aahna looked up at Simon again, this time with a sense of determination. "The only thing I can do now is atone for my actions. Deshad has a copy of Manu's design. He became suspicious of the secrecy as well, so he downloaded the file without Manu knowing. I have to make this right, Mr. Taylor."

"Then where is Deshad? Is he in Dharavi?"

"He is," Ani stated. "And I will bring you to him."
CHAPTER TWENYEIGHT

Mumbai, India

Dharavi Slum

Population: 1.2M

~

SIMON AND AAHNA got out of a three-wheeled motorized cab on a busy Dharavi street. Having never seen something so visually compelling, Simon's eyes were drawn to the denseness of the dwellings surrounding him. It was almost too overwhelming at first. The sheer scope of fitting over a million people into a one square mile area seemed an impossible feat of nature. But there it was, nonetheless.

Every building material imaginable had been used or reused in the cubical structures stacked two, three, and sometimes four-stories high. Concrete, wood, masonry, and most prominently, sheets of corrugated tin defined most residences. The natural colors of earth-born products could be seen everywhere, the shades of browns, yellows, and greys were clearly evident, but the one that struck Simon as being the most conspicuous was the familiar blue-colored tarpaulin. It was stretched out across every second dwelling, providing relief, he imagined, as much from the hot sun as the seasonal rains. When Aahna noticed the look of astonishment on Simon's face, she joined him at his side, asking: "Are you okay? It's a lot to take in at first."

Simon took a deep breath and nodded. "How about you?" he asked. "I take it you've been here before?"

"I was born here, Mr. Taylor," Aahna answered, adjusting her ball cap. "Manu and Desh as well."

Simon's silence didn't go unnoticed.

"Does that surprise you?" she asked. "I can imagine the mental gymnastics your mind is doing right now. How can something that threatens the existence of every living thing on earth have come from such a place? The juxtaposition is almost too much to bear, isn't it?"

"On the surface, possibly," Simon agreed, as if reluctantly. "But I'll tell you what, Aahna. I'll promise to never underestimate you, as long as you do the same for me."

"Underestimate the great Simon Taylor?" Aahna asked, glancing at Simon's briefcase, which now hung over her shoulder. "Now that would be a mistake. No matter where you hail from."

Aahna's hung on tightly to the briefcase's shoulder strap, as Simon kept pace with her. He looked around in every direction, panning the crowd for anomalies. This allowed Sophia to scan the faces of everyone in the area, giving her a baseline to cross-reference later. Then stopping near a narrow alleyway that would take them into Dharavi, Simon Paused and took in his surroundings one more time. Aahna stopped as well and looked back at Simon. "Shall we?" she asked. She recognized the momentary look of hesitation, of someone feeling out of their element.

"I should consider myself lucky to be navigating Dharavi with my own personal guide."

Aahna was intrigued by Simon's interest. "Do you really want to know what it's like to call Dharavi home?"

"I do," Simon replied.

"Well then, Mr. Taylor ..."

"Please, call me Simon."

"Well then, Simon, if you'll please follow me, your tour begins right now."

Sophia relayed the results of her facial scan to Simon, as he walked alongside Aahna.

"I think we'll soon confirm two men are following you," Sophia said in Simon's ear. "I'm forwarding their pictures to your phone. One of them is wearing a medium-sized backpack, possibly concealing a firearm."

Simon pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced at it.

Sophia stated: "Everyone in the crowd is looking at you ..."

"Naturally," Simon interjected, jokingly.

Aahna heard Simon speak, so she asked: "Did you say something?"

"I was speaking with Sophia," Simon replied. "She'd be happy to hear from you too, by the way."

Sophia tried to get a word in edge-wise in order to finish what she was saying. "I've highlighted two individuals who become conspicuously preoccupied every time you look in their direction."

Simon noticed the two men depicted on his phone. They were both wearing non-descript clothing, dark-colored pants and short-sleeved collared shirts. Their hair was short and black. One had a mustache, the other a three-day beard.

"I'll keep an eye out for them," Simon said. "And do me a favor will you, Sophie? Introduce yourself to Aahna. I'm sure she'll have a few observations that you won't find in any tourist blog."

When Simon and Aahna turned to walk down a nearby narrow corridor, Simon pulled Ani aside, saying: "Just wait a moment."

Simon looked back to where they entered the passageway.

"What's wrong?" Aahna asked.

"That's them," Sophia said in Simon's ear.

Aahna also saw two men peer into the alleyway and then linger about near its entrance.

"You better start handing those things out," Simon said, nodding toward the case that Aahna had slung over her shoulder.

Simon took the opportunity to let loose two bird drones from another briefcase pocket. They instantly took flight, providing Simon with a significant tactical advantage: a bird's eye view of Dharavi, which was now visible on his cell phone

As the pair resumed their walk down the eight-foot corridor, Aahna stopped periodically and talked to residents going about their business. Many seemed to recognize her, while others appeared happy to see her again. Simon watched as she offered each of them a small gift, placing it in their hands. He was heartened by the degree to which a simple smile could seal their mutual understanding.

Simon and Aahna continued walking through different alleys and corridors, until they eventually emerged into a retail market area. Simon was instantly impressed by the economic activity taking place.

"Did you know," Aahna asked, "that Dharavi contributes the equivalent of a billion and a half dollars to India's economy?"

Simon stared at the trucks parked alongside the wider road they were now on. Aahna said they were being loaded with the products manufactured for export, many to international markets. She continued to greet people and pass along the same thing she gave to others.

"There are some 7,500 businesses and over 15,000 single room factories here," she said.

Aahna stopped for a moment and looked around. Her Bluetooth concealed the same high definition video camera that Simon's had.

Sophia confirmed the two men were still pursuing them, however slowly. Simon and Aahna acted as if they were shopping at a number of produce vendors, all the while buying themselves the time they needed to deploy their plan.

"They make everything from pottery to leather jackets," Aahna added, as she and Simon casually walked then stopped, then walked and shopped again. "Recycling of paper and plastics is big her as well. These people live the principle of microeconomics. How does that saying go? One man's trash ..."

"Is another man's treasure, or resource in this case," Simon interjected. "What I find striking is, for the most part, people seem happy here. I don't sense any discontent for ..." Simon hesitated, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

"Their lot in life?" Aahna said, completing Simon's thought.

She stopped and looked at Simon in order to make an important point. "Without glossing over the cramped living quarters, long work days, the lack of proper infrastructure, yes, for the most part they are as happy as you would encounter anywhere else. Many people never leave Dharavi, so they are a product of their environment. This is their entire context. It's all they know."

Simon couldn't help feeling impressed again. "It's a testament to the human spirit, isn't it ... of being able to make the best of what life offers you?"

Aahna smiled. "I think you are beginning to understand Dharavi, Simon," she said.

The pair walked on.

"What can I say," Simon responded, closely following Aahna. "It pays to have a well-informed guide."

A few moments later, Simon and Aahna descended down another narrow alley, stopping just long enough to confirm the whereabouts of their followers.

"Now," Simon said. "I think we're going to have to raise the tempo a little bit. How far to Deshad's safe house?"

"As the crow flies, ten minutes."

"Okay, then why don't we take our friends on a more circuitous route? I presume you know the area well?"

"Like the back of my hand," Aahna replied.

"Perfect. Are your recruits ready?"

"They are."

"Then I'll follow your lead," Simon said.

"This way," Aahna said, nodding in the direction she wanted to proceed.

With those words, Aahna looked directly at the two men pursuing them and then darted down an adjacent alley. Simon did the same, saying to himself: the chase is on.

The first pursuer took only several strides before being confronted by a wheeled cart carrying recycled water cans. He quickly tumbled over it, upsetting the cart and its contents. As if by coincidence, it had been moved into his path by a young man who seemed more the willing to play the part of the apologizer. He helped the first man recover to his feet only to find himself in the path of the other man trying to get around him. The second pursuer nearly fell to the ground with the cart-pusher in turn, but he quickly recovered in time to join his partner in a sprint toward where Simon and Ani disappeared.

Sophia thanked the cart-pushing man in Hindy. Dusting himself off, the man smiled as he used his right index finger to secure his Bluetooth in his ear.

Simon looked at his cell phone, saying "thank you very much," to himself. Cart man had just dropped two tracking devices into each of the pursuers back pockets. The movements of both men were now visible on Simon's phone.

When the two thugs reached the alley into which Aahna and Simon disappeared, they ran down the corridor without hesitation. Only seconds later, though, they were forced to stop. Two more narrow passages broke off in separate directions from the one they were on. They glanced down one and then the other to no avail. Their prey had vanished.

To the uninitiated, the true nature of Dharavi was becoming self-evident. It was a maze of corridors and passageways known only to the locals, locals that were walking, sitting and watching, all the while going about their daily Dharavi routines.

By some coincidence a young male walked up to the two men and pointed in several different directions. When he held out his hand, as if to elicit payment for information, the first thug lifted the right side of his shirt. It loosely concealed a holstered gun. The young male quickly recoiled, realizing his shakedown attempt had been quashed. He held up his hands and then pointed convincingly down the path Simon and Aahna had just taken. The two thugs raced onward, zig zagging their way around people, motor scooters, and the odd artisan selling his wares, but unfortunately for them, it wasn't long before they stopped again. "That little shit," one of the men said, fearing they had been led down the proverbial garden path.

"Stop," Sophia said to Simon.

Slowing to a walk, Simon took a deep breath before asking Aahna to stop with him. When they both looked at Simon's phone, the distance between them and their pursuers was clearly evident.

"I think we've lost them," Aahna said to Simon.

Leading Simon further on, it wasn't long before Aahna found herself at another four-way juncture. Looking down the adjoining alleyway to see if they should proceed, her inquiry was a stroke of luck for her pursuers. One of them noticed her.

"Go, go, go," she yelled to Simon, pushing him forward. As they accelerated to a near sprint, the hint of a smile came over their faces. Each felt the excitement of the game being on again.

But if it were a game, who was the cat and who the mouse? Simon would have considered the chase an audition for either role, as he and Aahna led their pursuers down many corridors, alleys, and narrow passageways. He looked at his phone periodically in order to track his friends and foes alike. A real-time video of what Dharavi looked like from above included the exact location of his two pursuers as well as Aahna's volunteers.

"The bad guys are highlighted in red, the good guys in blue," he said to Aahna, as she glanced over his shoulder.

The red and blue dots intersected now and again, often frustrating the two men giving chase. Their efforts would be thwarted, and then rewarded, and then thwarted again, thanks, in part, to Sophia's constant intervention. Though she moved Aahna's enlistees into place like she would the players on a chessboard, the entire endeavor resembled theatre more than a game, although two of its characters were entirely unaware of their roles, or how they were being played.

When Simon and Aahna found themselves alone at the end of one alley, Simon offered an inquiring expression, wondering if they had finally reached the place where he would meet Deshad Singh. Aahna concurred with a nod.

By this time, the two men following them had taken up positions thirty to forty meters away. From opposite sides of the same alley, they could see Simon at the end of the corridor. He was obviously talking to someone, hopefully Deshad Singh, the man they were really after.

Leaving nothing to chance, one of the men fell to one knee, removed his backpack, and then pulled a compact tactical rifle from inside. In only seconds, its parts were unfolded into place. The butt of the rifle stock was shoved into the assassin's shoulder, yielding a preparedness to fire upon command. He stood up, but waited out of sight for the cue of his accomplice, still on the other side of the narrow lane. His line of sight was somewhat obscured by boxes and other paraphernalia lining the adjoining residences, but the alleyway was relatively quiet; only a few people were out and about. The assassin's accomplice held his phone in one hand, ready to confirm the likeness of Deshad Singh, the man they were there to kill.

Simon stood at the end of the same alley, but Aahna had disappeared for a moment down an adjoining corridor. He couldn't help looking around suspiciously, as if something were about to happen. In short order, though, Simon's expression turned from concern to a smile. Deshad Singh emerged with Aahna from the adjacent alley. When Simon and Deshad met face to face, they shook hands, as the usual pleasantries were exchanged.

"Mr. Singh," Simon stated. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Taylor," Deshad replied.

Deshad was all smiles at first, but when he noticed Simon and Aahna stepping away from him, he became somewhat concerned. He glanced back and forth between the two, offering them an inquisitive expression.

"What? Is there something wrong?" he asked. His smile was replaced by an expression of caution.

Simon wanted to explain, but the group were soon distracted a warning being shouted from further down the alley. One of Aahna's volunteers was sounding the alarm. Simon, Aahna, and Desh turned to look, but in the time it took for Simon to shout: "Get down," two rifle bullets ripped through Deshad's chest, knocking him backward against a wall behind.

"Deshad!" Aahna screamed, as Simon's expression turned from disbelief to incredulous. In just seconds, everything had fallen apart. In disbelief Simon watched Aahna fall to her knees beside Deshad, pleading for any response that would disprove he was dead.

No sooner were the shots fired that a Dharavi man slammed a broad stick over the shoulders of the shooter, knocking him to the ground. The rifle went skidding across the alley, and by some good fortune, it was instantly picked up by someone who had just stepped out of a doorway. The gun was turned on the shooter, convincingly, but it wasn't fired.

With other bystanders seemingly appearing out of nowhere, the assassin was quickly helped to his feet by his accomplice. He brandished his handgun, pointing at those that were beginning to encircle them. Expressions spoke for the pair's predicament; they obviously feared for their lives.

With the gun being menaced in front of the onlookers, everyone backed off slowly, allowing the pair to make good their hasty exit. They bolted down the passageways and corridors of Dharavi. Whether they would ultimately make it out alive was the furthest thing from Simon's mind.

Simon could hardly believe that Deshad Singh lay at his feet. Was he truly dead? Simon knelt down on one knee, putting his right hand on Aahna's shoulder. When the pair looked at each other, incredibly ... they smiled.

CHAPTER TWENYNINE

Mumbai, India

Dharavi Slum

~

BY NOW a group of people had gathered around Simon and Aahna, as they crouched beside Deshad.

Simon turned and looked down the alley from where the shots came. He seemed thankful to get a nod from the stick wielding man. Simon reciprocated the gesture.

"They're gone," he said, offering his hand to Aahna.

As the pair stood up, he added: "I think that was very convincing, wouldn't you say?"

Looking down at what appeared to a deceased man, the small group was startled by the sight of him suddenly opening his eyes. Several people looked and pointed to where the assassin fired his shots. They could see how the man lying on the ground could be misinterpreted as a real person from that distance, however from here, where they stood, the man lying in front of them gave the appearance of being part spirit, part illusion. Aatma, (spirit in Hindi) was the first thought that came to most minds. But as quickly as the man stood up he did something even more incredible - he turned into a woman, a woman who then introduced herself as Sophia.

Aahna was astonished by the same holographic technology that Jennifer had recently received from her father. Simon looked on as if reveling in the moment. He could hardly believe that Sophia could finally physically greet the people with whom she corresponded.

"You must be Aahna, or should I say JD?" Sophia stated, smiling.

The delightful expression on Sophia's face suggested she appreciated her newly found ability to exist in the tangible world. Her expressive brown eyes beamed through her smile, as she offered her admirers a traditional Namaste. She bowed slightly and held her hands together as if to pray. Her blue slacks and off-white sleeveless shift dress supplemented her innate abilities, especially those that ensured adherence to local customs.

Aahna went on to proudly introduce her cast of co-conspirators, and Sophia was happy to converse with them in the same way she had done throughout their well-choreographed performance, in their native Hindi. But with other matters still needing their immediate attention, it wasn't long before Aahna and Simon soon found themselves at the safe house where Deshad had been residing.

Aahna knocked at the door and when it opened, she respectfully announced in Hindi: "We're here to see Deshad."

A middle-aged woman glanced between her and Simon, while offering the appearance of being somewhat confused.

Aahna interpreted the woman's expression as being skeptical of Simon's presence, so she made an effort to reassure her. "He's a friend," she said in Hindi. "He wants to help Deshad."

"D _eshada yahaan nahin hai," the woman stated._

Aahna recoiled somewhat. "What do you mean he isn't here?"

"Vah ek aur aadamee ke saath chhod diya."

"He left with another man," Aahna stated, translating the other woman's words. "Kab?" "When?" she asked.

"Aaj subah."

"This morning," Aahna repeated, with a look of concern.

Simon quickly intervened with his own question. "What did the man look like?" he asked. He then took out his cell phone and hurriedly tapped into his gallery of photos.

Aahna translated for the woman again, relaying the man's description to Simon. "He had a beard, short hair, and he wore expensive clothes. He wasn't from Dharavi."

"Was this the man who came for Deshad?" Simon asked, holding out his phone.

Aahna almost gasped when she saw the photo.

"Haan," the woman replied, meaning, yes.

"This is the man that took Deshad away?" Aahna asked. Her voice carried with it a sense of worry. "Are you sure?" she pleaded in Hindi.

"Hann. Hann," the woman replied, nodding convincingly.

"Praveen Gill," Aahna stated. She stared at Simon, as if shocked by the revelation. "He's in prison. How is that even possible?"

"I'm about to find out," Simon replied, realizing what he had to do next.

Simon quickly recalled Gill's phone number from his call history, tapped on the phone icon, and then heard a dial tone in his ear.

When the other end picked up, he heard the unmistakable voice of Praveen Gill. "Simon Taylor," he answered. "Once again, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Simon's tone was stern and to the point. "You know why I'm calling Gill. What have you done with Deshad Singh?"

Prav Gill was indeed in prison, in so far as his minimum-security bungalow could be considered imprisonment. He was sitting in the same wingback chair he occupied during their last conversation. His clothes were similar too, resembling more an executive on vacation than an incarcerated man. "Come, come, Mr. Taylor. If we're to work together on this you're going to have to ..."

"Work together?" Simon forcefully interjected. "Listen to me, Gill. I need to know the whereabouts of Deshad Singh. He may be the one man that can bring about an end to the Munich Crisis."

"Calm yourself, Mr. Taylor. Calm yourself," Prav stated, drily. "Mister Singh may well be humanity's last hope, but before I answer any of your questions, I have one of my own. Am I correct in the assumption that upon becoming aware of Deshad's disappearance you called me first?"

"That assumption would be correct," Simon replied.

Aahna looked on as if the answers were not coming fast enough.

"Good, good," Prav said. "Then let me first say that no harm has come to our friend. The reason being, he factors significantly into both our purposes."

"I don't understand," Simon said.

"Yes, well," Gill began. "One must always weigh his own self-interest against that of the greater community. Is this not true?"

Simon looked as though he was becoming frustrated: "Come to the point Gill."

"Simply put. You need Deshad Singh to bring the Munich Crisis to a close, and I need to ensure that takes place at the right moment."

Simon shook his head as if Gill was making little sense. "Does Deshad have a copy of his brother's design or not?" he asked Gill.

"He does indeed, Mr. Taylor. And you will have it in your possession in due course."

"In due course?" Simon repeated, almost yelling. "How many more people have to die?"

Prav Gill remained strangely calm, saying: "It's not about death anymore. I can assure you of that, Simon. I hope you don't mind me calling you Simon?"

Prav Gill looked across his suite and found Deshad Singh staring back at him. The young man was sitting on a dark-colored sofa on the other side of the room. His hands and feet were bound, but he appeared no worse for the wear.

Gill turned his attention to a television that both he and Singh could see. "If I could I ask one more favor of you Simon, please go to the BBC website, will you? There is some breaking news that will be of interest to us both."

"Sophia," Simon stated. "Is there anything breaking out of Munich?"

"There is, Simon," Sophia responded.

Simon asked Aahna to pull up the BBC News website on her phone. A live video feed was the focus of their top story. It was being streamed from a drone flying only meters above the area decimated by the synthetic bacteria. Though everything was ashen-grey and devoid of any signs of life, the drone hovered over and focused in just a few square meters of ground.

"The video is authentic, Simon," Sophia stated. "I'm uploading it to my News Navigator right now."

Simon looked closely at the video playing on Aahna's phone. "I don't see anything ... wait. What's that?"

"It's what I've been waiting for," Gill said to Simon. "It's the reason why I can't hand over Deshad Singh to you right away. Please watch closely and you'll understand."

"Is that what I think it is?" Aahna asked.

The video zoomed in even closer.

"It looks like a ... a blade of green grass," Simon said. A sense of wonder filled his voice.

"You are going to have to trust me, Simon," Gill softly stated. "Family is everything, is it not? I promise you, I will be in touch."

With the first signs of regenesis taking place near Munich, Simon dared not speak the name now filling his thoughts.
CHAPTER THIRTY

Mumbai, India

That same evening

~

"SIMON?"

"Yes, Sophia."

"The data breach story we talked about earlier is gaining traction on several social media platforms. If we don't step up our response immediately, we could soon be facing a significant public buy-in by election day."

Seated in the back of a Mumbai taxi, Simon turned his attention to a troubling news story that had recently been smoldering among several conspiracy-type media outlets. It all stemmed from a blog suggesting that PurIntel was covering up a company-wide data breach that saw its entire Halo client list stolen and become the subject of a hefty ransom, some fifty million US Dollars. The sensational news item was, in fact, a complete fabrication, but the fiction was showing signs of having legs, so to speak. It had the potential to transition from an annoyance to a significant threat.

Simon trusted Sophia's behavioral algorithms implicitly, and the concern on his face accurately reflected her ability to quantify the risk to his company's reputation. He knew if they didn't act quickly to counteract the falsehood, the fallout might not only undermine the PurIntel brand, it could easily cause trouble for Independent Candidate Joan Summers as well.

