9.5B

By Pen

The year is 2059. The world can no longer support the over 12 billion inhabitants now living here. The New World Government comes up with a plan to eliminate 9.5 billion people.

When Sunny Moon learns of this she runs to the desert of the Southeastern United States where Shiloh and a small band of people are building a spaceship to take them to another planet. But they must have the help of S.R. Prometheus - Quantum Physics guru - to help them develop hyperdrive on the spacecraft.

Pursued by an assassin calling himself Rembrandt, Prometheus struggles to tell Sunny Moon about her own history...before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen
• Release date: Jul 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311928894

Pen

Pen was bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten. She has been feverishly writing ever since. A native Georgian she lives in the Atlanta area.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Professor Phillip Markowitz took a moment to gaze up at the blue neon dragon snaking its way down the twelve story rectangular building on this twilight of an evening. The building was taller than it was wide and the dragon wound its way down the long side. Every so often, its blue mouth opened and orange and yellow neon flames licked at the doorway as customers entered or exited the building. To enhance the effect, the mirrored glass building reflected the neon so that several blue dragons snaked down the building.

Tacky, Phillip muttered to himself.

Phillip glanced both ways before crossing the street then chided himself for old habits. His own cherry red 1965 Mustang convertible - a classic automobile by any standards - sat rusting in a secure parking garage as did about 2,500 other gasoline-powered vehicles remaining on the planet. With gasoline at $379.99 a gallon, he could ill afford to drive it. Even if he could afford the gas, street maintenance had halted some thirty years before. With the introduction of hematite-powered vehicles in the year 2025, cars like the Mustang were obsolete here in the year 2059.

Phillip stopped in the middle of the rubbled, cracked concrete street to admire the determination of a maple tree to force its way through the charcoal gray pavement on this spring evening. It never ceased to amaze him, the stamina and fortitude of nature to triumph over man. He reached out and lightly touched the small new leaves before continuing to cross the street.

The first three floors of The Blue Dragon housed legitimate businesses: accountants, lawyers, doctors.

Phillip’s destination lay on the fourth floor.

As he entered the elevator, Phillip felt out of place. There had been a revival in the music from the end of the former century. As he rode the elevator to the fourth floor, he was assaulted by a tune titled Wanted: Dead or Alive by a group calling themselves Bon Jovi. As a lover of classical tastes, Phillip found the music an offense to his senses.

The elevator doors opened onto The Blue Dragon Restaurant, the only saving grace about the building as far as he was concerned.

He stepped out of the elevator onto thick, plush blue carpet as springy as moss beneath his polished shoes. Spanning the entire fourth floor, the decorum was tasteful and eloquent. An oriental painting of wild horses done in black ink on rice paper was only the first of many oriental paintings and tapestries lining the walls. Colorful panels of birds perched upon delicate branches made from colored polished stone; tiled mosaics with soothing pastels; tables, both round and square covered with fresh starched white linen, napkins folded neatly in the shape of ducks: these were only a few of the artistic concepts which created an atmosphere as pleasing to the eye as to the palate.

It was a direct contradiction to what lay on the remaining floors of The Blue Dragon building.

A petite young Asian woman approached Phillip. Are you Professor Markowitz? she asked.

Yes.

Your party is waiting. This way, please.

He followed the woman past the patrons, some of whom would probably partake of the services upstairs once dinner was over. Along the way, he couldn’t help but admire the artwork along the walls: mountains with waterfalls and Chinese symbols, done completely with embroidery. As was another piece with coy fish in a pond. He found the artwork of the Orient resplendent with beauty as well as with a sense of pride and discipline seldom seen in these days and times.

He was surprised to see they had walked the entire length of the floor when his attention was finally drawn to where they were headed. The petite woman led him behind two folding panels placed around a table at the far end of the room next to the windows to ensure privacy.

At the table was a man considerably younger than Professor Markowitz. Shorter in stature than Phillip, Richard Gelsner was a sharp contrast to Phillip’s tall and distinguished features. He had the makings of a quarterback: broad, squared shoulders, a head full of dark hair, and the fine chiseled facial features of a Roman god. Brown eyes, so dark as to seem almost black, scrutinized atop firm high cheekbones.

Gorging yourself on Peking Duck, Richard? Phillip said.

Ah, Professor, Richard said, wiping his mouth on his napkin and standing to greet Phillip. Still wearing that tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches, I see.

A classic never goes out of style, Phillip said.

