1For the first few minutes that he could remember having any conscious thought, Rob was seriously afraid that he had gone blind. All around him was darkness, a thick inky blackness that enveloped him, hugged close to his body like a second skin. He blinked (or at least thought he did-truth be told, he couldn't even tell whether or not his eyes were even open) and gave his fingers an experimental wiggle. His index finger gave only the slightest twitch, a movement large enough to inspire the hope of being able to move inside the boy, but small enough for him to doubt his chances of ever actually accomplishing the feat. At least, he thought to himself, he could still think.
Odd as it may sound, the thought of being able to think gave rise to a phantom smile that floated briefly over his invisible features and rose to spectral magnificence within the mind's eye of the boy.
It faded quickly as the boy realized that he didn't remember who or what he was. There were certain things that he knew- his name was Rob, he was seventeen, and he was a boy. He knew that birds had wings, two came before three, apples were red and the letters 'C-A-T' spelled 'cat.' But everything else, all the specific details that made him "Rob the Person" instead of "Rob the Entity" was shrouded behind a thick mental fog. Where did he live? Who were his parents? What about siblings? Pets?
He frowned, a thing that he pictured more than actually felt. Come to think of it, he couldn't feel his face at all. Or the rest of himself, for that matter. When he had twitched his finger, had he really moved it, or had he simply imagined it? Already it felt as if he had made the attempted hours, no, years ago, but at the same time it could have just as easily been less than a minute since he'd tried. Time held no meaning; time didn't exist.
For a brief moment, Rob considered the possibility that he had died, but dismissed it quickly, if such a term could be applied. He didn't know why, but something in his mind told him that he was not, and his mind being the only thing at his disposal, Rob took its words for true and stopped worrying about it.
Eventually, he began to drift. Thoughts came and went, wild imaginings and half-formed memories stirring around and around in his brain until he felt dizzy. Vague remembrances bubbled up to the surface of his mind, sank, then bubbled up again, each time growing more insistent, more vibrant, more solid.
Then, breaking like dawn over the desert, color came to him. Reds and yellows, pinks and blues, greens, purples, oranges, browns, all rushed over him in a tidal wave of sensation, and just like that all those memories were in Technicolor and Stereo Surround Sound. Far below him, infinitely far it seemed, his finger twitched, and Rob opened his eyes.
The sight that met him was not so overly appealing, but then, not so terrible either. Before him was a smooth dome of smoky grayish-blue glass. He was lying, at an incline, in what appeared (from his position at any rate) to be some sort of capsule, or pod. The inside was heavily padded with some soft material that he didn't recognize, and besides that, the only other thing to see was the glass in front of him.
Rob twisted his neck, stretching to see to the right and left, but found nothing different on either side. He flexed his hands experimentally, pulling them into tight fists and then relaxing them. He lifted one arm, his right (he remembered that he was right handed now), and pressed the hand attached to it carefully against the featureless glass in front of him. It was cold, and flawlessly smooth to the touch. He pressed a little harder.
With an unexpected whoosh, the glass dome pulled away, lifting up by some unseen hinge, and Rob tumbled out of his capsule, landing in a heap on the cold tile floor.
The cold seemed to revitalize his thinking, acting as a sort of jump-start for his brain. He could now remember everything- his name was Robert Bruce Dewing, his parents were Doug and Christine. He had three brothers, one older and two younger, and one younger sister. They were named Neal, Christopher, Elizabeth, and Patrick, respectively. He could remember that they had owned cats; five cats and one dog named Nicodemus.
Rob took stock of himself. The room he occupied was in itself quite uninteresting. There were four sterile looking walls and one tile floor, all the same shade of bluish white. At the far wall was a door, one of those high tech jobs with a glowing panel to the left of it. In the center of the room was what looked to be a small round table, roughly waist high. No, what was interesting about the room was what was stored in it.
Lining all four walls (save for the area immediately surrounding the door) were tubes, like the one he had fallen out of. Each tube had a various monitors attached to it, what Rob supposed were medical equipment. Every tube had the same blue-gray glass, foggy with condensation, and on the side of each one, there was a small brass plate.
Looking down at himself, Rob found he was dressed in what looked like blue hospital clothes, a loose fitting shirt and pair of pants that felt as if they were made from paper.
Pushing himself to his knees brought back a sensation Rob had forgotten-pain. Every muscle in his body tightened, and seemed to scream out in protest at every movement he tried to make, leaving him breathless as he laid there on the cold tile floor. Not only that, Rob noticed that his mouth was incredibly dry, as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton. He ran his tongue over his upper lip, not surprised to find it dry and cracked as well. He didn't even think he could talk.
