The Dreamer Genome

By Steve S. Grant

In 2020, a passionate scientist conducts secret genetic manipulations to give human fetuses the ability to survive long periods of hibernation. He is supported by a pharmaceutical tycoon who believes in his genius and realizes the implications of his work: Cryogenics; to prolong life; a one-way time machine to the future; unlimited financial potential to the company who develops and markets such a long coveted dream.

When the clandestine lab is voluntarily destroyed to avoid discovery, test subjects are scattered and raised in extremely different conditions. Years later, only a handful possess the right genetic material to become the highly prized, freezable astronauts of the 21st century. When an eccentric billionaire finds out he is one of them, his personal agenda threatens to upset carefully elaborated plans spanning decades.

Written with rigorous attention to the limitations of the harsh space environment in the tradition of Arthur C. Clarke, with a blend of Michael Crichton’s use of untested scientific theories, the novel takes readers on a wild ride to the near future over a period of 30 years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve S. Grant
• Release date: Nov 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9780991739301

Steve S. Grant

Steve’s love story with fantasy and Sci Fi goes way back to childhood, where his passion for comic books eventually evolved to novels. After being chief editor of a high school newspaper, he graduated from University with a deep knowledge of the used book stores in the Montreal area.The desire to write came on gradually, sporadically, over the next years. It was done in spare time, on table corners, during breaks, after nights on the town or whenever the mood struck. Stories took shape, ideas were committed to paper and eventually to computers. It was all done in a disorganized way, as an artistic release.And then life changed. Steve left a secure employment and left Canada, working at countless jobs that he never knew existed. He traveled extensively through Europe, visiting many medieval cities along the way. Contracts eventually led him to Japan, Australia, and even to North Korea, where Americans are perceived as Imperialists Evildoers.Steve’s writing also changed, becoming more structured and oriented. He wrote two novels, that he peddled half-heartedly to agents and publishing houses. Alas, it was not meant to be, the books were not published and Steve quickly got discouraged. He kept on writing for his personal enjoyment, without serious motives or expectations, but always with the afterthought that his work had never really had a decent shot.Back in Canada, Steve now raises a family and enjoys a sedentary life. His love for reading and writing is still strong, and the evolution of the electronic book market is making his head spin.

Book preview

THE DREAMER GENOME

by

STEVE S. GRANT

Copyright © 2012 Steve S. Grant

Smashwords Edition

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 use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN : 978-0-9917393-0-1

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

First and foremost, I would like to thank Stefanie, for sharing my life and regularly bursting my ego bubble. She endeavors to keep me honest and real.

The polishing and editing of this book was a war of attrition. The following individuals all played major parts in the bloody battles:

-Louis-David Tremblay as the tough and brutal initial proof reader, the front line man who crawled through raw sewage to scout for loopholes.

-Essie Holton, the grammar master who started the editing process and bashed the young pupil (me) with strict coma discipline. Unlike Yoda or Mickey Goldmill (Rocky Balboa’s trainer), she will hopefully be back in future projects.

-Stephen Buck, the technician who solidified the fort with a no-nonsense story analysis. Many scenes and dialogues were patched and an extra chapter was added following his report.

-Phyllis (Maggie) Duncan, the closing expert who walked the corpse littered field of corrections with an eye for both typos and overall story.

-Doug Lance, the field marshal who started eFiction and introduced me to most of these wonderful people. The Dreamer Genome would not exist in its present form without him and his vision.

Book cover by Frank Garoufalis.

Table of Content

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 : November 15, 2020

CHAPTER 2 : November 16, 2020

CHAPTER 3 : Still November 16, 2020

CHAPTER 4 : January 23, 2034

CHAPTER 5 : June 25, 2034

CHAPTER 6 : June 26, 2034

CHAPTER 7 : November 30, 2035

CHAPTER 8 : August 11, 2039

CHAPTER 9 : July 22, 2048

CHAPTER 10 : July 23, 2048

CHAPTER 11 : November 12, 2048

CHAPTER 12 : January 23, 2049

CHAPTER 13 : May 10, 2049

CHAPTER 14 : July 23, 2049

CHAPTER 15 : July 25, 2049

CHAPTER 16 : April 15, 2051

CHAPTER 17 : April 16, 2051

CHAPTER 18 : Still April 16, 2051

CHAPTER 19: September 22, 2051

CHAPTER 20 : December 22, 2051

CHAPTER 21 : September 15, 2053

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

The city of Los Angeles was majestically deployed through windows of cathedral proportions located on the top three floors of the Moretti Center. Thousands of artificial lights shone through beautifully tinted glass and eclipsed the few stars attempting to pierce the bright night sky. From inside this sumptuous apartment, a single figure moved along a carpeted footbridge leading to a glass desk. The unorthodox location of Samuel Kite’s private office gave a feeling of power to anyone sitting in its chair, as if it could only belong to a demigod or some mythical being much above the common populace crawling among the background lights.