Please. Join me, Richard indicated the chair across from him.

Once Phillip had placed his order and settled comfortably in his chair with a glass of Saki in front of him, Richard said, You’re looking well.

You don’t look so bad yourself, Phillip said as he sipped his Saki.

Richard shrugged his broad shoulders. I’m doing okay.

Okay? said Phillip. Come now, Richard. You’re always better than okay.

Richard laughed a little nervously. Not always, Professor.

Phillip watched through the window behind Richard as horsejets flew by with their individual passengers. Even though the small craft were supposed to maintain a speed of 55 mph - just like cars in the old days - some pilots found it difficult to maintain that speed while flying.

The horsejet was designed for practicality as well as modeled after the magnificent animal. Much like the back of a scooter or motorcycle, the back of the horsejet had a box container where items such as bottled water, clothing or other extra items could be stored while riding. Below the seat, on each side, the metal was arched like the back flanks of a horse. In front of the passenger protruded a steering column such as that on a bicycle with shorter handlebars: instead of being attached to wheels - which the horsejet was void of - the column was attached to a rudder which controlled the direction of the jet.

In front of the steering column, metal sloped down and rounded, resembling the muzzle of any proud thoroughbred. Where the neck of the thoroughbred would be, more metal sloped down to meet with the flat bottom of the horsejet, thus the resemblance of the mechanical engineering to the once-flourishing animal which gave the vehicle its name.

Richard turned around to follow Phillip’s line of sight.

Those things make me nervous, Phillip muttered.

Richard turned around, laughing. But, Professor. They keep you in business.

That much is true, Richard. If it weren’t for the hematite made by Markowitz Industries, they wouldn’t be flying at all, would they?

That’s right, Professor, Richard said. But I recall you prefer the CatScouts to the horsejets.

Absolutely, Phillip said. I prefer to be enclosed, especially when I’m flying. It may be just a plastic bubble, but I still feel safer. Phillip looked at Richard. But we’re not here to talk about transportation, are we?

Richard pursed his lips and looked at Phillip for a few moments. Well, Professor, I’m not quite certain how to broach the subject.

Phillip chuckled lightly. How about taking a direct approach? That’s always worked for you in the past.

Yes, said Richard, again eyeing the Professor. That may be the best way. He took a sip of his Saki. Nine point five b.

Phillip furrowed his brow and looked at Richard. What about it?

Richard looked at Phillip a few moments. Your report, he finally said, to the Commission on World Population.

Yes. I am familiar with it. I wrote it.

What is it about?

Phillip felt his irritation begin to rise. It usually did when he engaged in conversation with Richard. Though he liked Richard - he’d been one of the Professor’s brightest students - Richard enjoyed his own storytelling skills when making a point; a habit which got on Phillip’s nerves. You’re on the Commission, you should know what it’s about.

I want you to tell me.

Phillip opened his mouth to speak and quickly shut it when the waitress walked around the corner to place his food before him. She also placed another bottle of Saki in the center of the table. Would you like anything else? she asked.

That’ll be all for now, Richard answered.

When the waitress disappeared around the partition, Richard once again eyed Phillip. So, tell me, Professor, what is nine point five b.

Richard, it’s a report, hypothetical situations that would eliminate nine and a half billion people from the world’s population.

A laugh not of amusement issued from Richard. Hypothetical. He laughed again; the sound was rather like fingernails on a chalkboard to Phillip’s ears. You really believe it’s hypothetical?

Phillip shrugged his shoulders. That’s what the commission asked for. I believe I even put in my report that it was hypothetical. None of the scenarios is feasible anyway.

What makes you say that?

As Phillip explained himself in between bites of Moo Goo Gai Pan, Richard wiped his hands with a napkin.

First of all, people are unpredictable. There’s no guarantee that their reactions to any of the scenarios named in the report would be the reactions I put in the report. Biological and chemical agents are also unpredictable. The figures I quoted may be too large or too small depending upon how rampant the agent was. And, of course, the use of nuclear weapons, even on a small scale, would do too much irreparable damage.

And the religious wars?

Phillip chuckled. "Now that is the only foregone conclusion in the text. I guarantee you could begin an all-out religious war simply by proclaiming the existence of the Annunaki. And The Book of Ancient Wisdom."

As Phillip took a bite of his food, Richard reached across the table, his napkin in his hand. You look like you could use a napkin, he said.