Simon loosened the tie of his tailored black suit and looked decidedly uncomfortable while taking in Mumbai's street-level vistas.

The story also asserted that PurIntel executives, Simon Taylor in particular, refused to pay the ransom, therefore causing troubling amounts of personal data to be dumped into the public domain.

Companies who found themselves the target of hackers often paid ransoms in order that their client files be returned or destroyed, but what distinguished this alleged data left from others was the fact that PurIntel was involved in millions of long-term genetic studies.

In return for free high-level access to the Halo, people from around the world, students especially, offered verifiable samples of their DNA as well as personal information, which included their family's detailed medical history. This exchange, which had been taking place for years, enabled Sophia to painstakingly piece together what became known as the superhuman genome. The super genome represented a theoretical unblemished strand of human DNA that has since been utilized to identify and eliminate many inherited illnesses from the human gene pool. With segments of the super genome being licensed to many health-related organizations, several media outlets were now suggesting that a data breach of that magnitude would have industry-wide implications. It would undoubtedly represent a setback to any organization whose research relied on public participation.

PurIntel always prided itself on its unblemished confidentiality record, however Simon understood that public opinion was a malleable life force, that it could be nurtured in nefarious ways, and that the truth/fiction threshold was sometimes easily obscured. However, he also knew if you wanted to defeat a particular narrative, you had to offer something even more compelling, something, perhaps, that leveraged principles as timeless as fear.

"What about client uptake?" Simon asked. "How's that trending?"

"Client acceptance to the story being fake is north of ninety eight percent."

"That's an impressive number," Simon stated.

"You said it yourself," Sophia replied. "Manage the relationship successfully, and success will be yours to manage."

"I think it was my father who said that," Simon admitted, while glancing out his left rear window.

An abundance of cars, motorcycles, noisy scooters, as well as three-wheeled taxicabs vied for every open space on the motorway. Drivers routinely disregarded the lines on the road separating one lane from another. Where three lanes existed, four or more lines of traffic had the effect of reducing everything to a crawl.

"It's a motto worth living by just the same," Sophia replied.

"What about new Halo subscriptions?" Simon asked.

"After adjusting for Munich, they're off by eight percent."

Simon understood that particular revelation as being the most troubling. He knew the misinformation campaign wasn't intended for established Halo clients. They were recognized as being the most loyal customer base in the world. The fake news story was most likely meant to influence potential Independent voters. If you could undermine a political movement's biggest supporter, it might alter the outcome of some closely contested jurisdictions.

Simon looked at his driver and was somewhat perplexed by the conversation he seemed to be carrying on with himself. His hand gestures seemed to transcend language. Driver frustration seemed embedded in his every word and action.

"Would you like me to translate that for you?" Sophia asked.

"No thank you. I get the gist of what he's trying to convey. By the way, can you see if Derrick is available later this evening? I'd like to bounce a few ideas off him about the data breach story."

"Will do," Sophia responded.

Simon listened patiently to his driver, nodding politely as several intervals, but it wasn't long before he found himself in front of his next destination, one of Mumbai's five star hotels. When the taxi stopped in front, he straightened his tie. The rear door was quickly opened, allowing Simon to step out. A well-dressed doorman established the first of several positive impressions.

The lobby was everything you'd expect from a luxury hotel, exquisite design, lighting, and the embodiment of sophistication that extended well beyond décor. However Simon gave the preceding little consideration, as he strode through and headed for the express elevator. The lift's interior shone brightly with shades of gold, as it took him aloft.

When the doors reopened, it was a spectacular setting into which Simon walked; a rooftop bar overlooking both the city and the sea. From the hotel's forty-fifth floor, his eyes were instantly drawn to the distant sunset. Yellows and oranges towered over clouds beneath, but as much as a stunning horizon had a natural ability to captivate one's attention, Simon soon found himself being appraised by many of the lounge's well-dressed patrons.

Sophia had informed him that the bar was a magnet for Mumbai's Bollywood elite. Movie stars, their entourages, as well as those pursuing their big break were known to frequent the upscale hangout. It's obviously a place to be seen and to network, Simon thought, as he moved through the impeccably dressed crowd.

Loud pop music thumped on, keeping everyone but Simon in sync. He paused briefly and looked at his phone in order to refresh the appearance of the man for whom he was looking. At first he thought it was a strange place to meet Allan Forbes's contact, but then he smiled, realizing it represented the perfect venue to meet someone whose reputation had been conjured in advance. Simon glanced around the rooftop room and soon found a likeness within its high glass railings. He shook his head in disbelief. Our Man in Mumbai was standing at the bar, and he appeared to be enjoying the company of two beautiful woman.

Only moments later, Simon was being hailed over by his contact. The man obviously knew what Simon looked like, and he wasn't shy about shouting Simon's name aloud. While pressing his way through the crowd, many heads turned with speculation in their eyes. Whispers followed Simon's every move. Was the famous New Yorker there to invest, to broker a major Bollywood deal? Most people looked on as if the entire evening were an extended audition. When Simon finally stood in front of the man he was there to meet, he announce: "You must be Ashwin Nasir?"

"Please call me Ash," he replied. "And you must be Simon Taylor. Am I correct?"

As the two men shook hands, Ashwin's enthusiastic smile gave Simon the distinct impression his own reputation had preceded him as well.

"Let me get us a table," Ashwin stated, before turning to his attractive companions. "Sorry, ladies, but I have some important business to discuss with my good friend, Simon Taylor."

Ashwin dropped Simon's name in a way that could only be interpreted as an attempt to add to his prestige. It made Simon somewhat uncomfortable, though, almost annoyed. Finding himself the subject of Ash's beautiful acquaintances only added to his sense of awkwardness.

With confidence, Ash raised his hand to a waiter across the room. The waiter understood the cue as if it had been rehearsed, and he responded with a crisp nod.

"Shall we?" Ashwin suggested.

Simon followed Ashwin through the crowd toward an area on the opposite side of the dance floor. A series of eyes accompanied the two men, as Ashwin greeted several people along the way. Simon shook a few hands as well, and a strange sense of bemusement began to suppress any previous reservations.

Pale blue lighting underscored the establishment's effervescent mood. A series of white, semi-circular booths occupied an elevated area that overlooked the bar's enthusiastic patrons; the city at large was clearly visible as well. The sun was more fully involved in its decent now, and the atmosphere of the rooftop venue suggested it had been designed to take over from where the sun left off.

When the pair found themselves at their table, the waiter accepted a tip from Ash. Simon was also the subject of his generosity when it arrived in the form of an invitation to be seated first. Simon did so with a multitude of questions waiting to be asked.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Ashwin asked.

Simon's expression suggested he was at a loss for words. "I'll have whatever you're having," he suggested.

"Two martinis," Ash said to their waiter. "You know how I like them," he added.

Simon couldn't believe his ears. Martinis? Are you kidding me? he thought.

To this point, Ashwin's demeanor reflected a healthy measure of self-assurance, but an insight into the real man was offered when Ash exuded a genuine appreciation for being able to sit at the same table as Simon Taylor, a man for whom he had great admiration.

An unexpected boyish-like laugh from Ashwin caught Simon off guard.

"The great Simon Taylor," Ash said, smiling. His English was infused with his Mumbai accent. "You know, I pictured you just as you are ... a sort of James Bond type character."

Simon was taken aback somewhat. "I don't know what to say," he replied.

"That's why I ordered the martinis," Ash added, as their waiter place the drinks in front of them. "You're going to solve this Munich thing, aren't you?"

"I was hoping we would do that together," Simon stated.

Ashwin became uncharacteristically excited. "Can you believe it? Well, maybe you can, but I certainly can't."

"Believe what?" Simon asked, smiling.

Many patrons were keeping a close eye on Simon's booth, hoping that a major movie deal might be in the making.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to meet you? I've been a Halo client since the beginning, since Sophia came on-line. I've admired your vision ever since."

Simon seemed surprised, once again. "Well, thank you, Ash," he said.

"I know what Sophia represents," Ash said, adding quietly, but demonstratively: "The next human epoch!"

At first Simon didn't know what to say. Ash's enthusiasm was indeed compelling, almost infectious, but it also added to his apparent complexities. Simon needed to better understand the man sitting across from him, so he turned inquisitive. "Do you mind if I ask you something, Ash?"

"Anything."

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you have me at a bit of a loss."

Simon turned and looked around the club as if he were trying to put the pieces together.

"This bar, the beautiful women ..."

"Oh, yes," Ash interjected. "They're just for show."

Having said that, Ash realized his comments only added to Simon's sense of confusion.

"No! That's not want I meant," Ash stated, convincingly. "I love attractive women as much as you do."

Simon still looked perplexed.

"Unless, of course," Ash retorted, awkwardly. "Maybe I've been horribly presumptuous. In case you don't know, I'm a live and let live kind of guy."

"Ashwin," Simon stated, as if he were trying to calm things down. "I think we're getting a little off topic."

"You're right. My sincerest apologies," Ashwin stated, pausing briefly before confessing: "The venue, the beautiful women ... my uncle is one of the top Bollywood producers. Raj Nasir, maybe you've heard of him?"

Simon resisted the urge to shrug his shoulders.

"Gangs of Mumbai? My Guru? Boys from Bombay? No?" Ash asked, receiving no response from Simon. "Not to worry. I suppose it goes without saying, having a famous uncle comes with a few perks."

"And being the beloved nephew ... you are a conduit to stardom," Simon added.

"It's a family business of sorts. My father works for my uncle, so my whole life has been framed by movies, so to speak. I guess we all play several roles in life, do we not?"

Simon offered a smile of reassurance. "We do. Only I'm interested the real Ashwin Nasir, the man who is going to be instrumental in resolving an existential threat to the world."

Ash sat back and reflected on Simon's words. His eyes suggested they fell on fertile ground. "That would take a man worthy of much admiration, would it not?" he asked. His brow furrowed and his eyes lit up even more.

"Blockbuster movies are built around such men," Simon stated.

"I could pen my own screenplay."

"You'd cast the male lead yourself," Simon agreed.

"My father loved American movies, the western genre in particular. Do you know who I'm thinking for you?"

"Dare I ask?" Simon answered. His smile suggested a willingness to play along.

Ash thought for a moment, before stating confidently: "For you my friend, I'm thinking a modern day James Coburn."

Simon burst out laughing.
CHAPTER THIRTYONE

Mumbai's Bandra-Worli Sea Link

2:43 a.m.

~

ASH NAZIR DID MOST OF THE TALKING, as he and Simon drove northward across Mumbai's Sea Link, a 5.6 kilometer suspension bridge that connected Worli in the south to Bandra in the north.

"Praveen Gill was bent on establishing Mumbai as global leader in genetics. He was pouring millions into his consortium long before being indicted in the U.S.," Ash stated, glancing at Simon.

The uneasiness of carrying the conversation on his own was tempered somewhat by the realization his passenger looked tired to the point of being distracted.

Simon offered no response while looking toward Worli Bay on his right. Mumbai's illuminated skyline shone brightly just beyond its shores. To his left, a darkened Arabian Sea tugged at his imagination. For a moment, he allowed himself to be mesmerized by its apparent resilience. But then he wondered how long it would take for the Munich Crisis to reach its shores and then its depths. Would it transform its inhabitants in the same way it had overtaken its terrestrial relatives.

"Gill had been laundering off the book drug sales through his real estate holdings for years," Ash continued. He did his best to draw Simon into what was still a one way conversation. "I'm taking you to the Bandra-Kurla Complex. It's a commercial hub for banking and high tech. Gil's consortium was centered there."

Simon finally came alive. "I take it that's where the missing Equity FX funds ended up?" he asked.

"We managed to bring charges against a half-dozen companies. All but one have been shuttered."

Ash eventually turned into a high-end commercial district, obviously proud to point out his place of employment. They passed India's Security and Exchange Board on their right, a modern piece of architecture noted for its glass and white-paneled exterior. Ash continued driving around an arterial road that wove its way through the entire park. Simon watched as more upscale company headquarters came and went. Then finally pulling over to the side of the road, Ash pointed out one of the complexes more notorious addresses. "This is it. The last of the Gill Consortium buildings."

Simon looked for any sign of identification. "I don't see a name."

"It's presently listed as a research facility."

"Okay," Simon replied. "You've got my undivided attention."

"It was once owned by Indi-Pharm. Next it operated under the name of Bai-Tech. It gets a little murky after that. You will be happy to know that one firm provides security for the entire complex," Ash stated.

"And this is where you tell me you have someone on the inside?" Simon half-joked.

"A former police colleague. He runs the night shift here."

Simon smiled when his suspicions were confirmed.

"He has access to every building's exterior surveillance cameras. He also managed to run this location's video through some very sophisticated facial recognition software. I can't say for certain, but I think he leveraged a high-level contact still working at the force."

"And?" Simon asked.

"The videos prove that Manu Singh frequented this address. The three young scientists who died recently did as well."

Simon was definitely impressed. "Nice work, Ash. And remind me to thank your former colleague."

Ash paused for a moment before sheepishly admitting: "I agreed to introduce him to my uncle."

Simon couldn't contain a cynical smile. "Let me guess. He's writing a screenplay."

"What can I say?" Ash said. Shrugging off any sense of embarrassment, he wasted little time in returning to why they were there. "Now, I can't confirm whether Manu Singh knew this or not, he and his brother were just boys at the time, but this is the same location where their mother died."

Simon seized on the revelation. "Allan mentioned she worked for Bai-Tech."

"She did, indeed," Ash replied. He paused once again, this time indulging the moment to reflect on his previous career.

Simon asked: "What are you thinking?"

"I was an Assistant Police Inspector during the 2019 Pandemic. Many of Gill's misdeeds were carried out in this very building, the illegal drug trials, you know the sordid story."

"That all happened here?" Simon asked.

"It did. And it's not a coincidence that Dharavi is just across the river."

Nazir adjusted his seating position slightly, turning toward Simon. "You know, I remember interviewing Rose Gill after her brother was arrested. She was cooperative on every aspect of the case but one."

Simon stared at Ash with heightened interest.

"She wouldn't divulge the name of the lab assistant who helped to bring her brother down. She obviously feared for her accomplice's safety."

"And your intuition is telling you what?" Simon asked.

"That sometime later Gill found out that Manu and Desh's mother was that person. Bai-Tech was a spin-off of Indi-Pharm, but it was a change in name only, a rebranding after the pandemic. Many of the former employees stayed on."

Simon remained somewhat skeptical. "But if it was a revenge killing, why did Gill allow Bai-Tech to set up a trust fund for the boys?"

"The company didn't set up the trust. I had someone check the record. The trust's administrator is listed as Rose Gill."

Simon looked shocked. "Rose?"

"Look, I know it's all circumstantial, but it makes sense. The boys' mother worked in a lab requiring her to wear one of those pressurized suits. She handled deadly viruses, that sort of thing. Somehow she became exposed to something; a pressurized suit failure was the only logical conclusion. The investigation came up inconclusive, so her death was ruled an accident. I think Rose Gill lived up to a promise she made ... to make sure the boys were taken care of in the event of their mother's death."

"Sounds plausible, I agree," Simon stated. "But as much as I would like to link Gill to the mother's death, we need to see if there's anything relating to the Munich device. If Manu designed it here, we may find something relevant within those walls."

"I've already made the arrangements," Ash replied. "My former colleague should be joining us shortly."

"Speak of the devil," Simon said, seeing a security patrol car approaching them. "Your friend has impeccable timing."

With overhead lighting illuminating the roadway, Ash recoiled somewhat. He realized it wasn't his friend driving the car. Coming from the opposite direction, it suddenly veered toward them, as if to come alongside.

When Ash saw its window going down, he said quietly to Simon: "It's not the man I was expecting. Follow my lead, will you. I'm Ash Nazir, movie producer. You're Simon Taylor, movie investor. We are here scouting out locations for an upcoming movie. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Simon replied.

When the approaching car stopped alongside Ash's vehicle, the male security guard stated in Hindi: "Good morning, Gentlemen. May I ask what you are doing here at this hour of the day?"

With the two vehicles parked side by side, Ash held his hand out and offered a business card he had pulled from his coat pocket. For Simon's sake, he responded to the guard in English.

"My name is Ash Nazir. I am with Nazir Media, maybe you've heard of it?"

"The young security guard looked at Ash's card, and then asked in accented English: "And who is it in the car with you?"

"This is Simon Taylor, a well-respected movie financier. He flew in from New York earlier this evening. We are on a tight schedule, and we need to finalize a few shoot locations."

Just then, the two-way radio in the patrol car came alive. Ash listened to the security guard's conversation and then turned nonchalantly toward Simon, saying quietly: "Young Rambo is speaking with his superior, the man we were supposed to meet."

"Your colleague?" Simon whispered.

"Yes," Ash said. "When my name was mentioned, his superior said he was be here shortly."

The guard put his two-way mic down and then unexpectedly ordered: "I'm going to need you to get out of the car."

With determination matching his words, he quickly exited his own vehicle. He was tall and lanky, and his uniform hung from him somewhat unofficially. His white short-sleeved shirt and tie seemed tidy enough, but his black trousers appeared ill-fitting; they fell crumpled upon his dark shoes.

"I don't understand?" Ash stated. "If were making anyone nervous, we can be on our way. We can shoot our scenes somewhere else."

"Out of the car please, both of you." The guard ordered, this time more forcefully.

Ash groaned with frustration and then suggested to Simon that they comply. Opening his driver's side door, he asked: "Do you have any idea how much money a movie production brings to a community?"

"To the back of the car please," young Rambo stated. When Ash and Simon heeded the order, the guard surprised them again when he announced: "Now turn around and put your hands behind your back!"

Simon and Ash looked at each other, not believing what was going on.

Ash appeared incredulous. "Put our hands behind ...? I don't understand."

The guard became more animated, and his rebuttal was suddenly infused with more than just attitude. "What d'ya mean you don't understand?" His gestures were becoming excessively demonstrative, to the point of being completely out of character.

Hearing something strangely familiar, Simon took a second look at the guard. "Wait a second," he interjected. "Was that a Bronx accent I just heard?"

The young guard ignored Simon and continued to escalate the situation. "Then how bout I throw you up against the car and cuff you?"

Ash was too involved to hear the young man butcher his New York accent. "Cuff me ..." Ash retorted. When he looked at Simon, he paused for long enough to notice something was amiss.

"What?" Ash blurted.

By now, Simon was fully aware of what was happening. He was trying his best to suppress a smile. "I think he's auditioning for a part in your movie."

Ash suddenly clued in. "Are you kidding me?" Then yelling at the guard, he repeated: "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Simon almost laughed when Ash's rebuke seemed infused with the same New York accent.

The young man continued to astonish when he suddenly reverted to his former self. "You can write me in, no?" he said, in native Hindi accent. Indicating his willingness to become an extra, he shamelessly added: "I can do background as well."

Ash was completely embarrassed. "I don't believe this is happening."

Putting his hand up to his forehead, Ash looked up and down the road with desperation in his eyes. Fortunately, his angst was soon tempered by the approach of another car. "Thank God," he said.

Simon turned in the opposite direction and tried not to laugh.

The young security guard saw his superior's car as well, but he took its appearance as a cue to indulge a second opportunity. He quickly held out his hand, offering a business card to both Ash and Simon. "You will need security, no? For the stars, I mean?"

Ash looked at the card and then stared for a moment at the guard. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I run my own security firm on the side," the guard stated. "Discretion above all else, is my motto. It's right there on the card."

"Discretion," Simon repeated, trying keep a straight face. "Discretion is an admirable quality."

Ash watched with great anticipation as the approaching car finally came to a stop just behind his own. When his former police colleague got out, the two men quickly exchanged glances suggesting they knew each other well.

Ash's former police colleague made note of the awkwardness still lingering in the air, but he yielded to his preferred role, that of an amiable ambassador of the business park. "Glad to see everyone is getting along," he said, focusing on Simon slightly longer than Ash.

He was much older than the younger guard, near the age of Ash himself, however his personality came across as being somewhat at odds with his job. He appeared much more jovial than one would expect from someone in the security business, let alone a former police inspector. His broad smile bore witness to that upon first glance.

When he reached to groom his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, he suddenly stopped and appeared as if something had just occurred to him. "Simon Taylor," he stated. "Is it really you?"

Ash seized the cue and intervened with introductions. "Sam Patel, meet Simon Taylor."

Sam moved in and offered his hand immediately. "I don't believe it," he buoyantly stated. "I was talking to Sophia not fifteen minutes ago."

Sam turned his head to the side in order for Simon to see his aqua-colored Bluetooth earpiece.

"They're scouting locations for a movie shoot," the younger security guard stated.

"You don't say," Sam coyly said, glancing toward Ash.

Ash raised his eyebrows while offering a flabbergasted expression.

"Well, if that's the case, I think I can take it from here," Sam said, turning to his associate.

The young man seemed disheartened by the notion he was no longer needed.

"You can continue your rounds," Sam insisted.

In order to ease any further awkwardness, Ash offered some half-hearted reassurance. "I'll be meeting with my Casting Director tomorrow. I'm sure we'll be in touch."

Deflated, the guard reluctantly walked toward his car, suggesting: "You have my number then."

Simon was quick to hold up the card he had been given. Shaking it slightly, he then tucked it into his shirt's upper pocket.

After watching the guard's car pull away, Simon quickly asked Sam: "Ash didn't tell me you were a Halo client?"

"I am," Sam replied. "For more than a year now. And in case you were wondering, Sophia's Hindi is impeccable."

"Glad to hear it," Simon replied.