Long accustomed to the view before him, the man's attention was on the screen that came alive at his approach. An urgent message was waiting. With unhurried movements he sat down and tapped a key on the smooth desk. The recorded message immediately started, and an elderly woman's face appeared.

I have some new gossip for you today. She turned around, making sure that nobody stood near her in what appeared to be a hotel lobby. It came to my attention that federal agents are investigating the possibility of a clandestine laboratory in Philadelphia. They apparently got a lead from their medical department, but I don't have details about that. They suspect some genetic experiments of some sort taking place there and want to seize the results of those experiments as much as to stop them. The agent in charge of the case is Terrance Clements. Again she looked around, more composed now that her message was delivered. That’s all for now. Have a good weekend.

And she was gone. The screen returned to its normal setting, but the man had stopped looking at it. He was gazing into the distance, his mind digesting the information he had just received. He stayed unmoving for well over a minute, calculating and making plans, wrestling with an intangible problem that threatened to undermine what had taken more than two years to accomplish. At last, he twirled his wine and made up his mind, knowing what needed to be done.

He placed the crystal container aside and tapped a few flat keys on the shiny surface. After a few seconds, a man's face appeared. Tangled hair and red eyes showed that he had just stepped out of bed.

What is it? Oh, it’s you. You keep the strangest hours, complained a dry voice from a throat in need of a good hawking.

Sorry to inconvenience you, Doctor, I always forget about time difference. Everything is well, I trust?

Of course. Did I forget to file my progress report?

Not at all, Neil. It's just that something came up. Something major.

Instantly, Doctor Neil Reynald was fully awake. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, looking much older than his forty-two years. All right, let me have it.

Let’s put it this way: unless we want to spend our remaining days in a Federal establishment, it is imperative that we close shop tomorrow.

Shit! How did they find us?

I frankly do not know. We must have a leak or something.

Well, I think we should make it a priority to find out before we relocate. Have you given any thoughts to a future site?

Samuel paused at that, knowing that the coming confrontation would be something that could end his long chain of future projects. He took a sip of wine and leaned forward to lend weight to his words. Not this time, Neil. We don't relocate. We sterilize.

Jesus, you can't be serious! Just tell me you haven't read my reports! Dr. Reynald stood and disappeared from view. His booming voice still carried as he paced angrily around his terminal. We are just beginning to understand what we did. The implications are enormous, staggering…after all these years we're finally making real progress. This is just the beginning. We opened a door but haven't yet stepped inside.

I read the reports, Neil. You should know what you have accomplished, what you created. The door is open and you've explored the room quite a bit, even if you don’t realize it.

It's too early to tell, to draw any conclusions. We’re tampering with something that’s not definite. Something could go wrong tomorrow or next week, and we'd have to start from scratch.

From your own reports, let me quote you: 'At this stage of growth, viability is assured at ninety-eight percent when results from animal researches are extrapolated.'

That's bullshit and you know it! Humans are more complicated than rats.

Why include it in your report? Where did you get your numbers?

The Doctor's face reappeared. Placing both hands before him, he pursued in a wavering voice. Look, you know that at this stage, response results to Dreamer are meaningless, just above what you and I would have scored at that age. There are no indications that this ability will last as time goes by. There’s also the question of side effects, gland malfunctions, malformation of cells and so on. We could end up with a bunch of unstable lunatics who would be useless in any uncontrolled environment.

Or we could end up with normal, fully grown Dreamer-compatible subjects. Samuel's calm voice contrasted with the other's excited tone.

Then it all becomes a guessing game, and we'll be wasting decades of research because we’ll have to wait for our subjects to grow up to verify our theories. Science can't be bottled up that way! We need to keep pushing the limits.

I'm sorry to be the one who has to restrict your efforts, but the structure of modern society does not allow us to act as freely as science dictates. For this reason, Project Ylonoc will be sterilized tomorrow night. Really, it’s out of my hands.

You’ll destroy all that we've accomplished, said the doctor sadly. Ylonoc was on its way to change the way we see ourselves.

The project is dead, but its ideas and results will live on. Tomorrow you will retrieve the lab's data and choose subjects to raise as your sons. It is high time you started a family.

Is this a joke?