Trying to ignore the pain, Rob forced himself to crawl, ever so slowly, to the table, pulling himself along inch by painful inch, until he finally reached it. Grasping it with his arms, he pulled himself up, until he could lean over the flat, even surface.
The pain was excruciating.
Eyes squeezed shut, Rob sucked air into his lungs through gritted teeth, groping blindly to find some sort of handhold but finding none, and there was a soft beeping noise as his finger hit what felt suspiciously like a button. Rob opened his eyes and saw that it was. He stared at it for a few moments, wondering what it did, when the air around him began to shimmer, then coalesced into a figure. Rob fell back with a soft, half strangled yelp of surprise that just barely made it clear of his throat.
Floating just above the surface of the table was a figure, a boy. He had messy brown hair and blue eyes, and seeing it, Rob recognized it as himself. He was about thirteen inches tall, tinged faintly blue (was there anything in this entire place that wasn't? Rob was beginning to doubt it), and almost completely transparent. It was standing with its legs spread about shoulder width apart, and its hands clasped behind its back. Unlike Rob, it was wearing what looked to be some sort of military jumpsuit, a badge on its right breast and highly reminiscent of Star Trek.
Difficult as it was to believe, Rob was looking at a holograph. And it was looking back.
"Please state the nature of your inquiry," it said, in Rob's voice.
After a moment or two of silence, Rob managed to force a question out of his mouth.
"Who are you?" he croaked.
The hologram seemed to brighten a bit, like it was activating. Or something.
"I am Beta level subroutine system IG-958, data file 0037. My program number is S-100497, designated 'AI Monitor 15' by Master Programmer." The hologram, apparently done talking, resumed staring at him, an expression of polite boredom hung over its face.
Rob shook his head slightly, and tested his muscles again. They still sang with the pain of it, but this time, they didn't hurt nearly as badly as before. Rob took that as a good sign. Running the tip of his tongue over his upper lip in a vain attempt to moisten it, Rob managed to squeeze out another sentence.
"Where am I?" Monitor 15 answered him readily.
"You are in installation one of the former United States of America."
"Why? What do you mean, 'former' United States?" Rob was relieved to find out that the more he talked, the easier it seemed to become; also, the muscles in his arms and legs were hurting less and less as he flexed them.
"The United States were officially dissolved in the year 2005 by the newly formed World Council, headed by master chairman Randall Montgomery. You are here because you are part of the Genesis project."
Rob frowned, curious. "And why, pray tell, was the United States government dissolved?"
"Because, on September Eighth, 2002, several private astronomy groups scattered across the globe discovered a particularly large and previously unknown comet on a collision course with the planet. The governments of several of those astronomy groups validated their findings, and quickly began to collaborate with other countries in order to neutralize the threat. Meanwhile, millions of people the world over began to evacuate the cities, retreating to underground installations similar to this one as well as various public bomb shelters.
"On March Twenty-third, 2004, several large nuclear missiles were fired at the comet with the intent of blowing it into pieces small enough to dissolve in the Earth's atmosphere."
"It didn't work, did it?" Rob asked.
"Correct," Monitor 15 replied. "Though all missiles hit their targets, they proved to be ineffective due to the mechanical failure of some and to the sheet size of the comet itself.
"After the failure of the missiles, world governments began to unite in their effort to preserve their planet and its people. By January of 2005, the World Council was formed with members of all countries represented. Soon, many countries dissolved their governments and formed the World Community. Other countries began to join, until May Fifteenth, when the United States joined as the final member of the Community."
"Beginning shortly after the United States' entrance into the world community, a series of world wide protests, led by religious and social leaders, began to spring up. Each one was quickly and successively dealt with, mostly by use of military force. On August thirteenth, the first riot broke out. More followed suit. By then, the comet was only three months away, and World Community leaders had retreated underground. They begged that the protestors take shelter, but many refused. All military personnel were drawn back to the installations, and were the last to take refuge. As many installations as possible were filled to capacity, but several thousand people in various countries refused to take shelter, either resigned to their fate or hoping to somehow survive on the surface.
"The comet made impact on January Twenty-eighth, 2007."
Rob closed his eyes, and slowly tried to stand up again. It hurt, a lot, but he managed it. Teetering on his feet, arms spread wide for balance, he opened his eyes.