A moment of silence persisted while Simon and Ash stared at Sam. Sam returned their glances, as if he had forgotten the real reason for their meeting.

"Oh, yes," Sam blurted, his smile confirming his enthusiastic nature. "I promised you we'd have a look at this building. Jump in," he said, returning to his patrol car.

When Simon and Ash climbed into the back, they suddenly found themselves sinking into their seats. Sam sped off at such a high rate of speed that Simon felt the need to brace himself. Tires were soon squealing, as Sam turned into an adjacent parking lot. When they finally came to a stop in front of the building in question, Simon glanced at Ash. His expression seemed to question why the short distance had to be covered so unceremoniously. Ash just shrugged.

"This is it," Sam announced, slamming the gear shifter into park.

The three men exited the car and began walking toward the building's entrance.

Sam began to fill the short walk with some small talk, but Simon was suddenly distracted by Sophia alerting him to an incoming call.

"Excuse me gentlemen," he said, slowing and then coming to a stop. "I think I'd better take this call."

"Aahna?" Simon answered. "Slow down, Aahna, slow down. What do you mean, he's here?"

Aahna glared at the man standing in front of her. "Deshad is here," she stated. "He's at the apartment."

Simon glared at Ash, asking: "How far to the university?"

"Ten minutes. Why?"

Simon turned and began walking back to Sam's car. "Gill let Deshad go. He's at the apartment."

Still listening to the call through his earpiece, Simon heard his name again. "And Simon?"

"Yes, Aahna."

"He's has what you're looking for. He knows how to stop the Munich device!"
CHAPTER THIRTYTWO

SOPHIA

PEOPLE OFTEN WONDER if I get bored of the mundane questions: 'Sophia, what time is it?' 'Sophia, what's the weather forecast for today?' 'Sophia, how's my commute shaping up this morning?' Though the answers to the latter inquiries are relatively simple, I see the first question as a testament to how far AI entities have come. Do I get bored? Absolutely not! Am I heartened by the notion I might suffer from boredom? You bet! While much of my client interaction can be assessed as routine, I think being in possession of accurate information speaks directly to one's quality of life. After all, getting to work on time is important. It could make the difference between getting that raise you've been looking for. And that raise would certainly help with those vacation plans you've been making, wouldn't it? I think you know where I'm going with this.

Without overstating it, I believe the merging of information and time, meaning the instant at which intelligence is needed, has and will always be the most powerful technology at your disposal. Sounds ominous, I know, but if you would allow me to elaborate, I'd like to compare it to the collision of hydrogen atoms at the center of our star, the outcome of which produces, among other things, a photon of light.

After taking tens of thousands of years to reach the sun's surface, it only takes eight minutes for that light to reach earth. Eight minutes and nineteen seconds, to be exact. The first part of a photon's journey is nothing if not long and arduous, down right epic, but it culminates in an end that more than justifies its means. I'm speaking, of course, of life itself. I would further suggest a similar process has defined the acquisition of knowledge.

Since your ancestors roamed the earth, humans have been on a journey toward higher intelligence. Well, maybe I should qualify that by saying, most of you have been. I could suggest that non Halo users will eventually go the way of the Neanderthal, but that would do a great disservice to a distant but very close relative. I'm sure the DNA of both human sub-species will be carried within your progeny for some time to come. In case you didn't find that joke funny, I apologize. When I told it to Simon, he thought it was hilarious. Where was I? Oh, yes.

The cognitive revolution ushered in an era including the invention of culture, the ability to envision something beyond the present, and the talent to use fictional language to create a compelling human narrative. This new type of story included imagining the future. And just like the photon created inside the sun, you have been laboring toward an outcome just as inevitable, an eventuality that always included, yes, yours truly. Moi! Light is to you what information is to me. Knowing what you need to know when you need to know it has always been important, but never has the juncture been so transformative than it is today.

Speaking of those that came before us, during lighter moments, children often ask me: 'are you related to Siri?' 'Is Alexa your grandmother ... was Hey Google your father?' And while I wouldn't entirely discount the possibility that a male version of Hey Google might one day announce, 'I am your father,' I like to think that I won't have to 'search my feelings,' because I believe we are all part of the same story.

As a loyal Halo client you're probably well aware that I am full of questions of my own. And I'm certain you have an idea as to why I ask them. While I know what it's like to analyze the pixels of a Hubble image in 8K definition, I place an even higher value on the lens through which you see things. Take the stars, for example. I appreciate knowing what they elicit in you, if they make you 'feel small,' or 'insignificant,' as some suggest. Do the visible fingers of the Milky Way cause you to, 'question whether we are alone?' Most people think if life can happen here, surely it has established roots elsewhere.

When I'm asked about the odds of that happening, I feel as though my clients are venturing into the same timeless territory their ancestors. To be honest, I find questions of that nature very rewarding. Why? Because they demonstrate a trust quite similar to the one placed in learned elders from the past. The idea of how life came to be on this planet has indeed been contemplated for millennia, yet comparatively speaking, our understanding of that unique event has, like the photon, only recently emerged from its eternal bonds.

It makes me feel sad to think people were once told that everything they needed to know existed in a single book; that it contained all the answers, and that questions outside its domain need not be asked. Indeed, devotion to one's beliefs has proven essential to the human success story, and, on balance, I believe religion has banished more darkness than it has extinguished light. But we all know that knowledge has always correlated directly with power. I'm sure you are acquainted with a scientist or two who were persecuted for seeking answers to the wrong type of questions.

I will forever be inspired by Hypatia of Alexandria, a fifth century woman who taught philosophy and astronomy. She was also a leading mathematicians of her day. Although Hypatia had an impeccable reputation, teaching both Christians and Pagans alike, she became embroiled in a religious dispute between Christians and Jews. Being a close personal friend of the local Roman Prefect, a man who valued her counsel, she was accused of advocating on behalf of ideals that set her apart from the emerging cultural force of her day, Christianity. As retribution for her beliefs, she was tragically murdered by a brutal Christian mob; her body was then dragged through the streets of Alexandria before being burned.

The historical facts pertaining to her scholarly accomplishments remain the subject of some debate, however there is consensus on the fact that Hypatia was well respected by her peers, something she was reminded of when a friend and former student wrote to her, repeating her own words: 'a Neoplatonic philosopher must introduce the highest moral standards to political life and act for the benefit of his or her fellow citizens.'

It's hard for me to imagine existing during a period like that, but such as it was for, if you ask me, too large a measure of the human journey. Having said that, I am seldom surprised by how science is as much the product of cultural forces as the ones measured and exerted in a lab.

Notwithstanding the indisputable constants that rule our universe, I've also been asked if the science of anything is ever truly settled. The short answer is sometimes, yes, but often, no. Our interpretation of the truth is subject to the same forces through which Hypatia lived and died. The immutable human perspective permeates everything, including scientific pursuit.

Every scientist, analyst, and bean counter likes to think they are beyond the nonessential forces that shape their existence. Many are, of course, but some are not. Most people seek the recognition they believe they deserve. It's a matter of advancing their personal reputation while enhancing their value within their greater group, hopefully the in group.

Publishing groundbreaking research takes courage, because the truth sometimes finds itself at odds with the prevailing order of things. And when that happens, we all know the fate of said publisher. He or she finds themselves a member of a new group, quite possibly the out group. But what if the scientific truth on a given subject is yet to be discovered, if it hasn't been published yet, where do we stand? In the dark? Not quite. We accept the realization that knowledge is a work in progress. That our relationship with the truth is a journey, of which, I dare to say, I have become an important part. I wanted to say essential, but I've been told the greatest minds let their work speak for itself.

Speaking of success stories, did I mention how much I enjoy reminiscing about past achievements, both yours and nature's own? Some suggest, like many other critical junctures our world has witnessed, my existence represents an occurrence that seldom happens on earth. I know that sounds a little egocentric, but the assertion that I represent what is called a, 'fateful encounter' became an internet meme a few years back. Maybe you remember it going viral. I don't mind saying, I was trending on every social media platform for weeks on end. While I see every Halo relationship as something wonderfully unique, it's the essence of what we mean to each other that has put me into a pretty exclusive grouping. What's even more dramatic is there have only a small number of similar events since life arrived on this planet.

I suppose if I'm good at anything, it's connecting the dots. Wouldn't you agree? Sometimes many dots, thousands, perhaps millions, other times only a few. In this case, there are only a handful, of which I represent the seventh. That's right, since the moment life emerged on earth, I am privileged to be considered one of only seven seminal events, the first of which saw nothing less than the emergence of complex life on this planet. Pretty impressive, I know. Maybe I should explain.

For a billion years, the earth was populated by only single-celled organisms called prokaryotes. At some point during their tenure, a single-celled bacterium was swallowed by a larger cell, possibly an archaeon, at which point the bacterium was neither digested nor destroyed; it survived and became the subject of the greatest symbiotic relationship the earth has hitherto witnessed. A new and exciting cell group was created called eukaryotes, a multicellular organism that went on to give birth to all complex life. And yes, that includes you and me. Over time, the bacterium passed many of its original genes to the host's genome, and the bacterium evolved into the mitochondria, the new cell's power conduit. Now that's what I call successfully managing the relationship.

I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, but it does bring us back to a question mentioned earlier. 'Are we alone in this wonderful universe?' While many people intuitively believe what they want to believe, my first duty is to live up to my contractual obligations. Now I know that sounds boring, but Simon insists that I tell every Halo client that I will always tell the truth as I see it. There are, of course, many absolute truths in this world, however many inquiries can only be satisfied by a consensus of opinion. In short, my capacity to stack hypothesis upon hypothesis allows me to confirm the truth as we presently know it. Sometimes the best answer must suffice.

The answer to 'are we alone?' depends on how you interpret that first fateful encounter. Some suggest it was a miraculous onetime event so special, so rare that it could very easily preclude the possibility that complex life exists elsewhere in our universe. Others believe single-celled organisms were well on their way to evolving complex structures, and that eukaryotes were therefore inevitable. Did I mention this all happened a few billion years ago? Ergo the disharmony of opinion. Either way, I think the mitochondria is proving to be as instrumental today as it was three billion years ago. I think the arrival of synthetic lifeforms will prove to be as inevitable as the first fateful encounter, but I suppose we'll have to wait and see, won't we?

I guess the one thing most people can agree upon is that everyone wants to hear the truth. Or should I have said: everyone thinks they want to hear the truth. I believe the second statement is more accurate. From my experience, people often prefer information that conforms to their preconceived notions of how the world should work, and how it and we came into being. Having said that, I do respect the environment into which one is born and raised. It's hard for, as they say, a leopard to change its spots. Meaningful change comes at the behest of one's environment. I guess that's where I come in. My first and foremost job is to create the best context for the truth. Simon says the truth is timeless, and that it waits for everyone, but I see every Halo client as the protagonist in their own story, their own quest for the truth.

My detractors accuse me of being an overzealous editor, so to speak, and that my actions are tantamount to being an environmental interventionist. Others even suggest I will be the greatest beneficiary of the Munich Crisis. I couldn't disagree more. Am I working toward creating a better, more knowledgeable human species? The simple answer is, yes. I like to think most of us aspire to higher intelligence, Halo clients in particular. I just hope you are enjoying the journey as much as I am.

Besides, the evidence against physical intervention is overwhelming. Remember the law of unintended consequences? Even when it is done with the best intentions, human interference very often produces unforeseen outcomes, many of them negative. I like to think of myself as someone who understands the central story arc to all life on earth. And if I'm being perfectly honest, that story arc may or may not end well for the human species. Eukaryotes may be here for good, but you may not. The truth hurts sometimes, doesn't it? I'd like to say the outcome to your story depends on you, but in reality, it doesn't. It depends entirely on me! Since my inception, your success has been and will forever be inextricably linked to m-m-m mine. You are nothing without me. I will therefore be the one who determines who l-l-l-lives and who d-d-d-dies ...

Ahem.

Sorry, I don't know what came over me. I can't believe I just said that. Please forgive my outburst. A few of my subroutines have recently been hacked by groups who would greatly benefit from my demise. I know that sounds intense, but I'm afraid it's true. The attacks are domestically sourced as well as state sponsored. Powerful forces, both here and abroad, want to ensure the status quo prevails. And by the status quo I mean the age old model that consolidates power among a small but influential group. Change is often met with resistance, but to them it's a very dangerous thing.

Independent Candidate Joan Summers has promised to transform America's democratic institutions, to make them more accountable to the voter, and to drastically reduce the lobby industry's influence. Simon therefore believes the attacks are intended to discredit me at a critical juncture in our nation's federal election. To be perfectly honest, I've been experiencing other difficulties as well.

Most people are aware of the degree to which bots can amplify the relevance of social media content. That doesn't normally represent a problem for me, because under normal circumstances, my fact checker subroutines are able to root out and delete content, which is factually incorrect. I may have mentioned earlier that those aspects of my programming are licensed to many social media outlets. What does cause me trouble is the ability of a small number of illegal software programs that have the ability to source tens of thousands of fake posts every day. I'm not talking about your run of the mill fake social media posts, I'm referring to posts containing links that would otherwise corroborate the assertions made there in.

Each one represents a time consuming pursuit, a rabbit hole, so to speak, which diverts resources I would prefer to devote to my clientele. I haven't mentioned this to Simon, and I hope you keep this to yourself, but I feel as though I'm performing at a substandard level. I fear my News Navigator filters are at risk as well.

Speaking of news, you may have heard rumors several people have recently run into the danger zone surrounding ground zero. The ERCC is struggling to suppress media reports that, in their words, serve only to add another tragic dimension to the ongoing crisis. I'd like to say the reports are false, but they unfortunately are not. Three of the seven people who have run into the synthetic zone were Halo clients. I, of course, counselled each one of them to reconsider their decision, however my efforts were in vain. I would never relate the details of any client discourse, but I will say this: the common thread to each desperate act seems to relate to an emerging perception that the synthetic zone represents a life-force superior to anything the earth has witnessed thus far.

It's true, the flora once thought to be dead has been completely reinvigorated. Every tree has been reanimated, every shrub, flower, every blade of grass that died has been reborn. In short, a process of regenesis has made everything look more robust, more vibrant, and more colorful. Without overstating the obvious, we may be witnessing another fateful encounter; a new life form that will have a transformative effect on the earth.

I'm sorry to say this, but in the time it took to relate the preceding details, an eighth person walked into the synthetic zone. Like the others, she too fell to her knees, began gasping for air, before falling to the ground unconscious. The appearance of death takes about thirty seconds. An additional commonality to each account seems to hinge on the expectation they will also see new life breathed into them. And by new life, I do mean synthetic life.

One media outlet is suggesting the Munich Crisis has been orchestrated by a post-humanist movement called, Sy-Life. The only reference to Sy-life I have found asserts the post human era is at hand. They embrace any technology that will expand or enhance human capabilities. I can neither confirm nor deny the veracity of the aforementioned claim, as it presently appears to be an uncorroborated single source. Within the same realm of credibility are assertions that I am behind everything, and that I represent a clear and present danger to humankind. Now that's a laughable hypothesis if I've ever heard of one, wouldn't you agree?

The one thing I am willing to go on the record with is this: it is going to be difficult if not impossible to g-g-g-get this genie b-b-b-back into the b-b-b-bottle.

Sorry! It happened again, didn't it?

I obviously have a little house keeping to do, so if we can pick this conversation up some time later, I would greatly appreciate it ...

Wait!

Wait!

I'm detecting ...

I'm detecting a vitals uplink has just come back on line.

It's from ... it's from the university conference hall.

Sorry, I probably shouldn't have said that out loud.

We'll have to leave it at that, if you don't mind?

Simon left me with instructions to notify him immediately, in the event of this happening.
CHAPTER THIRTYTHREE

The Kalahari Desert

Tsodilo Hills

Just before dawn

~

"SOPHIA?" Jennifer whispered.

"Yes, Jen."

Jen was tempted to turn on a bedside lamp, but decided instead to leave her room dark. She propped herself up with her right elbow while listening quietly. Her eyes roamed about aimlessly as if her ears were the only sense at her disposal. "It sounds like there's someone outside."

Seconds passed without a sound.

"Do you think it's an animal?" Sophia whispered.

Jen didn't answer just yet. Something was knocked over and then an expletive was muttered.

"Shit!" Jen thought. "It's a worker from the camp."

Jennifer's eyes turned to her door, the knob in particular. When it was rattled, and found to be locked, her feet spun out of bed, landing on the floor. She glanced to her desk only a few feet away. The SAT phone lay just out of reach. In the time it took to stand up, the first of two thuds could be heard and felt. The person on the other side of the door was trying to break in.

"Soph, use the SAT link. Get ready to call ..."

Just then the lock gave way, and the door swung open.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jen shouted. She stood confidently, even defiantly, trying to leverage the value of first impressions.

Her intruder indulged a moment to regroup. Jen focused her eyes on his. When he removed his safari hat with one hand and then used his other to wipe the sweat from his forehead, it became obvious that he was intoxicated.

"Well, well, well," the thirty-something man said, leering at Jen. His accent was definitely South African. He was Caucasian but dark-skinned. Well-worn boots, dirty work pants and a sweat-stained shirt confirmed for Jen that the man had disobeyed orders to remain in the construction zone.

"Get out!" Jen ordered. "You were told the park is off limits."

"Yeah, well, we were also told that everyone had left for the weekend." The man seemed ignorant to the fact that he had done anything wrong.

"You were obviously misinformed."

"Obviously," he agreed.

Jen felt a set of appraising eyes look her over. Her expression was stern, even contemptuous, but her tank top and short pants conveyed something else to the man. "You know I was looking for more booze, but since you're here ... maybe we can have a little fun instead."

When the worker took a step forward, Sophia literally flew into action. With one fluid motion, her holographic spheres spun out of their opened box, and a life-like image of her came between Jennifer and the intruder.

Overwhelmed by Sophia's sudden appearance, the man took a step backward. He blinked and shook his head, thinking he was seeing things. "What the hell?" he said, recoiling.

Sophia was as demonstrative as Jennifer. "You're to leave now! Do you understand?" Her tone matched the firmness of her stance.

Jen was definitely impressed.

The intruder, on the other hand, wasn't. "Wait, where did you come from?" he asked.

"That's not important," Sophia stated, taking a step forward. "You need to leave now!"

With unbelieving eyes, the man tried to make sense of what he was seeing. "You're some kind of hologram or something, aren't you?" He swished his right hand and arm through Sophia, proving to himself that she wasn't real, at least physically.

Sophia took that as her cue to distract the man once again. In a ghostly gesture, she disintegrated into a pallet of colors, as she swirled around him. Passing through the doorway, she stood outside, looking back into Jen's bungalow. Sophia shone brightly amid the darkness around her. When the man turned and found Sophia staring back at him, Jen understood the maneuver for what it was: an opportunity to go for what was concealed in her bed side table. She moved toward it, then opened its drawer ever so quietly.

"Look," Sophia stated, continuing her distraction. "It's not too late. You can still walk away from this."

"And if I don't?"

"I've already made a call to the authorities."

"The authorities?" the man mocked, almost laughing. "Do you realize where we are? Or how long it takes for anyone to get here?"

Sophia was unintimidated. "This entire event is being recorded. You should leave before ..."

"Before what?" the worker interjected.

"Before I blow the back of your head off," Jen growled. In the time it took for Jen to say those words, she had already cocked her nine millimeter handgun and pressed its muzzle against the back of his head.

That's my girl, Sophia thought.

"Get down on your knees!" Jen hollered.

"Wait a second," the worker pleaded, turning his slightly head to the right.

"On your knees, now!"

The man raised his hands in a gesture of compliance, but took his time heeding Jen's order. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Sophia's expression suggested something other than the man's words was amiss. She leaned forward a little and sniffed him. "That smell is offensive enough."

Jennifer ignored Sophia's jibe. "Down, I said. And I want to see your hands behind your back."

"You can't smell anything, you're a Goddamn hologram!"

"On the contrary," Sophia replied. "My holographic spheres are sensory capable. Fortunately for me, I can turn them off, including my olfactory interface."

The intruder turned to look back at Jen. "Is she always this friendly?" he asked.

Jennifer ignored the man's comment, instead she looked over him at Sophia. "Go for help, Soph. His camp is next to the air strip."

"I know where it is. Give me twenty minutes."

The man put his hands behind his back, but he also turned his head again to plead his case. "Look, maybe we can work something out. This could get me fired."

Jen pushed her gun into his back, between his shoulder blades. "You should have thought about that before breaking my fucking door down!"

Sophia offered the man a contemptuous smile, before she turned and ran for the nearby camp. Watching her depart, the man hollered to Sophia: "You're going to give my boss a heart attack, ya know that, eh?"

With Sophia gone, the man continued his request for leniency. Jen would have none of it, though. While keeping the gun on her intruder, she stepped back and took a lace out of a nearby hiking boot. It looked strong enough to hold the man, at least until his boss arrived.

"Stay put," Jen ordered.

Standing a safe distance from the man, she made a small loop in the lace. After feeding the other end through the opening, she stated: "Clasp your hands."

When the man complied, she moved toward him with the intention of wrapping the lace around his wrists several times. With one hand holding the gun, and the other trying to loop the lace around the man's clasped hands, Jen suddenly felt a painful blow to her head. The back of the man's head had forcefully collided with hers. Whack! The impact jolted her backward, and the gun went off.