Not at all. You just said that we have to wait for the subjects to grow up. What better way to monitor their growth and progress concerning Dreamer? Who knows, this delay in your research could only be temporary if the subjects end up defective. Rest assured that we will not give up this branch of our projects. Whatever happens, this is a setback of a few years at the most.

So even if the boys are normal and Dreamer-compatible, you will still finance another lab in the future?

Yes, but not in the near future. As you know, federal agents can be most persistent once they start a line of inquiry. We have to be very careful, Neil, and accept a temporary interruption to prevent total destruction.

With a defeated shoulder sag, Neil Reynald nodded absentmindedly before adding in a quiet voice, I'll choose three intellectuals. I wouldn't know how to raise jocks anyway.

Three? Congratulations! I'll expect some cigars shortly. Seeing that Dr. Reynald was lost in thought, most probably on the choice of subjects he would make, Samuel quietly said goodbye and ended the communication.

He reclined in his padded chair and allowed himself a moment of reflection, already thinking ahead to his next call. The conversation with Neil Reynald was forgotten, and his attention was now solely on the task of hiring and dealing with mercenaries. It was a very different ballgame than babysitting a sensitive scientist away from his project.

Staring outside at the shining lights, the man sitting at the top of the Moretti Center brought himself to the ruthless state of mind required for what came next. When ready to negotiate the sterilizing operation, he once again used a secure line and dialed a number in Texas.

Hopefully, Ylonoc had served its purpose.

CHAPTER 1 : November 15, 2020

The bus was late. Schedules always varied at night and the young woman looked nervously at her watch while she waited. It would be touch-and-go tonight. In an exasperated motion, she pulled a thin phone from her purse and was about to dial for a taxi when the awaited vehicle appeared at the end of the street and lumbered toward her. The light projecting from the bus’ windows revealed various trash and flying papers in the dark and deserted street.

With automated precision, it stopped at the appointed location and the young woman climbed in. The driver smiled as she pressed a thumb in a scanner that confirmed her identity and monthly public pass. The doors closed quietly, and she sat near the front. She had seen the driver only the night before, but he had been ten minutes earlier then.

Out of habit, she looked at the other passengers. A group of laughing teenagers sat at the back, probably on their way to some party since it was Saturday night. Various workers, going home after a long day, were spread in the rest of the seats with much space to spare. None of them paid her any attention, and she relaxed.

She looked at her reflection in the window and saw that her hair was a mess. No time for that now, she always felt ridiculous tidying herself in public. She would wait for an opportunity at work and take care of it then. Such opportunities were never hard to find on the graveyard shift.

An energetic announcer appeared on a large screen at the front of the bus, and she stopped looking at the dirty streets. The man was replaced by images taken from a news satellite in space showing a famous actor skinny-dipping in his pool. A woman who was sprawled naked on a reclining chair eventually joined him and they made love in and out of the water. The teenagers hooted at the scene and drowned the next comments. She wasn’t the actor’s wife. How could anyone living in the public eye be so careless? Paparazzi satellites were a new and constant threat to any outdoor activity on an already crowded planet.

The bus rolled on, and she was eventually the only passenger left. The driver drove past the appointed stop and dropped her right in front of a large, gray building. This was an industrial part of Philadelphia, dark and quiet at this time of night. She waved at the smiling man behind his thick transparent-plated glass and stepped out. The vehicle did not move until she had walked to the building and disappeared inside.

It was reassuring to have him watch over her like that, but it would explain his being late if he did this for every woman traveling alone after dark. With a practiced flick of the thumb, she opened the outer door and walked through a dimly lit corridor. On an impulse, she took the stairs and went down two floors at a quick pace. She knew that it was faster that way, and she was almost late.

She emerged in a vast underground parking lot, empty and partially lit at this hour, and walked twenty feet to a large, iron door with a small window in its center. She stopped and submitted her left eye to a retina scan. A little green screen came alive.

Welcome Mrs. Carol Reid.

It is now 12:01 a.m.

I know, I know, she said as the thick door unlocked.

She rushed inside and half ran along a hospital-like corridor with doors on either side, her left palm raised at any questions that might come from the security guard, who sat inside a glass booth near the entrance. The old man laughed while shaking his head. Apparently, getting so excited for so little was beyond him. At the end, she turned left and then right. So far so good. Nobody around. The soft rubber of her running shoes absorbed noise as she tiptoed at the center of the shiny corridors.

She arrived at her working section of the complex and stopped a second to look through a window in the corridor wall to a large room beyond. A dozen tiny beds were lined up in a nursery, and she could see little hands moving in some cradles. Life sign monitors, stethoscopes, thermometers and various medical equipment of the sort normally found in hospitals was spread randomly on rolling carts. She smiled and went into another room to change. Under her long coat was a one-piece uniform, white and clean.