"How many people died?" He asked.
Monitor 15 didn't even blink.
"Initial impact coupled with the geo-thermic movements of the vicinity surrounding the crater, an area roughly one third the size of Australia, killed about seventy-five percent of Earth's population."
"Jesus Christ," Rob muttered, shutting his eyes again and leaning against his tube. "Jesus H. Christ."
The hologram continued on, seemingly oblivious to Rob.
"An additional twelve percent was killed when unprecedented seismic activity caused the destruction of several hundred compounds. The impact also raised a large cloud of dust that covered the planet in a matter of minutes. The planet went under a period of extreme global cooling, which was believed to wipe out any, and all, survivors on the surface. Added to that are the number of technical failures and accidents in various installations, as well as…"
Rob didn't let him finish.
"How many in total? How many all in all?" He asked, feeling sick and worried about what had happened to his parents, his family, everyone he had ever known in his entire life.
"How many?"
The hologram regarded him for a moment. Finally, he answered.
"Ninety-three point eight percent."
Rob sank down to the floor, any strength he had draining away. Ninety-three point eight.
"Jesus…" He drew himself into a ball, hugging his knees, shaking badly. He had a nauseous, queasy feeling deep down in his stomach, and he could taste bile rising in his throat. He leaned over and threw up. Monitor 15 watched with cool disinterest.
Rob wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and began to crawl back towards his tube, longing for the oblivion of consciousness that it offered.
He passed out halfway there.
When Rob came to, he wasn't on the floor. Rather, he was laying down in his tube, which had been reclined until it lay flat. The light was dimmer than before, and monitors beeped and hummed above him. The one above and to the left was measuring his heart and breathing rate, and the one to the right depicted various images of his musculature. There were words in various places on the screen, but he couldn't read them. He didn't really care either.
Ninety-three point eight. God.
Without thinking, Rob sat up, remembering an instant later the pain that had accompanied such movements before and wincing in anticipation. The pain never came. Rob looked at himself, flexing muscles and stretching here and there. Nothing. In fact, Rob felt better than he had in years.
He looked around, outside his tube.
"Hey," he called, "Monitor 15."
The hologram appeared in front of his capsule, hands clasped behind him as before, but feet together this time.
" Please state the nature of your inquiry."
"What happened to me? I feel better."
Monitor 15 put on a pleased, friendly grin.
"You went unconscious, so I had one of the maintenance crew put you in your capsule. Then, I had the Emergency Medical System run a full diagnostic on all your major systems and parts. The computer detected several instances of mild muscle atrophy, and repaired all damage to your muscular system. There were also several examples of general wear and tear, on your joints and such, and I had the EMS repair those as well." Rob had to admit, for a holograph, Monitor 15 sure did look pleased with himself.
"Alright," said Rob. "So why do I feel like I just swallowed a bottle of happy pills?"
"You did, essentially." Monitor 15 answered, still smiling. "I also had EMS prescribe some anti-depressants to help adjust the chemical imbalance found in your brain. You shouldn't need them by tomorrow, but the EMS will be monitoring you just in case."
Rob stared at the hologram.
"Well…Thanks, I guess." He cleared his throat. "So, just what is this thing, anyway?" Rob jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the capsule.
"That is the Hanaford model cryogenic chamber slash medical unit."
"Cryogenic?" Rob asked, unbelieving. "You mean that I've been in stasis? For how long?"
"Computer records say you have been in cryo-sleep for the last two hundred and thirty-four years, eight months, two weeks and three days."
Rob was stunned into silence.
"What?" It was all he could think to say. The entire concept of being alive more than a hundred years after he was supposed to be long dead completely blew his mind. Then, before Monitor 15 could repeat himself, Rob quickly asked another question.
"What about the rest of my family? Were they frozen too?"
The hologram nodded.
"Of course. As part of the Genesis project, you are given special consideration as to your wants and needs regarding your family."
"Where are they?"
"Searching database, please wait." Monitor 15 closed his eyes, and seemed to dim a bit. A few seconds later, he came back online.
"Your family is currently in installation five, on the beta level."
Rob let out a sigh of relief as an enormous weight that he hadn't even realized he had been carrying slipped off his shoulders. They were alright. He laid back down, slipping his hands back behind his head and staring at the ceiling. Various wires, cables and tubes hung from it, connecting the cryo-tubes to each other and who knew what else, a tangled mass disappearing into the gloom of the ceiling.