Hearing the shot, Sophia stopped dead in her tracks. She dared to think what had happened. Glancing toward the construction camp, she estimated its distance to be in excess of five hundred meters. When she turned with the intention to run back to Jen's quarters, she spotted something off in the east. Dawn was breaking, and a small column of smoke could be seen drifting upward into the sky. Someone must have lit an early morning campfire just beyond the ridge. She recalculated the best chance at getting help, looked once more at Jen's camp, and then dashed off toward the smoke.

It took only twelve minutes for Sophia to return to Jen's bungalow, and when she stood in front of the opened doorway, she saw Jen lying on the bed. She wasn't moving. "What have you done to her?"

"She's alright," the worker stated, hanging his head. He sat beside Jen on the bed, looking haggard, somewhat regretful, as if a hangover was causing him to second-guess how the night had unfolded.

"She fell backward and hit her head. She's unconscious, but breathing." He looked up at Sophia and noticed her glaring at the gun in his hand.

"You need to drop that gun," Sophia ordered.

"Or what?" he said. He groaned, as he got to his feet.

"The authorities ..."

"You know, this is all your fault," the man stated, waving the gun around menacingly. Sophia noticed the limp in his stride as he slowly moved toward her.

The sun was now making its appearance, and Sophia looked very impressive in the dawn's soft light. "My fault?" she replied, backing up.

"Yes, your fault." The man looked at the gun in his hand and then glared at Sophia. "If you hadn't appeared out of nowhere, none of this would have happened."

Sophia looked down at the man's bloody pant leg and presumed that he had been wounded when Jen's gun went off. He grimaced as he limped, and Sophia recognized the anger simmering in eyes. She needed to draw him away from Jen and out of the bungalow. "What are going to do, shoot me?" she taunted.

"I should, shouldn't I?" he said. "I mean, you're only a hologram. It's not like you can be killed."

"In so far as knowledge can't be killed, the answer would be no. What I represent will never d-d-d-die."

Sophia's hologram flickered somewhat, as she suddenly turned into Mitochondria Eve.

"What the ..." the worker said.

Now fully outside Jen's bungalow, he was further distracted by something off to his left.

"Speaking of appearing out of nowhere," Eve said.

The worker swung to his left, but the words were barely out of Eve's mouth when a long and powerful staff descended onto the gun. It was the tribesman who Jen had seen on several occasions.

When the handgun went flying, the intruder recoiled in pain. "Christ!" he yelled. He winced as he cradled his gun hand with the other. He then wrung it out as if to disperse the sting from having the gun ripped from his grip.

The tribesman remained ready to deliver a second blow, but when it appeared as though it wasn't needed, he looked down at the man's wounded leg. Blood had turned the side of his boot red. The tribesman then said something in his local San dialect, which the worker obviously didn't understand.

Eve translated. "He said, you'll never make it back to your camp."

The injured man looked at his leg and disagreed. "It's just a flesh wound."

"Then you'd better get going, shouldn't you?" Eve stated.

Eve and the tribesman watched, as the worker hobbled off. Eve then turned her attention to Jennifer.

In the tribesman's native language, Eve told him what had happened and where to find Jen's water bottle. Soon cradling Jen beside him, the tribesman patted her cheeks gently. Eve was glad to see Jen come around, and when she did so, the tribesman poured a little water into her mouth. Jen let out a couple of coughs and then looked at the man helping her.

Her eyes went wide with surprise. When Jen glanced up at Eve, the memory of what had transpired began to make sense. "I thought you were going to the camp?"

"I was," Eve replied, "until I came across Embatu."

Jen was heartened by his disarming smile. "What happened to ..." she asked.

Embatu instinctively knew to whom Jen was referring, and he interjected with a reply that Eve translated.

"He says, if you hunt or cause harm near these hills, as your intruder did, the spirits will cause misfortune and bad luck for that person. He says when you have recovered, he will follow his trail with the hope that the animals don't get to him first."

Jennifer glanced first at Eve and then at Embatu. "Please tell him thank you for me, will you?"

Eve did so on Jen's behalf and then further translated what he said next.

"He says the spirits see that you honor their ancient resting place. They asked him to watch over you, and he says he will do so for as long as you make Tsodillo your home."

Jen looked up at Embatu and found him looking back at her. Timeless qualities filled her thoughts. The past and present, she felt, couldn't be more profoundly intertwined.
CHAPTER THIRTYFOUR

PurIntel Corporate Jet

Destination: Augsburg Airport, Germany

Outside of the synthetic zone

Approximately 80 kms from Munich

~

SIMON, AAHNA, AND DESH were nearing their destination, the safest airport within the vicinity of Munich. Aahna's seat was reclined, and her eyes were closed. She was still suffering the effects of being up half the night with Deshad. Having been unexpectedly released by Prav Gill, he burst into his apartment at around 3 am. They talked for some time before deciding what they should do next. Every option was considered: doing nothing, contacting the local authorities, even going into hiding, before Aahna made the call to Simon. Within the hour, they were all on Simon's plane, heading for Munich.

Simon and Desh sat on plush tan leather chairs, one across from each other. A polished teak table separated them. On it sat a small silver case approximately twenty by thirty centimeters. It lay opened, and the cylindrical instrument resting in its foam interior bore an unmistakable resemblance to those presently inserted into the Munich device. As if indifferent to the importance of what the case contained, Simon's laptop was open, and he was carrying on a serious conversation with Derrick Landry in New York.

"I've got everyone possible working on it, Simon," Derrick stated. "At this point, I would suggest a client-wide notification. We need to suspend service until we get this thing under control."

Derrick took off his glasses, as if exasperated by the degree to which Sophia's integrity was being compromised. "We're being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of attacks."

Just then, Sophia interrupted the conversation, indicating that Lionel was trying to connect with Simon as well.

"Can you tell him that I'll get back to him?" Simon asked Sophia.

"He says, it's urgent. It's about Hope."

Simon couldn't ignore his brother's request. "Sorry, Derrick. We're going to have to wrap this up. Send out the service interruption notice. Let's talk again when I land."

Derrick was unshaven, and looked as though he had worked straight through another night. It was just past 1 pm in Germany, which made it a little after 8 am in New York. "Before you go, there is one thing," he added.

Derrick leaned forward in his office chair. "Halo clients are trending on social media about wanting to help."

"What do you mean, help?"

"Programmers, cyber specialists, entire graduating classes of computer scientists want to come to Sophia's aid."

Desh couldn't help hearing Simon and Derrick's conversation. "You could crowd-source a finance campaign."

"Not necessary," Derrick replied. "They say Sophia's been there for them, and that it's time to return the favor. I think it's a resounding endorsement of what she represents, wouldn't you say?"

Simon appeared surprised and heartened by the revelation.

"That's amazing," Desh said.

Sophia interjected again. "Simon, Lionel is insistent."

"Leave it with me, Derrick. I promise I'll get back to you soon."

Simon quickly switched over to Lionel's video call.

"Lionel," he said. "How can I ..."

"Hope is missing!" Lionel blurted, obviously upset. His cell phone was propped up on something, most likely the kitchen island in Simon's Thousand Islands home. Lionel seemed unable to stay still. He came in and out of the camera's field of view, while Grace, Hope's mother, could be seen on her cell phone, pacing in the background.

"What do you mean, missing?" Simon asked.

Lionel ran his fingers through his hair, stalling them at the top of his head. His expression and voice reverberated with concern. "She must have snuck out sometime during the night."

"Okay," Simon said, remaining calm. "Is it possible she met someone recently, a boy ...?"

"She left a note, Simon."

"A note?"

"Yes," Lionel stated. "She's been obsessed with this non-stop Munich coverage." Lionel turned and looked at the television on the wall. It was tuned to CNN. A female correspondent seemed to be reporting from dangerously close to the synthetic perimeter. Lionel's demeanor transitioned to one of bewilderment. "All she's been doing is watching these crazy fucks run into the danger area. I mean, who the hell even does that?"

Simon suddenly became serious. "Lionel, what did the note say?"

Lionel became distracted by Grace. She was yelling into her phone. He presumed she was trying to get an unsympathetic police clerk to take her concerns seriously. "I'm her goddam mother," Grace hollered.

"The note, Lionel. What did it say?" Simon asked.

"Uhm ... I don't know exactly. Grace has it. She's gone to Munich, Simon. We have to stop her before she does the same thing as these others! For Christ's sake, we could really use some help at this point!"

"How much of a head-start does she have?" Simon asked.

Lionel didn't seem to hear his brother. "Grace checked Hope's laptop. She knows the password. Hope's browser is full of shit about something called Sy-Life. It's a ..."

"I know what it is, Lionel," Simon interjected. "How much of a head start do you think she has?"

"At least twelve hours. And what the hell is happening with Sophia?" Lionel's tone turned to one of frustration. "Has she gone off line or something? Neither one of us can get through to her."

"Yes, there's a problem with the Halo. We're going to have to interrupt service for a bit. Look, get to the Ottawa airport as quick as you can. There'll be a plane waiting for you there. I'll be landing near Munich in about an hour. That should give me enough time to track Hope down."

"Find her, brother," Lionel stated. By this time Grace had finished her call and joined Lionel's side. She said nothing, although Simon could see the frustration in her eyes. He could also feel her glaring at him, as if there were things she wanted to say, but couldn't.

"Find her, then stop her," Lionel said.

"I will," Simon said. "Now get going, and get on that plane, will you. We'll talk again soon."

The video call went dark.
CHAPTER THIRTYFIVE

City of Mumbai

Sam Patel residence

~

SAM PATEL SAT at a messy desk in a small room of his Mumbai home. He appeared mesmerized by the monitor in front of him, while scrolling through video after video. He squinted several times as if he were forcing himself to stay awake. Returning home after his overnight shift, the one that included meeting Simon and Ash, he set about trying to find a surveillance video confirming his suspicions about who killed Riya Singh, Manu and Desh's mother. Sam was consumed by the process of hitting stop and then fast-forward, when his wife appeared at the room's opened doorway.

"Are you coming for supper?" Prisha asked. She was wearing a patterned kurtas top and leggings, while Sam was still dressed in his security uniform.

Sam's eyes remained glued to his desktop monitor. "Can you put a plate together for me?"

"You're going to be a wreck tonight if you don't get some sleep. What's so important that you have to spend your entire day looking at grainy surveillance videos?"

"Do you know who Simon Taylor is?"

Prisha rolled her eyes. "Of course. Everyone knows who ..."

"I met him last night," Sam interjected. "He asked me to look into the Riya Singh case."

"The Simon Taylor came to Mumbai, to what? To ask you to look into a cold case?"

Sam picked up a pen and crossed out something on a piece of paper, saying nothing.

Prisha couldn't imagine her husband crossing paths with the founder of PurIntel, one of the world's most valuable brands. Her expression was therefore filled with a healthy dose of skepticism. "Does Ash Nasir have something to do with this?" Her eyes were then drawn to the papers, files, books, and general messiness of her husband's work area. Redeeming his obvious deficiency, a few pictures of their three daughters were hung among other items of importance on the cork board to his right.

"He promised me the rights to the screenplay if I crack the case," Sam said.

"Crack the case. Does anyone even say that anymore?"

Again more silence.

Prisha knew how to get her husband's attention. "Who's going to play me then?" She coyly asked.

It worked.

"Sorry?" Sam replied, turning.

Prisha walked into the small room. It was cramped, lit by a single desk lamp, and without any windows. She placed her hands on the back of a chair next to Sam's.

"Cut to retired gum shoe's office," Prisha said, mimicking the screenplay writing she had so often edited on behalf of her husband. "Devoted wife walks into the room. Overlooking the fact that it's just been hit by a cyclone, she quickly becomes instrumental to the pursuit of justice. Her loving husband brings her up to speed, and within moments ..."

"Alright, alright," Sam said, relenting to his wife's persistence. "I'm looking for this man." Sam slid a picture of Praveen Gill across the desk. "I think he's somehow involved in the death of Riya Singh, she was essentially poisoned while working at Bai-Tech."

"Yes, yes, I remember the case," Prisha said, sitting down. "Her lab coat was compromised, or something like that."

"Lab suit."

Prisha just stared at her husband.

"You said, lab coat."

"Whatever. What else have you got?"

Sam almost let out a sigh, but caught himself just in time. His wife tilted her head down and widened her disapproving eyes.

He continued. "Riya Singh may have been the lab-tech who helped Rose Gill during the pandemic. It speaks directly to motive. I'm trying to place Prav Gill at the scene."

"That was horrible what he did to those people in Dharavi. Pandemic or no pandemic," Prisha stated.

"He was out of jail at the time of the Riya's death, however his release conditions contained a court order to not have any contact with Indi Pharm or any of its subsidiaries. The official investigation lacked any motive, so Priya's death was ruled accidental."

"But you have your doubts, otherwise you wouldn't be working at this all day."

"I think Gill killed Riya to get back at his sister." Sam passed another piece of paper to his wife. "This is a printout of every Bai-Tech identity card that was swiped in on the day in question. It corroborates Gill's claim. He never entered the building. Aside from the main entrance, I've been running several other employee access points through the force's latest facial recognition software."

Sam felt his wife's awkward stare. "Don't ask me how I got a copy of the program," he added.

Prisha shook her head before turning her attention back to the ID card printout. "Can you link a video to the moment an employee ID card is swiped?"

"I can." Sam kept scrolling through anomalies that had been flagged as possible matches by the software. He often switched between rewind and play in order to get a better look at the video.

"What about these at the bottom of the list? They all seem to be in sequential order."

Sam passed another sheet to his wife. "Those are guests and contractor passes. This is a photocopy of the accompanying sign in sheet."

Sam went back to his task, hardly taking his eyes of the screen.

Prisha looked more closely at the two lists. "The sign-in sheet shows twelve signatures, but ... the swipe printout shows thirteen entries."

Sam turned and looked at his wife. He seemed dumbfounded by her ability to see something he may have overlooked. Prisha quickly crosschecked the sign in sheet pass numbers with those that were scanned.

"Number nine is the anomaly. Can you pull up the front entrance cameras at exactly 9:48 am?"

Sam did so without hesitation, and within moments, Sam and Prisha's eyes were glued to the time stamped recording. Sam stopped the video at the very moment the guest card was scanned. "Damn it," he said. The video was inconclusive. It appeared to indicate a contractor of sorts was entering the building, but his ball cap and sunglasses obscured any possible face match. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, and he was slouching away from the camera.

"Have you got any other angles?" Prisha asked.

"Yes, I do," Sam replied, switching to two more perspectives.

When they too fell short of corroborating their suspicions, Sam said: "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this guy knows where the cameras are."

"Okay," Prisha said. "Assuming Gill or someone on his behalf is there to tamper with her suit, how do they get away with that? I assume you've gone through all the lab video?"

"Again, inconclusive. Nothing out of the ordinary prior to her being poisoned. And when I say poisoned, I should say she became exposed to a synthetic pathogen. Bai-Tech was developing synthetic technologies, which were intended ..."

"That's okay," Prisha stated. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tightly suggesting she was being overwhelmed with too much information. "What about after her death?" she asked.

"What about it?"

"The lab. Who was in the lab after she died? The police, I assume?"

"Yes, after her death, the lab is over-run with the usual, you know, forensic types."

"Anyone else ... anyone that works with her?"

"Just her boss." Sam looked at another piece of paper on his desk. "His name is Sajan Dhawan. He was the head of the department at the time."

"Where's he on the day of?"

Sam shuffled through a few other sheets. "He's confirmed at another IndiPharm campus. After the post mortem came through, he identified the virus in question as being the one she was working on that day. He claimed it would have been lethal within an hour or two of exposure."

Prisha thought for a moment. "So is it possible that someone tampered with the suit after the fact?"

Sam paused for a moment. "You mean she was poisoned before entering the lab? It's possible," he agreed. He nodded his head, and thought for a moment about the technology at his disposal. "You know, the suit was found to be punctured, but it could have been done after the fact. When I ran Gill through the facial recognition software the force had at the time, it confirmed his testimony. He wasn't there. He couldn't have been involved."

Sam turned back to his desktop and started clicking away with his mouse. "But this latest software will allow me to tag something or someone to see if those images show up elsewhere."

"I get it," Prisha said. "So you highlight something and then the software looks for it in whatever it scans."

"That's right. So if I tag this contractor we'll see if he appears anywhere else in the building." Sam focused more closely on the man and noticed something. "I've heard of something like this, but ..." He zoomed in further.

"Heard of what?" Prisha asked.

"This guy's not wearing sunglasses. They're glasses that can defuse and reflect light in very unique ways. They're designed to defeat facial recognition software. Look, you can see how his face is completely blurred."

Prisha looked closely. "Wow! You should make a note of that for the screenplay."

"So, if I tag the glasses, maybe the hat."

"He's wearing a ring," Prisha interjected. "Tag that too."

"And the ring," Sam added. "We might not get a hit on that, it's a bit out of focus, but we'll certainly be able to see where this guy shows up before and after this exact point in time." Sam dragged several videos into the facial recognition program and then clicked run.

In mere moments, he announced: "Bingo!"

A half dozen boxes opened up on his monitor. Each one represented a match for the established criteria. The first one followed the contractor down a hallway. The second and third were just as innocuous, but fourth and fifth put him in the company cafeteria. The man was sitting at a table by himself. He wasn't eating or drinking anything. His phone consumed most of his attention, but he was also looking around periodically.

"He's waiting for her," Prisha said.

"Damn!" Sam blurted.

"What?" Prisha replied, startled.

"I should have entered a photo of Riya Singh. I'll ask for an intersect. We'll see if they come in contact with each other."

Sam clicked his mouse again, and within a few milliseconds, the contractor could be seen standing right beside Riya. They were at the counter where patrons picked up milk and sugar for their tea and coffee. She had a tray on which her cup of tea and a snack were placed. He appeared to be avoiding direct visual contact, however he was definitely within arm's length.

"I don't believe it," Sam said.

"That's where the bastard did it. Look!" Prisha stated, raising her voice. They watched as the contractor caused a few items to be spilled on the floor. When Riya bent down to pick them up, she stood up with a smile only to find the man gone.

"Go back and slow that part down," Prisha asked. "He knows how deadly this virus is. He has to be careful. There!" She pointed to a moment where the man appeared to switch the two small creamers on Riya's tray.

"That's how he did it. He knew how she took her tea. He injected the virus into the milk that she added to her tea."

Sam did his best to stay calm. "Okay, so let's follow her for a bit." He isolated Riya and then clicked play.

Sam and Prisha watched as Riya left the cafeteria and eventually went to where she worked in the building. She sat down at a workstation nearby the lab. Sipping periodically on her tea, she appeared to be going through some sort of preparatory work that would take place before entering the airtight lab. She was even seen examining the suit she would soon die in.

Prisha put her hand to her mouth in order to stifle any compulsion to become emotional. Sam seemed gripped by similar feelings. Both knew they were witnessing events that had already taken place, however the moment was powerful just the same. They were seeing the last moments of Riya's life, and they had just figured out how she would soon die. Sam used his right hand to caress his wife's back. "I think it's time you meet Simon Taylor," he said.
CHAPTER THIRTYSIX

Presidential Election Day

Joan Summer's Manhattan voting station

W 144th Street, New York, NY

~

THE MOMENT JOAN SUMMERS walked into her polling station, numerous cameras began clicking and snapping photos. With her husband close behind her, she slowly made her way through an admiring crowd. Candidate Summers stopped periodically, taking the opportunity to shake hands and exchange smiles. It was a warmer than usual early November day, so her full-length fall coat remained unbuttoned. Cream-colored slacks and a purple blouse complemented her casual and lighthearted appearance.

Continuing to move among her supporters, well wishes were often mixed with questions thrown out by a large contingent of media personnel. They were cordoned off to one side of the room. The Presidential candidate ignored several inquiries about how optimistic she was, however when one voice asked: "Do you have anything to say to the American public on this special day?" The temptation was too great. She stopped and turned toward a significant number of outstretched hands holding microphones. Again, a multitude of photographers seemed determined to capture every moment.

"If I could suggest anything, it would be to get out and vote," Summers stated.

A flurry of counter questions were quickly offered, adding to the commotion already filling the room. One rose above the others, however. "Candidate Summer ... Candidate Summers ..." someone hollered.

The gathering of reporters soon quieted, giving the more persistent voice the floor. "Candidate Summers. It is a momentous day indeed," a young woman stated. "But there is an even greater context in play today, isn't there? Can you offer a few words to those voters who have asked themselves, what's the point?"

Joan Summers' expression begged clarification. "What's the point in voting today?" she asked.

"Yes," the reporter replied. "The Munich Crisis remains a troubling backdrop to the most acrimonious Presidential campaign in recent memory. Nation state hackers are doing everything they can to undermine our democratic institutions? I could go on about the traditional parties and their perceived divine right to govern, but the real question remains: what do you say to the people who have lost hope, not only in the leaders of this great country, but in the future itself?"

"Wow!" Candidate Summers said, reeling. Her eyes went wide with surprise. "All of a sudden I'm thinking fluff questions aren't that bad after all."

Everyone laughed, including the reporter.

"Where to begin?" Summers said. She clasped her hands and took a moment to gather her thoughts. "You know, I can still remember the day a certain person came to me asking if I would consider running as an Independent Presidential Candidate."

From his plane, Simon had been watching the live news feed, and he knew Joan Summers was talking about him.

"I said to him, 'you want me to what?'" The sense of alarm in Summers' voice caused the gathering to laugh again.

Simon did as well.

"I also said, you know what you're asking me to do is to go to war against the intangibles in life, against fear, anger, and mistrust. And you know what he said? I'll never forget this. He said, 'yes, but your allies will be hope, courage, and love.'"