She placed her belongings inside of a locker identified with her name and scrubbed her hands vigorously. She returned to the nursery and solidly placed clean fists on hips.

All right, who’s first tonight?

A few shining orbs turned in her direction and she selected the one closest to her. He was not her favorite, but she chose him because he was the quietest, and she did not want to attract undue attention.

She took a small plastic disk hanging from the frame of the bed and looked briefly at the two bold letters handwritten on it: P1. Not much of a name. She slid it into her uniform pocket and placed the waiting baby in a pushcart. The boy was three months old and no different from the others. The second one she selected was slightly heavier and named P2. Half the subjects were named with the letter P, and the other half with letter I. Carol had no idea why.

Come on fellas, time to do some tests.

Carol Reid was a professional nurse who had been trained in Canada and recently arrived in Philadelphia following an incredible job offer. Like many educated Canadians, she discovered that higher wages could be had south of the border.

She did not mind working at night since she was alone with the babies and responsible for them. It showed that her employer had a lot of confidence in her abilities and professionalism. This was also reflected in her paycheck, which was twice the amount she had earned at the private clinic in Montreal. Four months ago, the offer had seemed too good to be true. But then, everything concerning Ylonoc Corporation seemed that way.

It had been explained to Carol by Doctor Edmund Gibb that Ylonoc was the R&D division of a pharmaceutical multinational that preferred to keep its operations secret to prevent corporate spying. It justified the high level of security, the underground complex, and the few employees running it. Dr. Gibb had been her only contact during her long weeks of training. Three other nurses had trained with her, but they never got the chance to see much of each other since they worked different shifts with different days off. Given the chance, Carol was not sure she would have spent a lot of time with these women. They were all former employees of the company and much older than herself. The only common point they had shared during training was questioning the babies’ origins. None of them would willingly participate in illegal experiments on human bodies, especially young infants. D Gibb had reassured them that all the babies in question would be subject to a series of new vaccines and that their progress would be closely monitored. This was the one and only reason for this laboratory: to record and analyze the subjects’ reactions to the new treatment. These babies would then be followed all of their lives by the company’s doctors to verify whether this new experimental vaccine could last a lifetime.

As to their provenance, the babies were all orphans brought to America directly from a Somali refugee camp, following yet another drought in the Sahel region. They were waiting to be adopted by American families. And this was the strangest part of it all: the babies were all boys. How unconventional to conduct operations of this magnitude on boys and not girls, thought Carol. It did not make much sense, but maybe her contract would be extended to cover another such experiment with baby girls. One could always hope.

The first time she heard the name Ylonoc was exactly one week after her yearly performance evaluation at the private clinic back in Canada. For some reason, the incredibly stupid evaluation program gave her a below average rating for her tasks. Carol had challenged her superiors about it, questioned the validity of these low ratings, and asked for an explanation. The chief nurse had showed her how the evaluations were done and who did them. When it was clear that the results could easily be swayed or controlled by a nurse who knew the procedure, an explosive discussion ended with her walking out of the office while she was being ordered back in. She was officially reprimanded the next day and threatened that a permanent mark would go on her working file if she repeated such behavior. She had called a work agency the next day, was contacted by Ylonoc the following week, and resigned fifteen days later.

Strange how sometimes a flaring of emotions could influence one’s life. She had moved to a different country in a large city where she did not know anyone, followed a two month training course on sophisticated equipment and innovative computer programs, lived through the stress of a new job, met new coworkers, started her work with the babies when they were barely a few days old, fallen in love with a wonderful American man, and had recently moved in with him. All in four months.

She pushed the cart into the deserted corridor, past the locker room and two more closed doors on her left. One of them was a small stock room that she used every night. The other was Dr. Gibbs’ office, which she had seen just once, on her first night on the job. The door had been closed and locked ever since.

Going through her routine mechanically, Carol wheeled the babies into a laboratory containing more specialized equipment. She stopped next to a table and picked up P1. The baby wiggled as she positioned him on a clean towel and applied cold conductor gel to his head and body. She then placed wireless electrodes at various strategic locations and wrapped the little arms close to the body with a special Velcro towel. It was obviously not a pleasant experience, but the babies had somehow realized that vocal outbursts were of no avail.

Carol then moved to a large circular machine that she opened with a latch door. She gently placed the baby on an indented platform which restricted all movements. The little head fitted snugly in the padded form adapted to its shape, and P1 looked at Carol from the corner of his eyes.

I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Be nice now.