"So what's this 'Project Genesis" thing you keep talking about? And why don't I even remember going into stasis in the first place, or the comet, or anything?"
Monitor 15's voice floated over the walls of the tube.
"A side effect of the cryogenics. The initial shock of it has a drastic effect on the memory of the subject, but is usually limited to about a year or two of the subjects." He shrugged, nonchalant.
"You simply forgot, that's all."
"And Project Genesis?"
"Project Genesis is an attempt by the World Community to rebuild the surface."
Rob sat up.
"How?" He asked.
"With the people in this installation."
"I don't follow you. How are you going to use the people here to rebuilt the planet?"
"During the earlier testing of the cryogenic project, a remarkable discovery was found about the mind: all humans, to some degree or another, possess latent telekinetic abilities, and in some the ability is so strong that it can actually bend reality to its will. At first, only minor experiments were successful, those dealing with the more common place telepathy, precognition, and telekinesis. However, as the tests progressed, so too did the results. Within a year, pyrokinesis, as well advanced telepathy, had been achieved. The study of the pyrokinetics yielded the greatest results-they actually had the ability to create an element of nature. Within two years of the beginning of the project, scientists had developed an embryonic fluid, rich with proteins, minerals, and various chemicals, that would enhance their abilities, and even expand them to different types of matter.
"The most interesting discovery, though, was that this psychic ability ran most strongly through those in the creative arts, and of them, most especially writers, not all of them professional. In fact, some of the strongest members of the Genesis Project were unpublished authors who wrote fiction in their free time." Monitor 15 smiled, showing off a set of dazzlingly white, perfect teeth.
"Like you."
Rob, one eyebrow raised, looked around him at the other cryo-tubes, then back at the hologram.
If this was a dream, he thought, then it was a damn good one.
"Monitor 15." The hologram activated, floating attentively above the table with his hands clasped smartly behind his back.
"Please state the nature of the-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rob said, cutting him off with an impatient wave of his hand.
"…Inquiry." Monitor 15 finished, shooting the boy a look that could have been something like a smirk. Rob didn't notice.
"You said I could do stuff, with this psychic ability, right?"
"Affirmative."
"How?" Monitor 15 closed his eyes, his image dimming again, and returned a few seconds later.
"Please report to room five-thirteen, sub-level beta thirty-five."
"And that would be…?"
"Follow me."
Monitor 15 took off, floating towards the far end of the room. Confused, Rob followed.
"Isn't the door the other way?" he asked. Monitor 15 stopped, turned to face him.
"Affirmative," he said, then turned and resumed going the way he had been.
"So then, why are we going this way? Unless you've got room-level-Beta-whatever-the-fuck-it-is behind a wall or something. Wouldn't surprise me."
"Your conclusion is incorrect." Monitor 15 had reached the wall, and was dimming occasionally. A second later, a small panel in the wall slid open.
"As this unit cannot function outside the confines of its broadcast range-namely, this room-the master programmer saw it necessary to provide all members of project Genesis a more portable version of the database." Monitor 15 stood to one side allowing Rob full access to the panel.
Inside, there was a rack lined with what appeared to be wristwatches, the kind where the band was made up of several small, interlocking metal plates. Each watch had a number, starting with five-hundred at the front and ending in six-hundred near the back.
"Does it matter which one I take?" Rob asked. Monitor 15 nodded.
"Each device was designed specifically for its owner, in that each requires a certain genetic code to activate. You are number five-nine-nine."
Rob searched through the rack until he found his watch, somewhat surprised and a little pleased to see that his name had been engraved on the back of the watch face.
The front of the watch was something straight out of a James Bond movie. Buttons, two small digital screens (only one of which told the time), and even a tiny speaker adorned it.
"How does it work?"
"Press and hold the top right button for three seconds in order to activate the database. Press and hold the bottom right button to transmit and receive tele-communicative messages. Press the top left button to change frequencies."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Rob nodded, satisfied, and strapped the watch onto his left wrist. There was a brief, sharp prick as what Rob could only assume was a needle poked its way through his skin, taking the sample of the "genetic code" that the watch needed to activate. Within a few seconds, the top screen, the one with the time, lit up with a faint green glow.
"All right," Rob said, "now what?"
"I will now download a copy of myself onto a disk. You will then proceed to insert the disk into your portable transmitter, and upload my program." With that, Monitor 15's image dimmed, faded, and switched off. Not long after, a small round disk, about the size of a penny, slid out of a nearly invisible slot of the table, and Rob picked it up. He was extremely careful loading it into his watch- he had big fingers, and the disc was so light he could barely tell he was even holding it, and the boy was afraid he'd either lose it or break it. He did neither, and the disc slid into its port without incident.