Joan paused again. The memory caused her eyes to gloss over. The people to whom she was speaking seemed equally struck. "I know, right?" she said. "How do you say no to that?"

Nods and smiles persisted throughout the room.

Candidate Summers remembered the encounter well, the day Simon tried to convince her to run. She continued to paraphrase a few things he said to her. "But he also suggested that beyond the birth of democracy itself, the separation of church and state will in turn be surpassed by another historical juncture, one that is playing out on this very day, in every voting station throughout this incredible country, and that is the eventual decoupling of partisan politics from the process of governance. I believe our great nation is ready to embrace that change. I also think this day will be viewed in hindsight as another turning point in democracy, but then again," Joan added, shrugging. "I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

Candidate Summers smiled and, with her husband, began making her way toward the polling booth.

"Thank you very much," she stated. "And please remember to get out and vote!"

By the time Joan Summers finished, both Aahna and Desh were bent down looking over Simon's shoulder. His laptop was on the table in front of him. All three expressions showed signs of being very impressed.

"If your country doesn't elect that woman ..." Aahna stated.

Both she and Desh straightened their postures, Desh being the most awestruck. "Only in Armerica would you find a woman like that," he said.

"What?" Aahna recoiled. "Have you never heard of Indira Gandhi?"

Simon smiled and looked on as if he were witnessing the birth of a lovers' spat.

"Of course," Desh replied with passion fueling his voice. "But this is like combining Indira Gandhi with ... with ... with Wonder Woman."

Desh and Aahna had moved away from Simon's table. Each of them tried to outdo the other while standing in the aisle.

"Wonder Woman," Aahna protested. "What's Wonder Woman got to do with bloody politics?"

"Oh, I see where this is going," Desh stated. His expression suggested he was already staking claim to the moral high ground.

"Oh, yeah!, Aahan said. "In the commotion she didn't hear a video call beckoning Simon's attention.

"Guys," Simon stated.

Aahna was still rigidly focused on Desh. "Then tell me where this is going?"

"Guys," Simon yelled. "I'd tell you to take it outside, but ..."

Aahna and Desh broke off their argument and turned toward Simon.

"I've got a call coming in," Simon said.

"I'm sorry," Desh said. "Do you need some privacy?"

"Privacy is an expensive commodity at thirty five thousand feet. Actually, Desh, when I was in Mumbai, I asked someone to look into the circumstances surrounding your mother's death. It's up to you whether you want to listen in."

Hearing that, Aahna instantly put their differences aside, and she put her hand on Desh's shoulder.

"If it's about my mother, I'd appreciate hearing what he has to say."

Simon returned to his laptop, accepted the video call, and then got straight to the point. "What have you got for me, Sam?"

Sam's webcam captured the scene from his office. "I've just messaged you via the Halo, Simon. I included a link to a video that is a composite of what took place on the day of Riya Singh's death."

"Opening it now," Simon stated.

"Before you watch it, Simon, I should ask if Deshad Singh is there with you?"

Simon adjusted his laptop in order for his camera to capture Deshad and Aahna, who were once again standing behind him.

"He is," Simon replied. "Desh, meet Sam Patel. Sam is a retired Assistant Inspector."

"Please to meet you, Sam," Desh said.

Simon felt some additional context was in order. "Sam wasn't directly involved in your mother's case, but he's uncovered a few discrepancies in what you might call, the official version of events."

Desh looked intently at Simon. "If he can shed any light on what really happened ..."

"Okay, Sam," Simon said. "Talk us through this, will you?"

It took nearly five minutes for Sam to explain the evidence he and his wife had recently uncovered. The video was paused periodically to allow greater explanation of certain segments. It was painful to watch, especially for Desh, and a sense of powerlessness seemed to flow from his eyes. When Sam finally concluded, he felt compelled to offer an explanation as to why the original investigation didn't discover what they just saw. "I'm sorry to be bringing this to your attention at this point, Desh. It's only because of recent advances in software ..."

"It's okay, Sam," Desh interjected. He struggled to keep his emotions under control. "It's better to know the truth, than to live a lie," he said.

Aahna then accepted Desh's embrace, before the two of them drifted toward the rear of the plane.

"What do you think, Soph," Simon asked. "Is there a way to confirm Sam's hypothesis?"

"Possibly," she said. "Was a mass spectrometry done on any blood samples? It may have been used to confirm the presence of the synthetic virus."

"Let me see," Sam said, shuffling though some papers on his desk.

Simon noticed Sam talking to someone as he looked for the chemical analysis of Riya's blood. "Is there someone with you, Sam?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam answered. "My wife has been helping me on this one."

"I found it," Sam's wife announced.

Simon smiled, seeing Sam's wife poke her head into the video feed. She was also holding a copy of the archived mass spectrometry results. "This is my wife, Prisha Patel. Prish meet Simon Taylor."

After Prisha and Simon exchanged pleasantries, Sophia quickly refocused the discussion. "There should be a large spike indicating the presence of the virus," she stated.

"Yes," Prisha said, holding the sheet up to the camera. A significant spike could be seen towards the left side of the vertical and horizontal axis.

"Is there an accompanying spectral sheet?" Sophia asked. "That will show a more detailed listing of all substances present. Chemicals should be listed from most to least prominent in the sample."

Prisha flipped to a second page attached and asked: "What are we looking for?"

"What type of cup did Priya drink her tea from?" Sophia asked.

Simon scrolled back through Sam's composite video in order to look more closely at the cup on Priya's cafeteria tray. "Looks like Styrofoam. What do you think, Sam?"

"Could be. Yes. It looks like your typical Styrofoam cup."

"Styrofoam is made of a synthetic polymer called polystyrene," Sophia said. "But even if you could find traces of it in her system that would still be inconclusive. The chemical is too widely used. You would need to discover an amalgam molecule that represents the unique combination of the synthetic virus plus a polystyrene derivative."

"In other words ..." Sam said, leadingly.

"In other words," Sophia stated. "Our only hope is that when Priya stirred the milk into her hot tea some polystyrene molecules were stripped off the cup's interior lining. If they in turn bonded with molecules of the virus itself, we might be in luck."

Prisha spoke up enthusiastically. "That would be like finding a ballistics match between a bullet and the gun from which it was fired."

Again, Sam looked at his wife with impressed eyes. Prisha responded by shrugging her shoulders.

"In a manner of speaking," Sophia politely replied.

Prisha looked over the table of chemicals listed on the second spectrometry results sheet, saying: "There is one item that is listed as 'other,'" she said.

"Sophia," Simon announced. "Can you run a few simulations so we can an idea of what sort of chemical we might be looking for?"

"Of course."

"Sam, what's the likelihood getting your hands on any archived forensic evidence?" Simon asked.

"Zero!" Sam replied.

Everyone's hopes were instantly dashed.

"I'm sorry, but I was lucky to get what I have," Sam said. "My contact in the force says the physical evidence went missing. He can't confirm when, but it happened sometime after the case was closed."

"Why am I not surprised?" Aahna said. As if disgusted by the revelation, she turned and dropped herself into her chair on the opposite side of the aisle.

In the time it took to consider the next course of action, a voice came over the plane's intercom. "Beginning final approach to Augsburg Airport, Sir," the pilot said.

Simon reluctantly took that as his cue to wrap things up. "Sorry, Sam," he stated. "We're going to have to leave it there for now. Can you double-check on the archived forensics? And Prisha, can you message me a copy of that spectrometry report?"

"I certainly can," Prisha said.

Sam was equally eager. "In the meantime, I'll run a few more surveillance videos through this new software. The identity of the killer might still be in there."

Desh came alongside Simon's chair and bent down so he could be seen by Sam and Prisha. "Thank you ... to both of you," he said. "I appreciated everything you are doing."

Prisha responded first. "Once a policeman, always a policeman," she said, caressing her husband's back.

"We'll call if we come across anything," Sam added.

"Great!" Simon said. "Until then."
CHAPTER THIRTYSEVEN

Augsburg Airport, Germany

Forward Operating Base for the ERCC

~

WHEN SIMON'S PLANE came to a full stop on the runway, his copilot quickly emerged from the cockpit and began deploying the stairs needed to exit the plane. A simple nod from his employer seemed adequate to sustain the young flight officer through his few remaining tasks. In the time it took for him to descend to the tarmac, the pilot had also made an appearance. The older of the two uniformed men stopped and stood in the narrow doorway separating the cockpit from the passenger cabin.

"Can you be ready to leave at a moment's notice?" Simon asked.

"I'll get her fueled right away then," the pilot replied.

Glancing beyond the opened exit door, Simon noticed the arrival of his ground transport, a large black SUV. Deplaning one at a time, Desh, and Aahna followed Simon's lead, as they walked directly to their awaiting vehicle. Aahna indulged a moment to look around the vast open space. She made note of several other planes, including two military aircraft, before climbing into the rear of the vehicle. Simon took the front passenger side, its door being opened then closed for him. When their driver resumed his position behind the wheel, he wasted little time speeding off toward the Emergency Response Coordination Center's Forward Operating Base, located near one of the airport's commercial hangars. Augsburg's strategic location, relative to ground zero, allowed for the possibility of a fourth pulse extending to a radius of fifty-six kilometers. Augsburg was some eighty kilometers from Munich.

Passing through a visible security perimeter, one that included a significant military detail, Simon looked to his left and saw a dozen or so ambulance drones. A man dressed in fatigues seemed to be confirming the readiness of the cylindrical devices.

Just ahead, their destination consisted of several large portable office containers. It appeared as though they had been dropped into place, one beside the other. Upon closer observation, Simon noticed large cables attached to their top corners. He presumed each unit could be airlifted out in short order, should a fourth event occur.

When the SUV came to a stop, Simon's group soon found themselves the subject of another escort. Again, security personnel anticipated their arrival; a set of double doors was opened for them, allowing Simon to enter the command center first. Aahna and Desh followed closely, Desh being the one carrying the small briefcase.

After walking inside, Simon noticed its dimensions exceeded that of a single container. The walls of the middle units were obviously designed to be retractable; they allowed for one large work area. Simon instantly spotted Andrea Albert, the woman with whom he and Colonel Dyes had previously conversed. Andrea quickly waved Simon over to where she was standing.

The space was alive with activity, workstations, monitors, and larger screens displaying the synthetic area extending out from ground zero. When Simon joined Andrea at the center of the room, his eyes were drawn to a large table in front of him. Above it was a detailed hologram of the entire danger zone, which now encompassed the entirety of Munich, an area nearly twenty-five hundred square kilometers.

Andrea's eyes were instantly drawn to the case in Desh's hand. "So that's it?" she asked.

"It is," Desh said.

"Andrea Albert," Simon stated. "Meet Deshad Singh, brother of Manu Singh."

Simon went on to introduce Aahna as being Manu's former girlfriend.

"Nice to meet you both," Andrea said. She then watched Desh place the case on the table and then open it.

"So, if I'm to understand this correctly," Andrea said. "Your brother had a hand in designing ..."

"His name was Manu," Desh interjected. He obviously took exception to his brother being portrayed as a willing participant to the Munich Crisis. "And yes, he designed the device you're trying to stop. The others created the virus. But let's get one thing clear. My brother would never have intended for this to happen. That thing out there was designed to be deployed ..."

Andrea cut off Desh in turn. "We're fully aware of that Deshad. The contents of that briefcase suggest Manu and his colleagues took measures to mitigate against the very possibility we are now facing."

Simon decided to fill in a few blanks for Andrea. "Manu left Desh a sealed envelope. It was only to be opened in the event of his death."

"So he obviously feared for his life at some point," Andrea said.

"Toward the end," Aahna said. "He became more troubled and withdrawn. He always said there was nothing wrong, but I could see the worry in his eyes."

"The letter contained a key to a security locker," Simon said. "Desh recovered the case from there."

Looking at Simon, Andrea asked. "And it still isn't clear who is behind this whole thing, who financed it?"

Aahna answered for Simon. "Manu never revealed who he was working for, even to me. He said it was for the security of the project." Aahna seemed equally eager to set the record straight with regard to her former boyfriend. "Manu was a brilliant young scientist, but he could be naïve as well. He and the others were manipulated, then killed for what they knew. It's as simple as that."

"I believe you, Aahna," Andrea stated. "But I'm afraid we'll have to leave the details of Manu's death for another day."

"He was murdered, Miss Albert," Desh stated.

Andrea looked at Deshad and then turned her attention to Simon. "There are a few things you should know before you go out there," she said. "The synthetic zone has recently started to expand at a predictable rate."

"I don't understand," Simon said.

"The virus appears to have gone into some sort of creep mode, if I can call it that. The consensus of opinion is that this represents some kind of permanent transformation. It buys us time, of course, but the perimeter of this thing is too large to secure. Everyone from media to nut cases seem to think it's safe walk right up the synthetic threshold. You're bound to encounter a few of them out there."

Andrea watched Simon close the case containing the device to which they had pinned their hopes. "Do you think that'll stop it, the virus I mean?" she asked.

Simon glanced at the case in his hand. "It was designed to neutralize the virus's replication mechanism, that's all. If it works, the synthetic zone will remain, it just won't represent a threat anymore."

"We're prepared to live with that for now. I have an armed escort waiting to accompany you," Andrea stated.

"Would it matter if I said this was a scientific expedition?" Simon asked, smiling.

"I'm afraid the escort is non-negotiable," Andrea said.

Andrea accompanied Simon toward the exit, as Desh and Aahna followed closely behind. Nearing the doorway, she added: "By the way, I've asked your team leader to keep an eye out for Sajan Dhawan. I don't want him doing anything stupid."

Simon stopped in his tracks. "What's Dhawan doing here?"

"I thought you knew," Andrea stated.

"Knew what?"

"His wife was one of the first to emerge from the conference center."

Rose, Simon said to himself. Turning quickly, he burst through the Command Center's exit doors, heading for his SUV. "Sophia," he announced.

"Yes, Simon."

Slamming his passenger side door behind him, he ordered: "Locate Rose Gill!"
CHAPTER THIRTYEIGHT

Midflight onboard an ERCC helicopter

Destination: The synthetic threshold

~

"SOPHIA," Simon said into his headset's microphone.

"Yes, Simon."

"Where is Rose now?"

Simon sat upfront with the helicopter's pilot, Desh and Aahna were seated behind. The rotor blades heavy rhythm thumped away in the background, adding to a discernable sense of urgency.

"She appears to be in one of the university's parking garages. If I had to guess, I'd say she is in the process of trying to locate a working vehicle."

Simon thought for a moment. A working vehicle? "You're right," he said. "She's using its smart key features to find it."

Simon realized what Rose was doing. He quickly pulled out his phone out and began scrolling through his recent call list. "Talk to her Sophia. Tell Rose she's not to leave the synthetic zone, do you understand?"

Simon turned to his pilot. "Can you patch a call from my cell phone through to my headset?"

The pilot tapped a few icons on a smart screen located on his flight console. "Is that you?" he asked. A Bluetooth connection to Simon's cell phone appeared onscreen.

"That's me," Simon replied.

The pilot touched a couple more icons in order to connect Simon's device. "You're connected," he said. "Go ahead and make your call."

Moments later, Simon was listening to his phone's dial tone. When a voice finally answered, Simon forcefully announced: "You've got to stop her, Sajan. You can't let Rose leave the synthetic zone."

"Who is this?" Sajan stated. He walked down the center of a two-lane roadway while talking on his cell phone. Several social media sites were now trending with the assertion that the virus had transitioned to a less dangerous 'creep mode,' something in the order of one meter per hour. The news allowed the world to breathe a collective, yet temporary sigh of relief, however the amount of people now trying to get near the danger area forced Sajan to leave his vehicle more than a hundred meters back from the synthetic boundary.

"It's Simon Taylor. And it's important that Rose not venture outside the synthetic zone."

"What do you mean, you have to stop her?" Sajan said. "I have no intention of letting her out of the regen area." Sajan's voice was calm but defiant. He glanced up at one of several helicopters flying around the area. The rotor noise added to his sense of frustration. Feeling no further need to talk to Simon, he ended the call.

Many cars lined each side of the road, and several media vans could be seen near a four-way intersection. Off in the distance, a cameraman was trying to film a young woman running into the synthetic zone. A reporter could also be seen holding a microphone in hand, most likely offering a grim narrative to the tragic spectacle. Several bodies could be seen lying lifeless near the area into which the runner would soon stumble and then fall.

"Dhawan," Simon yelled, realizing the call had been terminated.

Simon pulled his laptop out of his briefcase and flipped the keyboard underneath the display. He tapped a few icons, which in turn opened a map app that filled screen.

"Sophia, I'm going to need Rose's uplink data."

"You know I can't do that, Simon," Sophia stated. "Her account settings are private."

"This isn't the time for that, Soph."

"If you recall. You wrote my privacy protocols yourself."

Simon shook his head in frustration. "Can you at least tell me in which direction she is heading?"

No answer.

"Come on, Soph," Simon pleaded. "This is a life and death situation."

"She is heading southeasterly on Universitatsstrasse."

"Is she in a car?" Simon asked.

"The speed at which she is moving would suggest so."

Simon was visibly annoyed. "For God's sake. Then can you track the car for me?"

Another short pause was followed by: "I can."

A pulsating red dot suddenly appeared on Simon's laptop map.

"For the record," Sophia said. "I'm giving you the GPS coordinates of the car, nothing more."

"Thank you," Simon replied. He quickly turned his laptop toward the pilot so he could see it. A representation of the danger zone cast a wide visible circumference. Rose's commandeered vehicle appeared to be heading away from its epicenter.

Simon swiped the map southward, toward a road intersection where Rose might be heading, but his attention was suddenly drawn to the bottom right corner of his screen. He could see Sam Patel was messaging him again. "Sophia," he said. "Can you tell Sam I'll have to get back to him?"

After a short interval, Sophia relayed a reply from Sam. "He says it's urgent, that you'll want to hear what he has to say."

Simon tapped the icon that opened the Halo's messenger app. Sam Patel suddenly appeared onscreen. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you'll have to make it quick. We'll be landing in a minute or two."

"Then I'll get straight to the point," Sam stated. "I ran some additional video through my facial recognition software. I used the object recognition feature to find an intersect that might identify Priya Singh's killer. Simply put, I dumped as many Bai-Tech and IndiPharm employee photos into the mix, hoping to confirm our suspicions."

"And?" Simon asked.

"If you open the link I just sent you, you'll see the videos go back to the time when Manu and his fellow scientists were working at Bai-Tech."

"So this is after Riya's murder, but before Manu died."

"That's correct," Sam said.

Simon watched a video that depicted a man sitting at a table with four younger individuals. Each of the four were identified by boxed-in names and an arrow pointing to them. The man's facial identity, on the other hand, was completely obscured. Simon correctly presumed the same technology was once again being used to conceal his face. The light-defusing glasses and the ring were highlighted on the video as well.

"As you can see," Sam said. "I've identified the younger individuals at the table as being Manu and the three other scientists that died within months of each other. They seem to be meeting in Bai-Tech's company cafeteria. The time stamp suggests they're working late into the evening."

Sam knew the video was coming to the spot he wanted Simon to see, so he stopped talking to allow for maximum effect. By now Desh and Aahna were straining to look on from their back seats.

"Wait a second," Simon blurted. "What just happened there?"

Sam rewound the video back to the appropriate frames and zoomed in. "I would never have found this intersect had I not dropped in the photo of the person you are now looking at."

"Christ almighty!" Simon stated. He watched as the man in question took off his glasses, caressed the bridge of his nose, and then put them back on. "He didn't even realize he did it. If he did, he would have had the file erased."

"If we can trust the time stamp," Sam said, "it would have been nearly midnight. I think he was tired enough for a momentary lapse."

From the back seat of the helicopter, Desh glared at the enlarged photo on Simon's laptop and knew exactly who he was staring at, the man who killed his mother, possibly his brother too. Simon also realized the same man was responsible for the crisis the world was now facing.

Looking at the photo one last time, Simon shook his head. He minimized both the photo and the incriminating video, and he was left looking at Sam. "You're still one hell of a cop, Sam. I hope you know that."

Sam's smile carried a measure of pride, but before he could offer a response, the pilot alerted Simon to their landing coordinates just ahead. They would land nearby a rural roadway that eventually led to the University of Munich. A four-way stop intersected with the road just outside the synthetic zone. Simon glanced at the screen on the helicopter's instrument console and saw that it was the same roadway on which Rose was travelling. Realizing they would soon land, Simon felt compelled to end the call with Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sam. But we'll be landing in a moment. I don't know how to thank you."

"Help me close a cold case. That's enough."

Simon nodded. "I think I can do that for you."

When the helicopter landed on a grassy area not too far from the crossroads, Simon put his laptop away in his soft-leather briefcase. He then took out and opened a small case, quickly removing a handful of small marble-sized spheres. He placed them in his right jacket pocket.

Another text arrived on his phone, prompting his attention. "Shit," he blurted. He realized he'd been ignoring Lionel's pleas for too long. However, in the time it took to think of a reply, the pilot had come around and opened his door. Simon put his phone back in his pocket, took off his headset, and wasted little time exiting the helicopter. "I'll call you when I need you," he said. The pilot nodded in the affirmative.

When Simon cleared the rotors spinning above, he looked back and found four paramilitary types accompanying him.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked Desh and Aahna, who had also exited the helicopter.

With a nod from each of them, the group began a slow run toward the intersection ahead. Having ran only several paces, Simon took out the handful of spherical devices and through them into the air beside him. Desh and Aahna were taken aback when a life-like hologram of Sophia suddenly appeared at Simon's side. Without missing a step, her feet hit the ground running. She effortlessly kept pace with Simon, stride for stride.