She closed the door firmly and went to a nearby terminal. The screen lighted at her approach and she placed the appropriate identification disk in the computer. The identity of the subject was verbally confirmed twice, and the circular machine locked itself in place. A fanning sound was heard from inside, as if a strong ventilation system was in motion.

Carol looked at the starting numbers on the screen, confirming that the process was correctly under way. Turning to the remaining baby, she smiled and walked to a nearby refrigerator. Many milk bottles were lined inside with different indications on each one. She took one with a large P2 scribbled on the side and fed the other baby.

Reclining with the second boy in her arms, Carol did not react immediately when she heard noise in the next room over the low humming of the circular machine. Only at the sound of a door closing sharply did she place the bottle aside and stand up with the baby.

The adjacent room was a small cafeteria with three tables that could each barely sit four adults at a time. Not that it mattered. Carol did not think that the underground center employed more than seven people. There was a connecting door between the laboratory where Carol was and the next room. She went to it, still holding the baby. Industrial hinges slid open noiselessly. The cafeteria lights were down and only the oven’s digital display could be seen.

Anyone home?

The room was deserted. Carol stepped inside and the door automatically closed behind her. Since she could not distinguish anything in the semi-darkness, she walked across to turn on the lights. Halfway there, she slipped and had to lean on a table to avoid a fall. Someone had spilled something on the floor. No wonder the door had been slammed. She flipped on the lights and resettled the baby in her arms.

A cry died on her lips as she turned and saw a body lying in a shapeless pool of blood. Surprise and shock made her bang the back of her head on the door behind her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take several deep breaths while unconsciously pressing the small form she held closer to her body.

The twisted but recognizable shape of Mr. Watson was sprawled on the cold tile floor with half of his head blown off. His security uniform was completely soaked, metamorphosed from navy blue to dark brown. It was in his blood that she had slipped, and her shoes’ red footsteps were leading to where she now stood trembling.

Only the week before she had joked and laughed with the fat old man, sharing breakfast with him after their shift. He had a wife and three children, the oldest one starting college next fall. He would never see him graduate.

Who would do such a thing? And why?

Her medical training surfaced and she noticed how recent the wound was. Blood slowly oozed out and the pool was still growing. The murderer must have been the one slamming the door. He could be in the next room. Carol stopped breathing in an effort to hear noise outside the cafeteria. Only the ventilation system’s dull hum answered her.

Don’t panic, think! As far as she knew, she was alone in the compound with Mr. Watson. That was one of the reasons she liked the night shift: no pain-in-the-ass supervisors to point out what was obviously in need of doing.

But what should she do now?

Stay put. Since the murderer or robber has been in this room, it was less likely that he would come back. Just call for help and wait for the boys in blue.

She went to a courtesy office phone and picked up the receiver. Her shaking fingers dialed 911 twice before she realized that she was holding an inert piece of plastic. No dial-tone. Sweet Jesus, of all the bad luck…

As she desperately swept the room with dilated eyes, looking for anything that could help her, she noticed an open briefcase on the seat of one of the chairs near the fridge. With the useless phone in one hand and the baby on her other arm, she stared at the out-of-place piece of luggage.

The outside was brown leather and everything else in its outer appearance was similar to a trendy document carrier used by countless businessmen all over the world. But this was where the resemblance stopped. There was no space for anything inside this particular briefcase. Dark plastic covers closed both the open lid and the bottom part. But unlike a laptop, it had no screen or keyboard. Only when Carol actually bent over it did she notice a small numerical pad, barely indented, under an extremely pale screen the size of a cigarette.

It was a clock. She shook her head and noticed that seconds were moving backward, with just over seven minutes left. The neatness of the spotless piece of equipment made it terrifying, as if this could only belong to someone methodical and professional. Carol dropped the cordless phone and stared at what she suspected to be a powerful bomb. Sweat broke on her forehead as wild thoughts raced through her mind.

No sane criminal would stay in a place about to blow up. The way out must be clear by now. She stood with resolve and ran back to the laboratory where she had initially started her activities. With quick movements she placed the baby she was still carrying in the pushcart and aborted the experiment being done on P1. The door of the small dome was locked from inside and the terminal flashed an angry warning concerning the interruption of the tests being done. Carol quickly went through a line of questions justifying her abnormal procedure. At the end of the programmed string, a notice telling her that the door would open in 250 seconds made her slam the palm of her hand on the screen.

No time for P1 now. She would have to come back for him.

She frantically pushed the cart to the door and was about to throw it open when she saw another briefcase, similar in every way to the one in the cafeteria, discretely leaned on the wall behind where the door would open. Someone had been in here