There was a barely audible buzzing sound, and another hologram of Monitor 15, much smaller than the original, appeared above Rob's wrist.
"Now," he said, "if you are prepared, please proceed to room five-thirteen." Rob nodded.
"Lead the way, man," he said. "Lead the way."
There really wasn't much to see on the long walk to sub-level beta thirty five, and in truth Rob hadn't expected that there would be. He had seen countless movies filled with stark, sterile government installations and secret headquarters, and this place certainly fit the bill.
Monitor 15 led him down a seemingly endless path of turns and halls, and Rob soon stopped trying to remember the way they had come. Each hallway was identical, with plain, smooth, white walls that were slightly curved outwards, their faces interrupted only by flat, metallic doors that matched the one leading to the room Rob had woken up in. The floor was featureless tile, and the ceiling was much the same. Everything was brightly lit by a long line of fluorescent lights where each wall met the ceiling. Other than that, there was nothing.
When they finally stopped, it was in front of one of the doors. It was featureless, like all the others, and like all the others, there was a small glowing pad just to the left of it. Rob placed his palm flat against the pad, and the door slid open a second later.
Inside the room proved to be little more interesting than the halls outside. The room was flat, bare except for what appeared to be bookshelves. Or something like bookshelves, because whatever they were holding, it wasn't books. Rather, each shelf was lined with capsules, each one about twice the size of Rob's hand, and made a smooth white plastic-like substance. There was a thin seam running around the middle of each capsule, and Rob had the impression that the tops could be screwed off.
"So," he said, glancing in Monitor 15's direction and hefting one of the capsules in his left hand, "what're these for?"
"Those are canisters for the protein compound I have told you about."
"All right, so how do I use it to make stuff?"
Monitor 15 looked troubled, if it was possible for a computer to be so.
"I'm afraid I cannot supply that information." Rob raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?" he asked.
A look of irritation passed over Monitor 15's face, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Because," he said slowly, through what looked like gritted teeth, "I do not know. The database has no information on this subject."
"Well shit," Rob said, turning the capsule over in his hands, "that's really fucking helpful, isn't it?"
"Please," said Monitor 15, "sarcasm isn't necessary, nor swearing for that matter. The database contains no instruction because there isn't any way to instruct such a phenomenon. Test subjects simply implied it was a matter of concentration."
"Concentration, eh?"
"Affirmative."
"All right, I'm concentrating on a ham sandwich. Where is it?"
Monitor 15 looked at Rob as if the boy were an idiot.
"Inside the capsule."
Rob, who hadn't really been serious, blushed a little before screwing off the top of the capsule. A ham sandwich fell out of the top, and landed with a plop on the white tile of the floor. Rob stared at it. He looked inside the capsule, and found that it was empty, save for a thin film of a pale green slime on the bottom. He looked back at the sandwich, and it stared innocently back up at him. He glanced at Monitor 15, whose face was neutral, before bending over to pick up the sandwich. He eyed it nervously for a second or two, but then took a big bite. It had a slice of ham, a slice of American cheese, and a generous helping of mustard.
Just the way he liked it.
Right down to the brand of mustard.
Over the course of the next hour, Rob did nothing but experiment. He found that he need not use all of the capsule slime on one thing- that ham sandwich had been as filling as a full helping at thanksgiving-and that, if he timed it right, he could produce items larger than the canisters by slowly removing them as they were formed. He had discovered this when he made his sword. He had always wanted a sword. And it was a beauty, too; three feet of tempered steel rising from a brass hilt with wire grip, weighted perfectly for either one or two hands and fitting exactly into his own. It hung splendidly from the black leather sheath belted at Rob's waist, hung as if it belonged there. And it did, in a sense. Rob had created after it after all, conscious and subconscious minds working together to craft the perfect weapon. The edge was sharp, and Rob knew it would stay that way, just as he knew the blade would never break.
The last thing he did was to make a backpack, and loaded it up with as many capsules as he could fit into it. When it was full, he made a satchel, and did the same. The total weight of the capsules was surprisingly small, and Rob found he could carry them quite easily.
"So we're gonna rebuild the world, huh?"
"That is the original purpose of project Genesis, yes."
"Well," said Rob, shrugging into the backpack as he stood, "I suppose we'd better get started. then"