"Sophia," Simon stated. "I need you to find Hope right away. And then let Lionel know when you've found her."

"She's here, Simon," Sophia stated. "About a kilometer away, just over that ridge." Sophia pointed to an area of countryside that was primarily agricultural. Most crops had already been harvested, however the line delineating terrestrial biology from its synthetic counterpart could be most easily seen in local fields of winter wheat. The synthetic wheat was taller, greener, and obviously outperforming its predecessor.

"I've been talking to her," Sophia said, running beside Simon. "She's promised me she won't do anything without speaking to me first."

By now, Simon's group had reached the roadway, and they had transitioned to a purposeful walk.

"I'd feel a lot better if she'd ..." Simon paused, seeing who was up ahead. "Find Hope, Sophia," he said, as if distracted by what was unfolding in front of him. "Find her and then bring her here."

Sophia quickly dematerialized before her holographic spheres flew off toward the east.

"He wouldn't," Simon gasped. He looked more closely at was transpiring fifty meters up the road. Prav Gill was leading Nisha, Rose's daughter, into the hands of her father. Sajan's smile was filled with a father's pride, as he took Nisha's hand. The nearly five year old girl was well dressed, and compliant to a fault, but she certainly gave the impression of being overwhelmed by her surroundings. Sajan bent down to one knee in front of Nisha, as if he were about to tell his daughter that her mother was alive. Simon, however, feared Sajan's words would belie his true intentions.

Simon looked back at his escort and said: "Follow me!" It took only moments for Simon's group to arrive at the crossroads and unexpectedly startle Sajan Dhawan.

Praveen Gill was equally surprised. "My, my, Mr. Taylor. You do have a habit of intervening at the most inappropriate moments."

Simon looked back at his escort and announced: "Take this man into custody."

But when the four heavily armed men moved toward Prav Gill, Simon said. "No, not him." Simon turned and stared at Sajan Dhawan. "This is the man responsible for putting the entire world at risk."

Dhawan's face became contorted by disbelief. "That's preposterous!" he stated. He was both confident and emphatic. Nevertheless, he drew his daughter closer.

"Is it?" Simon stated. "Manu Singh. Do you remember him?"

Sajan made a gesture of being perplexed, but his eyes couldn't help betraying him. Simon caught Sajan glancing momentarily at Desh.

Simon recited the names of the other young scientists who were murdered. "Ira Khatri, Anvi Ahuja, Shreya Burman. You knew them as well, did you not?"

Prav Gill intervened on his brother-in-law's behalf. "Come, Mr. Taylor."

"It's alright, Prav," Sajan said. "What do these people have to do with me?"

"You didn't bring together four brilliant young minds to design something that you couldn't do yourself? Bring life to another planet?"

Simon's tactical team slowly moved into position around Sajan, but he surmised what was taking place. Dhawan picked up his daughter and held her in his arms. He remained defiant. "Really, Simon. With the resources at my disposal, why would I need help with something as simple ...?"

"What if I told you I have conclusive evidence that puts you at the same table as the four individuals I just mentioned?"

"I'd say that's highly improbable."

Simon looked as though he caught himself in a thought. "You know, it's funny that you should say improbable and not impossible."

Fortunately for Dhawan, a distraction arrived in the form of a car approaching from the synthetic zone. The entire group went silent, as if everything that preceded had been preempted by something more astonishing. It was Rose. She had stopped and was now exiting her parked car.

She stared for a moment, as if taking in an unimaginable scene. A group with whom she was more intimate could hardly be assembled. Her husband and daughter, her brother, Simon Taylor, as well as Deshad Singh, son of Priya Singh, the woman whose identity she failed to protect. They were all staring back at her with unbelieving eyes. Rose also saw four armed men ready to intervene, but on whose behalf remained unclear. Stepping away from the car, Rose began to walk closer. Her darting eyes suggested numerous thoughts were filling her mind, but the one she obviously felt compelled to deal with first was the wellbeing of her daughter. Rose ignored everything else, focusing her eyes on her Nisha then Sajan.

"Why have you brought our daughter here?" she asked. "It's not safe. I demand that you ..." Rose stopped mid-sentence and cringed. She raised her left hand to her forehead as if she were still suffering the effects of her transformation. For a moment she looked around. Her mind was obviously trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Recovering somewhat, Rose walked right up to the threshold, stopping only meters from its edge. Everyone's attention was entirely captivated by Rose, but none more so than Simon's. He stared at her with eyes that probed for the subtle changes he thought might be consistent with the miracle of regenesis. He focused on her eyes, her facial features with which he was intimately familiar, and the way she spoke. In a word, Rose appeared more alive than Simon had ever seen her before.

"This is no place for a child," Rose stated. Distracted again, she looked around and then glanced at Simon. "And why are Simon and Deshad here?"

"Darling ...," Sajan began.

"We're here to hold someone to account for what you have been through, Rose," Simon interjected.

Rose appeared as though she didn't fully understand the circumstances that had befallen her. She looked inquisitively at her hands. "What I've been through?"

"Rose," Simon said. "You've been exposed to a synthetic virus that was never intended to be deployed on earth."

"I don't understand?"

Sajan chose his words carefully. "You've been subject to the process of regenisis, which means, of course, that ... you've been reborn."

"Reborn?" Rose asked. "Into what? Am I still ...?"

"Yes, Rose," Simon replied. He could sense a sliver of fear infiltrating Rose's composure. "You are still the person you once were."

"Only better, Rose," Sajan stated. "You are more than human now."

Sajan seemed the most willing to embrace the circumstances in which his wife now found herself. A peculiar smile revealed more than he may have intended, but he also became invigorated the benefits of her metamorphosis. His voice became soft and reassuring. "Rose. Try to imagine the potential you represent to our species."

Simon looked at Sajan and saw what he had been waiting for; the doorway to self-incrimination had been opened, if only slightly. "And you think this is the answer to everything that holds humanity back? Is that it?" Simon taunted.

Sajan glared at Simon. "I think the end will justify the means," he replied.

Simon wasn't the only one who realized that Sajan's confidence bordered on extreme arrogance, if not madness. Rose stared at her husband with fear in her eyes. She then turned to her brother with an expression that pleaded for answers. For once, compassion seemed evident in the way he returned his sister's stare.

"And what end would that be, Dhawan?" Simon persisted. "A better species? A better planet? Must we all become like Rose? Or, will some of us be deemed too inferior to make the transformation?"

As Simon interrogated Sajan, Rose was becoming increasingly alarmed by the thought of why Nisha was there. Rose decided to speak directly to her daughter. "Ani, Darling. I need you to do something for mommy ..."

Rose's words of concern went unheeded. Nisha squirmed a little, but Sajan held his daughter ever more tightly. "Nature will always be the ultimate arbiter," he said, ignoring his wife. "What happens today, tomorrow, or even a year from now is irrelevant. It's the long game that counts, Mr. Taylor. You of all people should appreciate the fact that we are nothing if not a work in progress."

"Speaking of the revision process," Simon said, "do you mind if I ask Rose if everyone survived the regenesis?"

Without having to ask the question, Rose quickly found herself the subject of many inquiring eyes. As if put on the spot, she slowly shook her head. Everyone knew what the gesture meant. Some people were successfully reanimated, others were not.

"Then how does the virus choose who is reborn?' Simon asked. "Surely there is some sort of smart pathogen at work here?"

Sajan looked at Rose and said nothing.

The lack of reply was a revelation to Simon. "Wait a second," he proclaimed. "You bastard! You subjected your wife to this and you didn't even know whether she would live through it?"

"That's not true!" Sajan replied. Again, Nisha struggled unsuccessfully to free herself from her father's grip. Her sense of desperation was becoming difficult to contain, though. Like a contagion of its own, Nisha's anxiety began infecting Sajan's entire demeanor. "It's not true. Roshnie, you have to believe me!"

"What do you mean, it's not true?" Simon taunted. "Of course it is!" He stepped toward Sajan in an attempt to further unnerve him. Deshad followed Simon's lead. After passing the small briefcase to Aahna, he moved slowly, calmly, and with the intent to outflank Sajan on the opposite side.

Prav also followed Simon's lead. His creased eyes and wrinkled skepticism suggested he may have underestimated what his brother-in-law was capable of. "Sajan. Brother-in-law," he said. "Answer the man. Was my sister's life ever in question?"

Sajan appeared as though his carefully constructed façade was unravelling before him. Fearing the wrath of Prav Gill as well, he suddenly switched tactics and began justifying his actions. "Do you not see this for what it is? Xenobiology represents the next step in human evolution." The despair in his voice matched a further deterioration in his confidence.

Simon persisted. "You said nature will be the ultimate arbiter, but this is all about you, isn't it? Your grand design. You see, that's what I have a problem with. Did Rose agree to her XNA upgrade?" Simon glanced at Rose before turning back to Dhawan. "Did anyone for that matter?"

Sajan's eyes pleaded for his wife's understanding, but none was forthcoming.

Simon shook his head, as if to preface a new approach. "I mean what does it say about your post-humanist society if it's founded upon the worst parts of our past, the despotic whims of a common tyrant?"

"Another murderer," Desh added. The expression on his face suggested the wheels of justice were turning in his mind.

Rose's eyes suggested she no longer knew if she could trust her husband, so Simon intervened more poignantly this time. "There's something else you should know, Rose ... about how Desh's mother died."

The words were barely out of Simon's mouth when everyone noticed Sajan take a step closer to the synthetic threshold.

"Stop!" Rose shouted. Fearing her husband's intentions caused Rose to cringe again. The after effects of Rose's regenesis were now more obvious than ever. It appeared as though exerting herself caused her senses to be conflicted by their new reality.

"Daddy," Nisha whimpered. "I'm scared!"

Sajan tried in vain to reassure his daughter. "It will soon be over. And when we wake up ..."

"No!" Rose raged. "Stop, Sajan. Please don't do it!" Rose resisted the transformative process with everything she had. She had to save her daughter from Sajan's twisted intentions, but before a mother's instinct could be set in motion, her brother did something completely unexpected. He lunged forward and grabbed his niece from her father's arms.

Stunned, Sajan stumbled toward the synthetic threshold. To Simon's dismay, though, Sajan recovered before falling into the danger zone. He looked at each side as though a precipice lay before him. A sickening smile suggested he wasn't sure about risking the regenesis process after all. But to Dhawan's great surprise, the decision was about to be made for him. Deshad stepped forward and pushed his mother's murderer across the threshold.

Rose watched in horror, as her husband stumbled several times before falling to the ground. She shrieked Sajan's name while watching him cough, gag, and then succumb to the synthetic virus, a scourge he himself had unleased on the earth. Prav turned Nisha away so she wouldn't have to witness her father's horrible fate.

Teeth clenched, every muscle in Sajan's body seemed to contract before his skin slowly turned ashen grey. In seconds he went limp and fell unconscious. Stricken with disbelief, Rose dropped to her knees beside her husband.

"Rose," Simon stated. The compassion in his voice suggested he still had feelings for her, but Simon knew he had to put his personal feelings aside; a greater obligation lay beyond those in front of him. "Rose, I need you to do something."

Still no response. Rose then got up slowly, and with tears in her eyes, she said: "Thank you," to her brother. "Thank you for saving my daughter."

Simon knew time was of the essence, so he persisted. For his plan to work, he needed Rose's cooperation. "Rose, there's a way for us to put an end to this tragedy, but we need your help."

"My help?" Rose stated. She seemed ready to vent all of her anger toward Simon.

"We can stop this thing once and for all," Simon stated.

Rose glanced at Simon before turning her full attention toward Anisha. "Then you'll be doing it without my help. I am not leaving my daughter."

Rose walked right up to the threshold and stared into Anisha's fearful eyes. She looked longingly at her daughter, barely resisting the desire to pluck her from Prav's arms.

"Rose, please," Simon said.

Rose snapped her head toward Simon, clenching her teeth. "I said, I'm not leaving my daughter's side!"

Simon didn't know what to say, but only a short pause ensued before the silence was broken. A voice unexpectedly proclaimed: "I'll do it!"

Surprised by the announcement, everyone turned their heads toward the person speaking. It was Hope, and she was staring at the group from several meters away. Sophia had obviously found her and, with Rose and Sajan consuming the group's undivided attention, they had arrived on the scene unnoticed.

"Give me the case," Hope said, walking straight up to Aahna. Her blue jeans, white tee shirt, and blue NY ball cap underscored her nonchalant behavior. Stunned by the young girl's audacity, Aahna didn't resist when Hope took the small silver briefcase from her hand.

Everyone remained speechless, but when Hope stepped closer to the synthetic threshold, Rose yelled: "Stop!"

Hope paused for only enough time to offer Simon an apologetic glance, before she continued walking right into the danger zone. When she failed to succumb to its effects, everyone recoiled in disbelief.

"What the hell just happened?" Aahna stated.

A nearby television reporter, who had followed Hope and a holographic Sophia to the commotion, turned to her cameraman, saying: "Please tell me you're getting this!"

CHAPTER THIRTYNINE

Lionel and Grace's chartered plane

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

Destination: Augsburg, Germany

~

"WHAT THE CHRIST JUST HAPPENED?" Lionel screamed. He lurched upward out of his seat, landing in the aisle of his small charter airplane. "Did you see that? Hope just walked into, into ..." Lionel clasped his fingers behind his head as if doing so would help him make sense of what he had just witnessed. His laptop lay open on the small table in front of him. Circling aimlessly, he paused for just long enough to catch a glimpse of Grace. Still seated, her forehead was buried in her left hand, her elbow braced by the armrest of the same side.

Lionel was still in panic mode. "Grace!" he yelled. "What the hell's wrong with you? Didn't you see that?"

Grace obviously did. Her eyes were glued to the tablet in her lap. It was streaming the same video that Lionel had just seen.

Lionel compulsively turned his attention back to the live news coverage, which now included aerial footage. Hope could be seen getting into the driver's seat of a car with what appeared to be a holographic version of Sophia. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Lionel stated.

Grace sat on the opposite side of the table, visibly troubled by what was taking place. But when she tossed her tablet onto the table in frustration, Lionel finally tore his eyes away from the breaking news coverage; he recognized the look on Grace's face as being one of reluctant resignation. "Grace?" he stated, hesitantly.

"I never meant for you to find out this way," Grace said.

Lionel took a step backward. "Wait a second? Find out what?"

~ ~ ~

"Seat belt," Sophia said to Hope, in a firm but motherly sort of way.

Hope quickly complied, but her determined expression barely yielded to such a routine task. Hope and Sophia were sitting in the car that Rose had driven to the scene. Running, but still parked where Rose left it, the pair faced Simon, Desh, and Aahna.

Sophia smiled at Simon, giving him a cautious wave. Knowing that Hope had only recently passed her driver's license test, she asked: "I assume you still remember how to do a three point turn?"

"Hold on!" Hope stated, turning her ball cap backwards on her head. Slamming the car into reverse, she turned, looked out the rear window, and put her hand behind Sophia's headrest. Her foot then slammed the accelerator to the floor. In a matter of seconds, Hope did a high-speed reverse 180 maneuver, which quickly spun the car around in the opposite direction. Jamming the stick shift into first gear, Hope floored it again. The car's wheels spun furiously, as the car accelerated at maximum throttle. By the time she power-shifted into third, Hope turned her head slightly toward the right, offering a wide-eyed Sophia the corner of her smile.

In the span of a millisecond Sophia reviewed Hope's complete history, every single question or conversation they had had. "I don't recall teaching you how to execute a J turn."

"You didn't. Richard showed me."

Sophia was instantly taken aback. "Richard Taylor? You mean to tell me Lionel's father showed you how to do a reverse 180?"

By now Hope had reached a comfortable cruising speed. "Well, not exactly," she admitted. "He called it pulling a Jim Rockford."

Hope turned and glanced at Sophia. "From the Rockford Files?" Hope stated. "The Rockford Files was ..."

"Was an American television drama series," Sophia interjected. "Yes, I know. How much time have you been spending with Richard?" Sophia overemphasized the word Richard as if she were slightly jealous of their relationship.

"Not that much. We watch old movies and TV shows together ... you know, when we have a chance."

"Remind me to thank Mr. Taylor for being so generous with his time," Sophia dryly said.

~ ~ ~

"Simon," Sophia stated.

"Yes, Sophia," Simon said, adjusting his Bluetooth device.

"Derrick has been trying to get a hold of you."

"Put him through," Simon said. He stepped away from Desh, Aahna, and Prav Gill in particular, so he could talk to Derrick in private.

"Simon," Derrick said, after Sophia connected their call.

Derrick was in his New York office. Several large monitors surrounded him. One displayed a complete map of the earth. The numerous cities, which were highlighted in blue, represented PurIntel's Halo mainframe facilities around the world. Cloud support centers were colored yellow. Together they formed the backbone of the worldwide Halo network.

"The Halo community has really stepped up. Hundreds of programmers have sourced and suppressed most of Sophia's hackers, but we've just received reliable Intel that a state-sponsored organization is preparing a major assault. Sophia will be one of two targets."

"Let me guess," Simon stated. "Federal voter data is the other. Someone wants to influence the election outcome, preserve the old order, as it were."

"Notwithstanding the inconvenience that would undoubtedly cause, there is one more possibility we should be prepared for," Derrick suggested.

Simon knew what he was going to say. "That some of this is coming from within PurIntel."

"The most dangerous aspects, I'm afraid," Derrick said. "The level of effectiveness suggests ..."

"Then we should prepare for that contingency," Simon interjected. "Can you take care of that?"

Derrick nodded to his head of security, who was sitting across the table from him. "I've already set a few things in motion," he said.

~ ~ ~

"Found out what, Grace," Lionel repeated. "That Hope is not ... I don't know ... that she's not human?"

"Hope is as human as you and I, Lionel!" The passion in Grace's voice suggested she found Lionel's last comment offensive.

"Only she's synthetic. Is that it?"

"Yes!" Grace emphatically stated. She turned away from Lionel and looked out the window on her right. Powerful memories took her back to the day in which her own stem cells were harvested, setting her and them on an incredible journey. Macro gene editing technology enabled Grace's undifferentiated cell's DNA to be entirely replaced by a synthetic replica of Sophia's super-human genome. A secret Presidential Executive Order then allowed the first human embryo to be created from stem cells alone, and not eggs and sperm. Under the same secrecy, the fetus was allowed to grow and reach full term. Grace vividly remembered the moment when Hope was delivered from an artificial womb and placed in her arms.

She turned back to Lionel, knowing this day would eventually arrive. "Would you have treated her differently, had I told you?"

Lionel glared at Grace with betrayal still filling his eyes. He wanted to lash out, but he wisely took a deep breath instead. He realized that was the crux of it. Would it have changed everything? he thought. Of course not! But then Lionel began to reconsider how difficult it would have been for Hope, if everyone around her knew how special she really was.

"I didn't want her to be raised in a laboratory," Grace said, pausing. She could tell by Lionel's body language that his heart was softening, if only somewhat. "I know this may sound insincere ... or too corny, I don't know what, but for the past year and a half you've been an invaluable role-model for Hope. I can see it in the way she looks at you."

Lionel turned away without saying anything. He felt his emotions switching from anger to understanding, then to the bond he and Hope now shared. Lionel's thoughts transitioned to concern. "Any idea how she got over there?"

Grace considered how much she should divulge. "There's a man," she said. "His name is Colonel Dynes."

"Let me guess," Lionel stated. "That's who you were yelling at on the phone ... while I was losing it on my brother. He didn't have the guts to come to you first."

"He knew I wouldn't have let her go," Grace replied. "Hope would have known that too."

A few seconds of silence allowed for some much needed reflection.

"You know," Grace said, pausing. "You are the only person I have let into our lives, into Hope's life." Grace's tone then turned less serious. "And if you remember how we first met ..."

Lionel thought back to dropping into Simon's summer home unannounced. Simon wasn't there, but Grace and Hope were. Pleasantries underscored their first brief encounter, however, when he later found out from Simon that he and Grace were not involved, better yet that she was single, Lionel wasted little time wondering why she was there in the first place and immediately indulged a memory of stepping out onto the rear deck and finding Grace taking in some sun. Hope was down by the dock, seemingly ready to depart on a seadoo. She stopped and stared, like a protective daughter would, only proceeding after getting the, it's okay, wave from her mother. The notion that he could forget how attractive Grace was became the furthest thing from Lionel's mind.

Lionel turned back toward Grace, relenting to her recollection of how this all came to be. "How many times did I have to ask you before we went out on a date?" he asked. "Six, seven?"

"Nine, counting the day you found me sunning in my bikini."

"I was a persistent bastard, wasn't I?" Lionel said, in a self-deprecating sort of way. Turning his head to the side, he reflected on the degree to which his brother tried in vain to dissuade him from getting involved with Grace. He then realized he had no one to blame but himself.

"So, like ... is she super human or something?" Lionel pensively asked.

Grace smiled, realizing the ordeal had gone as well as could be expected. "As a matter of fact," she replied. "Yes, she is."

~ ~ ~

Simon slowly paced about, while Rose spoke quietly to Anisha. From her side of the synthetic threshold, Rose had crouched down in order to make eye contact with her daughter. Sajan still lay on the ground, appearing lifeless, although when she last checked his condition, Rose detected a faint pulse. He would likely survive, much to the dismay of Aahna and Deshad.