Mmm, Phillip mumbled and reached for his napkin on the table on the table. Thank you, but I already have a nap -

You really need to use mine, Richard interrupted.

Phillip froze in the process of bringing his napkin to his face. The intensity with which Richard looked at him suggested he was handing him more than a napkin.

Thank you, Richard, Phillip said. I don’t mind if I do.

As Phillip reached across the table to get the napkin, his eyes looked beyond Richard. A horsejet rider had stopped, hovering just outside the window. Although the rider made a pretense of checking something on the horsejet monitor, Phillip couldn’t help but feel there was a more sinister motive for the rider to have stopped in front of this particular window.

As Phillip took the napkin from Richard, he realized there was something more within the napkin itself. Something flat and hard. Phillip made a surreptitious swipe at his mouth, mumbling We have company, then placed the napkin on his lap, clearing his throat as he did so.

Richard glanced back over his shoulder at the horsejet rider just outside the window. Still looking at the monitor, flipping switches and buttons, the rider appeared not to be taking any notice of the patrons. But a helmet covered the head of the rider - a red helmet with a slanted black streak of lightning on the side - and the tinted visor attached to the helmet hid the face. Richard got the feeling that the eyes of the rider were anywhere but on the horsejet: more than likely they were pinpointed upon himself and the Professor at this very table.

Richard looked back at Phillip and quietly murmured, View this tonight then contact me. I don’t care what time it is. He relaxed back into his chair attempting an air of nonchalance. How is the Moo Goo Gai Pain, Professor?

Marvelous, Phillip said. As he spoke, he ate with his left hand. With his right hand, he carefully removed the object from the napkin and slipped it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. The only problem, though, is, as usual, there is far too much food on this plate.

Well, they don’t want you to leave hungry, Richard said.

Phillip chuckled. No, but I’ve no doubt I’ll be hungry again in about three hours.

Richard chuckled. Maybe you should get a take-out box for that, Professor.

Good idea, Richard.

As Phillip refilled his Saki, Richard requested a take-out box as well as the check. When the waitress returned, Richard held out his right wrist for her. With a slender silver wand, the waitress scanned his wrist. The amount of credits for the meal, including tip, were deducted from a chip implanted in his wrist. The chip contained all of Richard’s pertinent information: name, social security number, address, holograph number, work number and address, blood type, purchase information and, down to the last penny (so to speak) the amount of credits he had accumulated on his chip.

This chip had been put into standard use in 2021. Implantation was mandatory for anyone born after the year 2023. Anyone born prior to that year could opt to not have the chip implanted. Those opting not to have the chip implanted, like Professor Markowitz, continued to accumulate credits on a standard plastic card, much like a debit or credit card. The movement from using gold or cash as an economic base had resulted in the dissolution of banking and financial institutions. The same number of credits - known as survival credits - were issued monthly to each person having a chip or card. Additional credits were earned based upon an individual’s job or accomplishments. This action lessened the gaps between the classes of rich, middle class and poor, though the differences were still evident.

Money-based crimes were virtually nil, although identity-theft and identity-created crimes were on the rise as people so inclined figured out ways to beat the technology to create additional chips or cards to collect more credits.

Richard stood and stretched once the transaction was complete. Well, Professor. I’ll let you finish your meal in peace. I think I’ll go upstairs and partake of some of the other services of the Blue Dragon.

Ah, yes, Phillip said. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll pass on those.

Richard gave a nervous little laugh. Don’t take too long, Professor. The last airbus runs by here in about half an hour.

Oh, yes, Phillip said as he stood. Thank you for the reminder. I pay so little attention to the schedule. Thank you for dinner, Richard.

Richard glanced out the window behind him. The horsejet and rider were gone.

There was the possibility that the rider was just that: a rider having a little trouble with his horsejet. But, somehow, Richard doubted that.

Chapter 2

Phillip sat in a chair before his hologram table, an untouched snifter of brandy in his hand. He hadn’t moved for a full five minutes since switching off the hologram message. Staring into space, hardly daring to breathe, Phillip felt he must be dreaming. Yes, that was it. This was a nightmare. Any moment now he would awaken, stiff and groggy, flipping the switch on the coffee pot, turning the hot water on in the shower.

Instead, without thinking, Phillip touched the button on his remote and started the hologram message again.

In the center of his living room appeared a 3D holographic image of Kyle Redford, President of the New World Government, or NWG. Phillip sat, unwillingly and incredulously mesmerized as Kyle delivered his message.