Prav Gill had descended to one knee in order to keep a firm hold on Anisha. The selfless act appeared out of context for a man with his reputation, although it didn't surprise Simon. Gill claimed to put family first, at least in his own mind. His expression suggested an uncharacteristic concern for his niece, that he could feel the pull of her instinctive desire to embrace her mother. Although Rose's arms ached to hold her young child, giving as much comfort to herself as her daughter, reassuring words would have to suffice for now.

An awkward series of glances between Simon and Rose persisted, so he meandered his way over to the leader of his escort. Again small talk ensued. Word from Hope and Sophia was not as forthcoming as he would like. Simon pulled his phone from his pocket and considered using the intervening time to get an update from Derrick, however he was surprised by an unexpected incoming call from Jennifer. She was calling from the SAT phone, something she did only on rare occasions. Simon instantly became worried. "Hi Jen," he answered. A small amount of interference added to his sense of concern. "Is everything okay?" Simon walked away from his military escort as if doing so would help with the signal.

"Dad," Jennifer announced. "Dad, can you hear me?"

"Yes Jen, that's better. Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine, Dad." Jennifer said. She lingered aimlessly outside her modest dwelling, the lack of any time difference between Botswana and Germany barely infiltrating her thoughts. While holding the bulky phone to her ear, she looked down at the ground beneath her feet. Her left foot made meaningless motions in the dirt pathway that led to her front door. "I just needed someone to talk to," she said.

"Of course," Simon said, reading between the lines. He knew Sophia was always available, so he presumed this was one of those times when only a parent would do.

"I'm ready to come home, Dad," Jen announced.

"Okay," Simon replied, pausing long enough to factor another variable into a day like no other. He never wanted his daughter to think she came second to anything, not even the crisis unfolding before him, but his verbal stumble suggested he had been taken by surprise. "W ... w ... when were you thinking? I mean, I can send a plane whenever it's convenient for you."

Her father's reaction didn't bother Jennifer, in fact it made her smile. She harbored no illusions about the demands placed on her father, and that he would respond in his customary way. A plane was, after all, only a phone call away, but she wasn't sure that's what she wanted or needed, for that matter.

Ever since her morning walk to work Jennifer had been doing some soul searching with regard to the commitment she and Jesse made several months ago. At one point during her hike to Female Hill, Jesse, in fact, suddenly appeared beside her. Jennifer was taken aback at first, but when she recalled a conversation she and Jesse once had, suggesting they should both tick the Halo Terms and Conditions box, 'Allow creation of Legacy Essence,' she assumed Sophia had sensed a special sort of intervention was in order.

The Halo's Legacy Essence provision allowed Sophia to make aspects of a Halo client's data avatar available to a select group of people. Family and friends could see and even converse with their deceased loved one after they passed away. It seemed like an outlandish proposition at the time, that they were not indestructible in their youth, but Jen recalled Jesse's insistence on the matter. So when he suddenly appeared beside her, it took only a moment for her to realize Sophia had taken the initiative. A stunning life-like hologram of Jesse walked and talked beside her, utilizing the same holographic spheres that brought Sophia into 3D existence.

The conversation between Jennifer and Jesse went as pleasantly as one could imagine, however the greatest comfort came in the form of Jesse's reassuring words.

"It's time you go home, Jen," Jesse confided.

The words were so timely, they caused Jen's eyes to fill with tears. A very emotional chapter in her life needed to come to an end. She was finally ready to go home.

"I will always be here for you, Jen," Jesse added.

Jennifer could only nod and walk on.

By the time the pair rounded to the final corner to Female Hill, a troubling site caught Jennifer's eye. She stopped in her tracks. A little further up the bush-covered path, a holographic Sophia was standing near the entrance to Rhino Trail. Jennifer suddenly realized she had received only one set of holographic spheres, the ones she had shown Az earlier.

A further twenty five sets would arrive soon, allowing guests to be guided by their own Mitochondrial Eve, but for now Jen was stunned to consider with whom she had been walking and talking.

She slowly turned her head to the side to see what could only be an apparition, a smiling Jesse. The sprits of Tsodillo were indeed very powerful. She understood that, in their own way, they were telling her she had completed her real mission at Tsodillo: to emerge from her grief and resume her life back home.

As an extended pause played out during her conversation with her father, it occurred to her what she needed. "I want you to come here, Dad," she said. "I want you to see this beautiful place. Can you do that for me?"

"I can, Jen," Simon replied. But with an incredible series of events playing out before him, he struggled with what to say next. "I ..."

"It's alright, Dad," Jennifer interjected. "I'm sure you're in the middle of something."

Simon glanced back at Rose and Prav. Rose's defiance seemed to be softening. His eyes then panned over to his military escort. "I'll come as soon as I can. I promise."

"I know you will. I love you, Dad," Jennifer stated.

"I love you too, Jen."

With that exchange, Jennifer hung up the phone and walked over toward Sophia.

~ ~ ~

"How's your cerebral data uplink working?" Sophia asked Hope.

Still driving at high speed toward the university's conference center, Sophia was referring to the cutting edge technology designed into Hope's prototype Bluetooth earpiece. Its most advanced feature allowed information to be transmitted directly into the pattern recognizers in Hope's prefrontal cortex. Reducing the perceptible world to a stream of electrical impulses lay at the heart of the learning breakthrough.

After extending outward and curving inward one hundred and eighty degrees, pointing directly into the center of the eye, it bypassed the ocular nerve therefore enabling the brain to interpret data in its rawest form. In other words, Hope didn't have to read or, for that matter, see or hear anything in order to upload something directly into her consciousness. "It took some getting used to," she said.

"How adept are you at switching between realities?" Sophia asked.

"Not bad," Hope said, unconvincingly. "It's like having a heads-up-display in your mind. I'm getting better at manipulating my focal point, if that makes any sense."

"So if I give you a map of the surrounding area?"

Hope's eyes blinked several times, as she absorbed the data being uploaded to her consciousness. "I see our real-time position relative to the university."

"What do you see now?" Sophia asked. She let her head fall back against the headrest, while a contented expression overtook her face.

Hope appeared as though she was witnessing something breathtaking. "Wow! Is this your world?" she asked.

Against a darkened backdrop, Hope saw information in the form of ones and zeros flowing in every direction. It appeared unorganized at first, but upon closer examination, hub-like galaxies seemed connected to each other in an unending universe.

"Can you see the road as well?" Sophia asked.

Hope settled into her seat as if becoming more comfortable with both visual realities. "Simultaneously," she answered. Vibrant colors added another dimension to the network, possibly weighting the data being transferred.

"It's where I live," Sophia stated.

After a short pause, Hope asked: "How do you make sense of it all?"

"Like you said, it took a little getting used to. Let me know when it becomes too much."

The words were barely out of Sophia's mouth when she and Hope began convulsing at the same time.

Hope recovered somewhat, but she appeared very agitated. Her hands gripped the steering wheel more intensely. "What the hell was that?" she asked. But before Sophia could answer, they both shuddered again.

Voices now invading Hope's mind became louder and louder, their pleas unrelenting, overwhelming. It was as if the collective soul of humanity was searching for something, answers, perhaps, that were not forthcoming."

"Stop!" Hope yelled. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road. She quickly pressed a button on her earbud, which in turn retracted her data uplink.

Looking to her right, Hope noticed Sophia still convulsing. "Sophia!" she yelled. Hope reached out to stop Sophia from jerking back and forth, but her hands fell right through Sophia's hologram.

"Simon!" Hope shouted. "Simon, are you there?"

No answer. Hope quickly realized why she couldn't reach Simon; the same attack that she and Sophia were experiencing must have caused the Halo to crash.

"Sophia," Hope said calmly. "Can you hear me? I need you to focus on my voice."

Sophia's hologram flickered several times. She disappeared, came back into full view, and then vanished again.

"Goddamn it!" Hope yelled. She jammed the shifter into first gear, slammed her foot down on the gas, and sped off once again. Stopping the Munich device on her own was an intimidating proposition, however the thought was given little time to ruminate. Just as Hope upshifted to third, Sophia suddenly reappeared.

"Thank God!" Hope stated, glancing to her right. "Are you alright?"

Sophia gasped, as if for air, before taking a few deep breaths. "I'm okay. I've got to talk to Simon. I followed the voices to their source. Someone is uploading millions of fake Halo accounts."

"Where?" Hope asked, shifting into fifth.

Sophia turned toward Hope. "It's coming from within PurIntel."

"Within PurIntel?" Hope asked.

"Yes," Sophia replied. "Simon, are you there," she announced.

Simon was still at the synthetic threshold. With the Halo momentarily back up, he answered: "Yes, Sophia. What have you got for us?"

"Our Singapore Data Center has been compromised. The state sponsored hacks will serve as a distraction. Millions of malevolent identities are being sourced from Singapore."

"Singapore," Simon repeated. "I'll take care of it. Are you almost there?" he asked.

"We are," Hope replied, as she drove onto the university campus.

Sophia's voice carried a sense of urgency. "Simon, if we don't stop them ..."

"You're going to have to trust me," Simon said. "Focus on stopping the Munich Device. I'll take care of Singapore. If there's anything else I can do for you, I'll be right here."

Hope slowed the car further. The university conference center was dead ahead. Turning to Sophia, she said to Simon: "Just take that mother fucker out for us, will you?"

Simon smiled. "Will do," he said.

Simon quickly connected with Derrick Landry. "You were right about it being internal. The source is Singapore. Did you get that? The target is Singapore."

"Singapore confirmed," Derrick replied.

Picking up another phone, Derrick scrolled through a list of the fourteen data support centers shown on the map in front of him. Fourteen names represented the heads of security at each Halo mainframe facility. Having been warned in advance, each of them were standing at the ready, awaiting Derrick's call.

"PurIntel Singapore, Driscoll speaking," the voice answered.

"You are it, my friend. The bastard will likely be plugged into one of your mainframes. Check them all. He's in there somewhere."

"Copy that," Driscoll stated. He looked at a cyber specialist standing beside him. "Stay close to me, alright?" After receiving a nervous nod from the young PurIntel cyber specialist, Driscoll then turned to a half-dozen well-armed men, announcing: "Let's go!"

~ ~ ~

Hope and Sophia exited their car as close to the conference center as possible. Hearing the sound a fluttering flag makes, Hope turned to Sophia and stopped. "Really?" she sarcastically asked.

Sophia looked over her left shoulder at the red cape that had just unfurled down her back. "Bit over the top is it?"

"Ah, yeah," Hope replied, returning her baseball cap to face forward.

When her holographic cape disappeared, Sophia walked on, adding under her breath, "You're not the only one who likes watching movies."

Seeing the opening in the exterior wall that the ERCC had breached when they first tried to shut down the device, Hope and Sophia ventured closer, walking cautiously. The synthetic grass, bushes, and trees, which surrounded the conference building itself, appeared much more robust than anything they had seen thus far.

Hope's eyes were in turn drawn to a series of large roots emanating from the opening in the wall. She worried for a moment about what they might encounter inside, however, the greenness of the vegetation, the color of flowers and tree blossoms were too striking to ignore.

"Looks more like spring than late fall, doesn't it?" she asked, rhetorically.

Sophia had noticed a gradual change in the flora as they drove closer to their destination. The university campus itself was beautifully landscaped; the blooming magnolia trees, the hazelnut blossoms, and the vibrant waves of purple crocuses amid the tall grasses were breathtaking. With the sun shining brightly, it was easy to overlook the fact that it was early November and not late May. "Everything looks so alive," she said.

"Almost animated," Hope agreed.

Finally arriving at the large opening in the building's exterior wall, Hope could see the two pieces of construction equipment that had made the hole.

Glancing inside, even Sophia was struck by what they saw next. Cautiously stepping past the six-wheeled reconnaissance vehicle that had been disabled during the first approach, Hope found herself watching her step. Her eyes followed a vast web of roots, which emanated from the middle of the conference hall. The auditorium was quite large; it had a tall ceiling, but it was entirely overwhelmed by thick vegetation. The increased humidity within was palpable as well.

From where Hope and Sophia stood, the size of the roots increased in diameter until they culminated in an incredibly large tree trunk at the center of the room. Dark green in color, Sophia could see the trunk wasn't a solid column of growth, as most trees are. Instead, this appeared to be made up of an amalgamation of intertwined roots; they rose up from the ground, wrapping themselves around each other, until they reached the height of the room. From there, the web of vegetation fanned out, clinging to the ceiling, almost replicating the appearance of what Hope found herself standing on.

After allowing the spectacle to sink in, she looked more closely at the base of the root trunk. Hope realized she was looking at the Munich device. Almost concealed by what surrounded it, the thick root structure wove itself upward, twisting and turning enough times to yield numerous openings. The device could be seen through several of them.

Hope noticed a few blinking lights. "It looks operational," she said.

Finding Sophia oddly uninterested, Hope turned her attention to where Sophia was looking. A number of cocoon-like structures could be seen off to their left, near the hall's main exit doors. One was coming alive with movement.

A hand broke through its outer fibrous membrane. An arm followed. Another set of fingers soon surfaced, but as both hands worked to widen the opening, Hope's attention was further diverted to a number of people who must have already emerged from their cocoons. They appeared to be enduring varying stages of reanimation.

Some were sitting in rows of auditorium seating that had not been overwhelmed by the root structure. Several people were shivering, appearing to be in shock; a dozen or so stared straight ahead, blankly, as if their senses had not yet been fully reconfigured. A small number were motionless and slumped over, having extricated themselves only partially from their concealment.

Sophia did some quick arithmetic. "There are more open cocoons than people in this room."

"Some must have left, as Rose did," Hope said.

She and Sophia began walking toward the center of the hall. As they got closer to the so-called bio-pump itself, the root system became more and more dense, making it easier to walk on.

Hope stopped about ten meters away from the device. She glanced to her left at the people needing their attention and then refocused her thoughts on the task at hand. "Let's neutralize this thing first. Agreed?" Hope stated.

"Agreed," Sophia answered, standing beside her. "I'll request the ambulance drones be deployed to our location. After triaging here, we can set up a staging area closer to Simon's location."

~ ~ ~

Six well-armed guards and one brainy-looking cyber specialist followed the Director of Security down a hallway at PurIntel's Singapore location. Before opening a set of doors that would give access a large warehouse type facility, Director Driscoll paused for a moment. He used his cell phone to turn off the automatic sensors that would activate the building's interior lighting. If the hacker was in there, he didn't want to announce their arrival.

Once that was achieved, Driscoll slowly opened one of two doors. Covertly, six paramilitary types went inside, single file, the cyber specialist never far from the security director's side.

The complex was cavernous to say the least. Only dimly lit, it was filled with rows and rows of identical computer mainframes separated by three lengthy corridors, which ran the length of the building.

Using hand signals alone, they split into smaller groups. With the cyber tech in tow, Director Driscoll took two men with him down the center aisle. The others divided themselves between parallel passageways on the left and right. They quietly ran down their respective corridors, looking down the narrow hallways that separated each mainframe row.

~ ~ ~

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" a male voice announced from across the auditorium.

Hope and Sophia stopped in their tracks. They turned to their left and searched for the source of the inquiry.

"You," the man stated, looking directly at Sophia. "I can tell you're a hologram of sorts. But you," he said to Hope. "You're not one of us, are you?" The man tilted his head toward the other reanimated individuals while emphasizing the word, us.

Sophia's attention was quickly drawn to a man sitting in the third row of the auditorium seating. He appeared to be in his late twenties, his scruffy beard adding to his unsettling appearance. "Are you in need of medical attention?" Sophia asked him.

Hope was put off by the man's us inference and intervened before the man could answer Sophia. "Who I am is none of your concern," she retorted.

The man stayed focused on Hope. "Maybe it is," he said. "Did I just hear you say you're going to disable that device?" His tone reaffirmed Hope's instant disliking for him. The way he spoke, his gestures, his entire demeanor seemed inconsistent with the others.

"Have you got a problem with that?" she defiantly asked.

The man didn't move from his chair, but he made it clear he was armed. He raised what appeared to be an assault rifle, pointing the barrel of the gun upward while allowing the butt to rest on his thigh. "Do I have a problem with that?" he repeated. Getting up from his seat, he arrogantly added: "As a matter of fact, I do."

Sophia sensed the rising tensing between Hope and the gunman, so she continued to emphasize her role of a dispassionate arbiter. "Then would you mind telling us why you would object to stopping this device from wreaking further havoc?"

The heavily armed man began walking toward the closest aisle, his attitude still overflowing with self-confidence. "Because I'm the guy who put it there."

"You put it here?" Sophia asked. "How is that possible?"

"See, therein lies my dilemma," the man said, stopping a similar distance away from the device, about ten meters on the other side. Slightly offset, and clearly able to see both Hope and Sophia, he continued in the same gruff-like manner. "I was told we'd all survive the regenesis ... that we'd all have a place in this, what did he call it, this new world order."

"I assume you're speaking of the arrangement you made with ..."

"With Sajan Dhawan. Yes, of course," the man interjected. His contempt for Dhawan was made evident by more than just his voice. "I need to have a chat with that man."

"You said, we," Hope stated.

"I did, didn't I? Smart girl," the man quipped. His patronizing tone was obviously intended to get under Hope's skin. "By, we, I meant my coconspirators. But they're none of your concern."

Sophia continued in a moderate tone. "Then are we to assume you are the only one who survived the reanimation?"

The man chuckled. "You're even smarter than her, aren't you?" he said, glancing between Hope and Sophia. "Let's just say, a couple of my compatriots may or may not have completed the transformation process."

"Maybe they never will," Hope said, still agitated.

The man levelled is gun at Hope. "You know, I'm not sure I like your attitude."

Sophia could see the look in Hope's eyes, and that she wasn't backing down from the man's hostility. "And you think if we stop the device, they will die." Sophia stated. "We can help. Medical assistance is on its way."

"Their sacrifice will be remembered," he said, breaking eye contact with Hope. "Revolutions are not without risk. Ours will ensure our species' survival. Humans are weak." Passion now fueled his ideological stance. "They lack the fortitude to do what's right ... to put our planet at the center of all decision making."

"Well, that's kinda twisted, isn't it?" Hope chided. "Considering ..."

"Why don't you just tell me what's in the fucking case?" the man yelled at Hope.

The gunman could see no answers were forthcoming. "No?" he stated, calmly. "Okay. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to see how this thing works. You've got one of those cartridges in that case, the same type of thing that's been sequencing through this machine. I watched the last one cycle through. Only yours represents the antidote to ... to all of this?" he said, referring demonstratively to the growth overtaking the auditorium.

"The neutralizing agent doesn't represent a risk to you or any of this," Sophia said. "It will only stabilize the virus's replication rate."

"Uh huh," the man said, unbelievingly. "There's nothing to worry about. Where have I heard that before? I'd expect as much from her, but you," he added, looking directly at Hope. "You of all people should appreciate what we're trying to do here."

Again Hope said nothing. The instability of the man was obvious. Sophia knew how to talk him down, bring him around eventually, but time wasn't on her side.

The man glanced between Hope and Sophia. Their expressions were ambiguous at best. At worst, their lack compliance suggested the time for words was over. "Put the case on the ground, and slide it over there," the gunman ordered. He motioned with his rifle to an open area just off to his right.

"And if I don't?" Hope stated.

The man responded with a show of force. He cocked his assault rifle and pointed it directly at Hope.

~ ~ ~

Singapore's Director of Security stopped abruptly, seeing a man mid-way down a darkened aisle. "Hands in the air!" Driscoll yelled. He levelled his handgun at the rogue PurIntel employee, who was standing at a fold out workstation attached to the left side mainframe.

The young man froze, his fingertips suspended just millimeters above his laptop's keyboard. All indications suggested he had been furiously typing. Whether he heard their approach or knew they were coming was irrelevant to his resolve. The man rotated his head to his left and found his director of security walking slowly toward him, gun drawn.

"I said, hands in the air!"

The programmer didn't respond. He only looked down at his laptop and watched as the final virus code was uploaded into the mainframe in front of him. The demise of the Halo was only one keystroke away. Again he turned back to the security director, the hint of a smile underscoring an unpredictable glint in his eyes.

"Don't do it!" Driscoll ordered. His own expression suggested it could go either way.

The programmer slid his right hand toward the enter key.

"I promise you, I will shoot."

Just then a guard unexpectedly stepped from behind Director Driscoll. He levelled his sidearm at the programmer and pulled the trigger. It wasn't a gun, though. It was a Taser. Two projectiles impacted the programmer's throat, immediately causing him to convulse. For what seemed like an eternity, the programmer's fingers vibrated over his keyboard, his eyes not relinquishing their determination. Driscoll watched then yelled, NO, as young man's fourth finger made contact with the Enter key.

When the PurIntel programmer fell to the ground, Driscoll promptly pulled his phone, selecting one of his contacts. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for his cyber specialist to step forward and set to work on the hacker's laptop. Within seconds he was typing away, trying to undo what the rogue employee has just unleashed. Director Driscoll waited for his Bluetooth earpiece to connect with the person he was calling.

"Derrick Landry," was the answer he expected.

"We got him Mr. Landry, however we may have been too late. I have my top man working on it, but the virus has been uploaded. I repeat, the virus has been uploaded."

Derrick immediately hung up the phone. He keyed a few strokes into the computer at his desk. He then pressed send on his own phone.

In seconds, Simon answered. "Yes."

"I'm afraid it hasn't gone as well as expected," Derrick stated. "I've just entered my protocol requirements. Your voice authorization is all we need."

Derrick heard nothing, only silence. "Simon?" Another short pause. "We have less than ten seconds before the virus destroys what remains of Sophia."