"Greetings to my board members. I contact you regarding the project which we have previously discussed.

"As all of you know, Earth has reach critical population mass. Fourteen billion people reside upon this world. We have reached a point where our resources are running low. Everything from food and water to medicine and housing must be rationed and constantly monitored. Our food supply is running dangerously low.

"I know some of you have seen the movie Soylent Green. Though I shudder at the mere thought of it, I fear that if we do not take immediate action, we may just end up like those people in that movie: consuming human flesh without even being aware we are doing so. Drastic measures may be unpleasant but, at this point, they are necessary to prevent the complete breakdown of civilization and to ensure the survival of the human race which is the ultimate goal.

"It is the reason I requested a report outlining measures to eliminate enough of the population so that the resources we have in reserve will be enough to sustain those who survive.

"The report 9.5B has been completed by Professor Phillip Aaron Markowitz. It has been thoroughly reviewed and given a full in-depth analysis.

"Ninety percent of his suggestions are feasible and are in the process of being implemented, even as you hear these words.

"Within a matter of a few days, biological agents of anthrax and plague will be released in major cities throughout the world. Paris, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Madrid, and other major cities will see a surge in these diseases and will attempt to combat them with antibiotics. Little will the medical community realize that antibiotics will actually hasten the effects of these genetically-altered diseases.

"Biological and chemical agents will then be introduced into water and food supplies of the most heavily populated and the poorest regions of the world.

"A political assassination is in the planning stages. Under the circumstances, I feel the identity of the target is best left unknown.

Religious mania will ensue once the announcement is made by the Roman Catholic Church that The Book of Ancient Wisdom will replace the conventional Bible. We expect a full-fledged religious war. On down the list, President Redford outlined each of Phillip’s hypothetical situations, not as discussion, but as enforceable policy: instructions to be carried out and implemented, as rudimentary as traffic signals.

Kyle concluded his message by saying, After careful consideration, it has been determined that any nuclear assaults are not feasible. He paused a moment before adding, At this time.

Phillip’s thumb finally found the off button on his remote control, even though his hands shook.

He suddenly felt as though he couldn’t sit still. He tossed the remote onto the table, placed his brandy beside it and stood. He paced the living room. He felt frantic, unable to focus his attention on any one thing, felt as if he could run outside and around his dwelling a few dozen times, even though he knew his artificial heart wouldn’t endure the run.

The physical act of pacing for about fifteen minutes got his heart rate up, but not to any level of endangerment.

Still, Phillip couldn’t shake this feeling of needing to do something. Yes, he needed to contact Richard. But that would not satisfy this inexplicable urge to move, do, move, do.

Yet Phillip didn’t know what it was he was supposed to do.

Phillip stopped pacing when he caught his reflection in the glass on his father’s Grandfather clock.

Standing roughly nine feet tall with a clearance from the ceiling of only about a foot, and four feet wide, the clock was testimony to fine hand craftsmanship. Made by his great-great-great grandfather sometime in the 1800’s, authentic, sturdy mahogany wood housed the pendulums, chains, face and timing mechanism. Passed along from one generation to the next, the clock had survived a few rough times.

By the time it had come into Phillip’s possession, the wood surface was dull, scratched and dented; the glass on front of the pendulum casing was broken, the glass covering the face completely gone. The face itself was damaged, the timing mechanism no longer worked and the pendulums themselves were missing. Phillip had spent a great deal of time, energy and finances to return the clock to its almost-original pristine condition. He had sanded and polished the wood to a high shine, searched for authentic glass replacements, the face, the hands and the timing mechanism, all of which could only be found through the higher end - and more expensive - antique shops.

Gazing at his reflection in the glass, Phillip felt as old, scratched and dented as the Grandfather clock had been when it had first come into his possession almost thirty years ago.

His hair, what little he had left, stuck out on both sides of his head where he had pulled it in his frantic pacing. His house robe - an old, blue tattered chenille number - was normally very comfortable. Except for now, with the material twisted around his body so that the knot in the belt settled on his left side and the rest of the belt had managed to slip onto the top of the slight paunch Phillip had acquired with age. He certainly didn’t appear to be the man the world, or his parents, had expected him to be.

Phillip Markowitz had the distinct and singular privilege of having been the first baby born in the New Millennium in what was then the United States. At 12:01:01 a.m. on January 1, 2001 - 01/01/01 - while the rest of the world ushered in the official date of a new century, raised their glasses