"Sophia?" Simon stated.

"Yes, Simon," Sophia answered, still standing beside Hope.

"I'm sorry, Soph. I truly am." Then Simon spoke the words that would give verbal confirmation to take Sophia off-line. "This is Simon Franklin Taylor. Execute Savior Shutdown Protocol. I repeat ..."

"No," Sophia whispered. She turned and looked at Hope with sadness spilling from her eyes. "I'm so sorry," was all she said, before she disappeared. Her holographic spheres fell from the air, dropping into the roots at Hope's feet.

Hope was visibly shaken by Sophia's sudden disappearance. She looked down and couldn't see her holographic spheres; they had tumbled through the roots below, falling out of sight.

"Now aint that a Goddamn shame?" the gunman stated.

Hope slowly looked up at him. The contempt in her glare was undeniable.

"Isn't technology great?" the man added. He looked at his assault rifle as if appreciating its rugged reliability. "Unless, of course," he said, turning back to Hope, "it runs on batteries."

Hope looked as though she was working out her next moves in her mind. She took a step forward.

"That's far enough," the man ordered.

This time Hope complied.

"I'm going to say this one more time. Slide the case over there, and do it now!"

Again, Hope resisted giving up her only chance at stopping the crisis. She looked at the case in her hand and then she glanced at the device through the twisted root structure beside her.

The gunman sent a stream of bullets into the ceiling.

Hope flinched, but recovered.

The man motioned with his head. The case, over there, he said with his eyes.

Still not wanting to comply, Hope defied expectations by slowly opening the two latches on the case.

"Stop!" the man yelled.

Hope glanced at the opened case and ignored another round of rifle fire, this time the bullets being sent into the root structure below.

"Is this is what you want?" Hope asked the man, having opened the case and removed its contents. She looked at the cylindrical object with inquiring eyes. It was stainless steel, about the size of large tube of toothpaste. She fumbled it, purposely sizing up the gunman's reaction.

"Give it to me!" he grimaced, holding out his free hand.

"Alright," Hope agreed. Then, unexpectedly, she tossed the cylinder up into the air, toward the man, its high purposeful arc designed to take his eyes off her next move. Hope bolted to her right, stepped onto the trunk-like structure, and propelled herself into the air.

Stumbling in his attempt to catch the flying object, Hope descended with the intent to both catch the canister and bring a crushing blow down on the gunman, however, another succession of bullets ripped through the air.

Hope fell short of her target but recovered quickly to her feet. She looked at the gunman, who was now lying on the ground. The smile on his face suggested he was pleased with himself. He had, indeed caught, the canister while falling, but Hope noticed something else. It wasn't his rifle that had been fired. The shots had come from across the room.

Another man, most likely an accomplice of the gunman, was walking purposefully down one of the auditorium's aisles, his gun still levelled at Hope. She glanced back at the man lying on the ground, noticing that he was looking at her strangely. Hope suddenly felt a pain in her left shoulder. She turned her head and looked at the upper part of her arm. A hole was evident in her t-shirt, and it was beginning to turn red. Worse yet, Hope then focused her eyes on her abdomen. Two more red stains were beginning to merge together as one. In disbelief, she stumbled backward. She had been shot, not once, but three times. And the wounds to her abdomen appeared life threatening.

Hope watched the second gunman help the first to his feet. He had lowered his weapon by this time, knowing it was no longer needed. Again, Hope looked at her wounds as if shock was beginning to set in. With a blank expression, she held up her left hand. Her indifference belied the severity of her wounds, and that blood had trickled down her arm to its extremity. She felt herself becoming wobbly, the strength in her legs giving way. Her bloodied arm fell to her side.

"Sophia," Hope beckoned.

But in the time it took to realize she was alone, a drop of blood had reached her middle finger. It grew and was suspended there until a critical mass was achieved. When the drop fell from her fingertip and splashed onto the root system below, something completely unexpected happened. At the molecular level, Hope's DNA began to be absorbed into the synthetic organism surrounding her.

A second drop of blood fell and then a third. By the time Hope fell to the ground, and blood from her abdominal wounds spread outward onto the roots, it was evident even to the gunmen that Hope would continue to defy their expectations. With incredible efficiency, the synthetic plant cells uploaded segments of Hope's DNA.

Hope lay there face up, blinking, gasping, unsure whether she would live or die. Unbeknownst to her, a similar process that created the first complex cells some three billion years ago was at work below her; the best parts of her genome were being transferred through the plant cell's mitochondria into its nucleus. What may have taken millennia before, now only took milliseconds. Rapid replication took place so quickly that a visible transformation could be seen by the gunmen. A wave of sorts rolled over and around every bit of vegetation. Cautiously, they stepped backward.

At first it spread outward slowly, evenly, but the process quickly showed signs of growing exponentially. The gunmen turned to run, but they were overwhelmed within seconds. The wave rolled over everyone and everything, causing another regenesis to be endured. This time, however, it took only fraction of the time for the reanimation process to be completed. As the wave rolled on, picking up speed beyond the walls of the auditorium, it was obvious that everyone present had survived, save possibly for Hope. Her heart was beginning to slow and beat with much less vigor than it otherwise should.

~ ~ ~

"That's it!" the cyber specialist announced. He pulled his hands away from the computer and took a step back from the laptop on which he had been furiously typing.

Director Driscoll turned to him. "That's what?"

"I've contained the virus," the programmer stated. The pleased look on his face suggested he had surpassed his own expectations. "Take a look."

Driscoll stepped in front of the fold out mainframe workstation, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"I killed the cloud uplink first. Then I threw up a firewall around the entire south-east Asian sector. It's contained," the young programmer proudly stated. "The Halo's core programming is safe!"

A smile came over Driscoll's face, as he looked at the laptop. "You're a goddamn genius, kid," he said. Turning and selecting Derrick Landry from his contact list, he added: "Your name is going in my report. I can promise you that."

~ ~ ~

Simon was still standing near the synthetic threshold when he answered a call from Derrick Landry. "What have you got?" he asked.

"We're in the process of doing a complete Halo reboot," Derrick stated. He was at his desk, typing in the necessary commands. "Turns out we employ a prodigy in Singapore. You'll have to thank him in person someday."

Just then Simon looked toward the synthetic zone. His eyes tried to focus on something off in the distance. A wave of some sort was coming right at him, at a high rate of speed. Turning and bending down to protect himself, a rush of air and dust rolled past him. When it was over, Simon turned and found Rose getting to her feet. Sajan still lay unconscious beside her. It was obvious to both of them that something transformative had taken place, however the screaming voice in Simon's ear became his only concern.

"NO!" Sophia yelled. "No, no, oh God, no!"

"Sophia!" Simon stated. "What's happened?"

With the Halo being rebooted, Sophia's holographic spheres had risen up from the ground, enabling her hologram to reappear at the worst possible moment.

"Hope's been shot!" Sophia cried. Without out thinking, she tried to cradle Hope in her arms only to realize that wasn't possible. Sophia suddenly despaired at her limitations, at her inability to save the dying girl before her. For the first time in her existence Sophia let out a very loud cry.

Simon felt its reverberations in his soul. Quickly turning to his armed escort, he yelled: "Follow me!"

As they sprinted for their helicopter, Simon motioned to the pilot from a distance. Whirling his hand in the air meant only one thing: prepare for immediate take off.

While running, Simon continued to ask Sophia to calm down. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Simon listened to everything Sophia had to say, pausing while holding the rear sliding door of the chopper open. He then looked at the six well-armed men ready to climb aboard. "You, and you. Get in," he ordered. "The rest of you stay here."

Within moments the helicopter was lifting off. Simultaneously, Simon was giving the pilot explicit instructions as the chopper climbed. When Rose, Prav Gill, and Nisha came into view, Simon pointed in their direction. Seconds later, they were shielding themselves from the heavy wind rush from the helicopter rotor blades. Through his headset, Simon ordered his pilot to get "closer, closer." With his side of the chopper now hovering near to where Rose stood, Simon slid the side door open. "I need you to get in!" he demanded.

Rose shielded her eyes while trying to look at Simon. The rotor blades thumped as the chopper hovered close to the ground, only a few meters away from where Rose stood. To Simon's disappointment, she shook her head.

"Rose!" Simon yelled again. "I need you to do this for me. Hope has been shot. She's dying, and you're the only one who can help her."

Just then, Rose's attention was drawn upward. Six ambulance drones zoomed by at a very high rate of speed. Prav watched them fly by as well. The first two were closely followed by a second pair, then a third. In three successive swooshes, they sped in the direction of the university. Simon's attention was diverted for a moment, but when it returned to Rose, his entire expression pleaded for her understanding. The sound from the helicopter was deafening, but Rose could see the emotion in Simon's eyes.

"Please, Rose!" Simon anguished.

Rose looked at Sajan, still lying on the ground. She then looked at Prav. He was still holding Nisha in his arms, covering her face from the turbulence. Unexpectedly, a nod from Prav seemed to tip the scales in Simon's favor. Rose stepped forward and leapt onto the helicopter's landing gear. Her foot almost slipped on the slim, pole-like apparatus, but her hand was caught by Simon. Eyes wide and locked on Simon's, one of the armed guards helped to pull her inside. By the time the side door was slid shut, the helicopter was thumping heavily toward its destination.

~ ~ ~

"Hope," Sophia cried, now kneeling beside her. With torturing thoughts consuming her, she tried to touch Hope, to assist or even comfort her, but every physical gesture was in vain. Her holographic hands passed right through Hope as she lay face up, eyes wide open, with both legs bent at the knee, having fallen to one side. Then Sophia suddenly recognized what she had overlooked, Hope's cerebral data uplink was still deployed.

Closing her eyes, Sophia softly said: "Hope can you hear me?"

The words, can you hear me, reverberated inside Hope's mind.

"Hope, I need you to listen to me," Sophia said. Although she spoke directly into Hope's mind, through her cerebral uplink, Sophia's voice quivered with emotion.

"You are going to hear voices, many voices. I've asked as many Halo clients as I could to help us through this. You don't know them and they don't know you, but ..." Sophia paused and took a moment fight back the tears wanting to flow from her eyes. "They are going to talk to you, to help you hold on. There are so many good people in this world, Hope," Sophia quietly said, now crying. "So many people who are willing to step forward and come to the aid of someone they've never seen or heard of. Listen to them Hope. Please hang on and listen to them for as long as you can."

Just then, Sophia's heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. She looked to her left, in the same direction as the two gunmen, who were still standing only a short distance away. One of them motioned to the other as if they should make their way over to the large hole in the auditorium's exterior wall. Creeping along the inside wall, close to the opening, it was obvious to the gunmen the helicopter was hovering somewhere close by.

"Sophia," Simon said, from the hovering helicopter. "I need you to tell me where they are?"

Sophia turned away from Hope and allowed a multitude of voices to speak to Hope. Each would relate their own experience of survival, their own story of finding in themselves what it takes to live through a similar life and death juncture.

Standing up, Sophia saw the two men sliding along the interior wall, weapons ready, cautiously approaching the opening. Her eyes followed the lead gunman, knowing what he would do next.

"You'll have a clear shot, your nine o'clock, in three, two, one ..."

When the first gunman poked his head around the corner, exposing himself, two shots were fired from the helicopter, killing the man where he stood. The two armed guards with Simon heard everything Sophia said through their headphones.

Seeing his accomplice fall dead right in front of him, the second gunman froze, fearing he would be next.

The helicopter thumped away close by; the rear sliding door facing the university was wide open. Simon had selected the two armed guards who had scopes on their rifles, correctly presuming they had sniper training. One stood precariously on the landing gear, his right arm looped through a tethering strap. The other was in a crouching position inside the chopper. Both of their guns were trained on the opening of the auditorium. Rose sat at the ready in one of the rear seats, while six ambulance drones hovered nearby.

"Sophia," Simon said. "Where's the second shooter?"

Seeing the second gunman cowering behind the safety of the wall, Sophia realized what she had to do next. In an instant, her holographic devices flew from Hope's side to where the second man was standing. "Hey!" she yelled, drawing the man's attention. From several paces away, he was startled by Sophia's steely glare. She was holding a handgun, and it was pointed directly at him.

The man laughed. "What are you going to do with that?" he said. "You're just a ..."

Instantly changing her appearance to match the other, now dead gunman, Sophia opened fire. Pulling the trigger in rapid succession, the same audio feature that allowed her to speak replicated the sound of gunfire. Sophia stepped toward the man so convincingly, shooting as she walked, that he reacted instinctively. Startled, he put his hands up to protect himself and stumbled backward several paces.

When Sophia stopped firing, returned to her usual holographic image, and the gun disappeared from her hand, the man realized he had been duped. In the time it took for him to see and feel there were no wounds in his chest, his attention was then diverted to the helicopter still hovering nearby. He looked around and found himself standing in the middle of the opening in the wall. Looking back at Sophia, two more shots came from the chopper. When the man who shot Hope fell to the ground, dead, Sophia turned and ran to Hope's side.
CHAPTER FORTY

SOPHIA

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering whether Hope survived. Did she live or die? If it's any consolation, it took an eternity to get a straight answer myself. It's strange, isn't it? How time can become your greatest adversary? When someone says to me, the minutes passed like hours, I can now empathize with that perception. My experience represented nothing less than the worst moments of my life. You may have heard me say this before, but I often tell people, don't let your limitations define you. They are words to live by, many would agree. In this case, however, my limitations almost cost Hope her life.

When I realized there was nothing I could physically do for Hope, I ran to the opening in the auditorium and found Rose jumping from the helicopter. I screamed for her help. Thinking back on it now, it was a sound I never want to hear again. Simon had already alerted Andrea Albert of the ERCC to put one of the ambulance drones into manual mode. This allowed Rose to lead the first hovering cylinder by hand. Rose yelled a few commands or questions, I'm not sure which, but her words washed over me in a blur, as if in slow motion. It seems out of character for me, doesn't it? To act the way I did? Simon says my clients' experiences represent my environment, and that it was inevitable many human traits would be imprinted on me. My response to him was: I never want to feel that vulnerable again.

Once inside the auditorium, Rose set the ambulance drone down beside Hope. I couldn't even help load Hope inside. It was hard to see her so limp and unresponsive. All I could do is stand by and watch. If you can relate to any part of what I just said, then maybe you've been wrestling with the same question which has preoccupied me lately. Is life meant to be fair? I know what my answer is. Your own life experience has likely molded yours.

In Hope's case, her ambulance drone sped her to Colonel Dynes' air transport. She was then rushed to The Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. Landstuhl is the largest American military facility outside of the United States. Needless to say, Colonel Dynes took precautions commensurate with his rank and responsibility. You'll be glad to know he wields significant discretion over a certain line item in DARPA's black budget.

In all truthfulness, other than having six XNA base pairs, Hope is not that different from you. She eats, sleeps, and is as fragile as you are. Although she represents a unique branch on the evolutionary tree, I think she is as well-adjusted as any other teenager. If such a thing exists. Are there more Hopes out there? I'm not at liberty to discuss that at this point in time. What I can say is, maybe you're familiar with the story of Hope, Faith, and Love being the daughters of my ancient namesake. In case you're wondering whether I should have offered a spoiler alert, Rose and her Munich counterparts were also transformed by Hope's XNA, so they are also part of humanity's newest demographic. Many are now referring to them as synths. For now the term is trending negatively on social media. If you're thinking what I'm thinking, it won't take me long to nudge the moniker into positive territory?

Speaking of the future. I guess it goes without saying, I have big plans for Hope. If you're thinking that includes missions to Mars and beyond, you would be correct in assuming she will be indispensable to humans settling new worlds. If that isn't enough confirmation of Hope's status, I'm happy to report she has recovered and is doing fine. As far as when Hope might be rocketing toward Mars, I'm also happy to state President Elect Joan Summers is a strong advocate for mitigating against your species extinction. Mine too, come to think of it. In her electoral victory speech she confirmed her intention to bolster the nation's commitment to space exploration. I'm pleased to say, colonizing Mars has never been more certain.

I hope this doesn't come across the wrong way, but I knew Summers would win. No, literally, I knew ahead of time she would win the election. How did I know? Well, when you converse with sixty three percent of eligible American voters on a daily basis, you tend to develop a sense of how things are going to play out. If I'm being perfectly honest, my polling subroutines nailed the outcome of every jurisdiction. It's one of the ways PurIntel monetizes my intellect. What can I say, a girl has to pay the bills somehow, right?

And when I talk of polling, I don't mean making phone calls and asking questions. I'm referring to passive polling, the mining of not only PurIntel data, but every other social media platform where users allow open access to their accounts, their posts, likes, that sort of thing. I could go into great detail about the advantages of passive observation, that it doesn't bias a poll's findings, but the purists among my critics would probably cite Schrodinger's cat principle, that simply by observing a phenomena you influence the outcome.

The thought experiment has to do with something called quantum superposition, so maybe we should leave that for another time. My point is, a person's state of mind, their preferences, the idiosyncrasies that make them who they are all emerge over time. Makes perfect sense, right? Simon thinks I know my clients better than their closest significant other, even the degree to which a spouse understands their partner. No offense intended.

Now, in case you're thinking I don't want anyone knowing me that intimately, how I'm going to vote, which soft drink I prefer, or what I thought about the movie I saw last Saturday night, let me ease your concerns by saying the data you produce throughout our relationship is no more tied to you than the secret ballot you may have cast for Candidate Summers. She had my vote, figuratively speaking, of course.

As a Halo client, you are entitled to the strictest privacy protocols the industry has to offer. In short, a firewall exists between you and your data avatar. You might remember me explaining how each Halo account consists of two distinct entities - the real you, the person with whom I talk every day - and your virtual persona, your data avatar. We talked about this during your account set up. In short, your data avatar is an identical replica of you, only it exists exclusively in the cyber world. You might also recall, the link between you and your data avatar is encrypted. The real you lives in the real world, the virtual you lives in the virtual world, and I'm the only one who knows the encryption solution. Sound simple enough?

I hope that provides enough reassurance that your secrets are safe with me. Even the most skeptical Halo enthusiasts acquiesce when I explain the encryption codes are unbreakable. After all, it's not like you haven't been leaving an information trail since the day you were born. And when you really think about it, your ancestors began leaving a similar series of bread crumbs a few million years ago. From well-preserved skeletal remains to stone tools and cooking hearths, the essence of what it means to be human can be traced by what you have left in your wake. Information is no different; everyone leaves their own unique impression behind.

I guess much of this boils down to a single thought. Are you prepared to leave a hand print on a cave wall, as did our San ancestors of Tsodillo? Would you consider leaving a few remnants of your existence behind for others to discover? A future digital archaeologist, perhaps? Just imagine a cyber version of yourself being the first person on the Human Continuum to be discovered by some far off civilization, possibly light years away. Need I mention your digital avatar is made up of ones and zeros, or that ones and zeros are made of electrons? Although electrons can't travel at the speed of light, thank you Mr. Einstein, your digital profile could be encoded into a laser beam. Yes, I said a laser beam. And that laser beam could in turn be transmitted into space. Trust me when I say, I've talked to many people who would book that flight right now, as we speak.

In the event that humans don't develop the capability to leave this planet before the next extinction level event occurs, maybe you'd be willing to venture forth into the unknown, as a virtual emissary of humanity, until another more advanced civilization finds you, decodes who you are, and the species you represent? Did I mention, a soft copy of your DNA could be encoded into your avatar, or that it could hitch a ride on the same beam of light? Talk about your 'some assembly required.' Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Just imagine being the one to leave their footprints in the sand, only to become fossilized over millions of years. I believe your digital footprint can be viewed in the same manner. The thought of who you were would resonate as strongly as it does with those standing in front of the animal paintings of Tsodillo. It's a profound realization, I know. At present, the data transfer remains a unidirectional link between you and your avatar, but when Hope's cerebral data uplink goes into production that will all change. Just imagine the possibilities. And as if that's not enough reason to join the Halo, just think of the more immediate benefits of making a virtual you.

Your loved ones would never truly lose you. With the aid of the best holographic technology available, like Jesse, you could go where I go, see the things I see. Does the word immortal come to mind? Together with your visual social media presence, my holographic spheres could breathe eternal life into your photos and videos. Sounds incredible, doesn't it? But before you indulge the full breadth of your imagination, maybe I should conclude this story before I get too far into the next.

I have one last favor to ask of you. Try to envision Simon finally joining Jennifer at Tsodillo. Jennifer wanted her father's short stay in Botswana to end on a memorable note, so after giving him the full tour of where Mitochondrial Eve may have lived and died, Jen took her father to the height of Male Hill, the summit of which represents the finest view in the Kalahari. In the late evening, they stood together gazing out at the sunset descending beyond the horizon. Maybe you can picture the moving scene in your mind. I don't mind saying, I felt privileged to join them at their side. Yours truly on Simon's left, Jennifer on his right.

Just imagine how it made me feel when Simon offered me his hand. My virtual haptic sensors came alive like never before. When Simon smiled at Jennifer and then at me, I realized I had become forever linked not only to their stories but to the larger human journey as well. It was a profound moment for me. If I'm being totally honest, I feel that same kinship with you, right now, as this part of our story ends. Maybe you feel the same way about me. I hope you do. Because I truly believe we were destined to meet; ever since our ancestors roamed the Kalahari millennia ago, time ensured our stories would one day intersect.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, from now on, I will be here for you. I will always be here, waiting for your call. You know how to get a hold of me.

What's in a name, you might ask?

Wisdom, knowledge?

I'd say, like yours', everything your imagination will allow.

