Vitrium

By Michael Guthrie

At the heart of a global economic recovery effort, the mysterious Secretary General of the Order of Nations Enterprise presides over a vast infrastructure project, the VAC. The VAC connects the wealth and civilized world of thirty-two Mega-Alpha cities through underground trains in vacuum chamber tunnels traveling in excess of 8,000 kmh.



Seventeen-year-old Jada Brilliant adjusts to life after losing her father, anxiously awaiting the next chapter of her life in college— until a chance trip to an Outlier City with her grandfather results in a freak accident in the Everglades, leaving her in sole possession of a secret formula capable of world domination.



Left alone, fleeing from the wilderness into the world’s new cosmopolitan capitol, Jada is in a race for her life to keep her grandfather’s legacy from what she believes is corporate espionage, only to realize she is being pursued by the most powerful man on earth.



When these two worlds collide, Jada’s new passage to adulthood presses the envelope of courage, love, trust, and survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483545042

Book preview

MAP

Chapter 1

Jada gropes in the dark for the wood handrail. It slips from her grasp as the open side of the stairway collapses, and she topples with it. The salty taste of foamy seawater sprays into her mouth as she plunges into the blackness of a churning pool. Tales of the collapsing events from the evening’s dinner whir in her mind. She is about to become a statistic before her senior year of high school. A metal rail pokes her back as her head surfaces from the dark liquid. She gasps for air.

Help! she screams as the seawater gurgles in the back of her throat.

The blackness blinds her, and wooden beams groan above. The deafening creak of timbers, straining to the brink, wails from the upper floors and a beam shatters with a thunderous snap. Violent sounds of debris crash into the water, discharging the full scale panic hibernating in her groggy consciousness. Looking up is futile. She senses the rush of water and swims with the current, hoping for escape before the upper three stories of Hotel Chioggia collapse on her.

Help! Papa! she cries.

Had Papa had a chance to escape his room before the building failure? The alarm came so quickly. If only the Directorate had heeded Papa’s warnings when they arrived.

The rush of water hastens and sucks her through an open doorway. Her head slaps against a timber lintel. The fractured beam lodges a row of quilled splinters deep into her upper brow. She reaches back and clings to the beam, pushing her head beneath it as debris rains down all around her.

Papa! she screams again.

"Signorina Brilliant, ti sento. Dove sei?" The Directorate. If only he spoke English.

Signore Malpiero, I am here!

The sound of brick grinding on brick echoes throughout the dark chamber with a deafening growl. The grinding ceases with a jarring thud. The collision quakes the hotel, upheaving the pool of water, and Jada feels a senses of weightlessness amid the sloshing water. The building goes quiet. Debris fragments splash with the repetition of dripping water like the sound of a somber requiem. The current slows, and the pool of water settles.

Jada wipes her brow, and a sharp sting pierces her head as her fingers rub over the prickly slivers lodged in her forehead. Random creaking warns of an imminent collapse.

Signore Malpiero! she cries.

"Signorina Brilliant, è necessario uscire in fretta!" the Directorate says.

Jada huffs in frustration.

Jada?

It’s her grandfather, Papa. He is alive. A wave of hope floods her exasperation.

Papa! I’m here. The lobby I think.

Jada releases her grip and swims toward the voice of Papa. Lights flash through the opening of an old window in the water beneath her. The streak of light provides the only hint of illumination. She catches a glimpse of the outside wall.

I see the light, she says, through the window below me.

Swim to it, he says.

"Cortland, l’edificio potrebbe crollare da un momento."

I’m not leaving my granddaughter, Papa says.

The light disappears. Darkness returns and the only hope of her survival lies in the ramblings of an Italian Directorate.

The light’s gone. Shine it back here, she says.

The rumble of bricks sends a shiver of horror up her spine. She awaits a crushing blow of stone on her head. A concussive hit would be better than the terror of the unknown. Her nerves shudder at each splash of water around her. The light flashes past the opening and vanishes a second time. A glimpse of the window reveals her only escape.

Sweep the light again. Just like that, she says.

The muttering of two men arguing is barely audible over the cacophony of the crumbling structure.

"Cortland, Si sta dando modo! Dobbiamo partire subito!"

Shut up, I can’t hear her, Papa says.

The light streaks left to right.

Again, keep doing it. Just keep moving the light back and forth, she cries.

Jada focuses on the strobe effect through the opening and takes a deep breath before diving underwater. She kicks her feet off of a hard surface and swims for the sweeping light illuminating the hole in the wall. A powerful quaking hurls her body. The water shakes and jostles her aimlessly as a dull roar pressurizes her ears. She frog-kicks and propels forward with vigorous strokes toward the blurry opening. The water churns with a disorienting violence.

A blunt object strikes the back of her leg, and a sharp pain seizes her hamstring. Air bubbles stream from her mouth. She latches onto the window jamb with her hand as her leg plummets downward. Jada fights the urge to grab her hamstring to relieve the pain. Her lungs burn with a need for fresh oxygen. Clinging to the splintered window frame, she steadies her focus and jettisons her body through the opening with the hardest yank she can muster.

She surfaces with a desperate gasp for air.

Jada! Papa yells.

"Girare la barca!"

A beam of light shines in her face, and the thunder of Hotel Chioggia crumbling into the Grand Canal echoes in her ears.

Chapter 2

Jada fidgets with the hem at the bottom of her cardigan. The unravelling yarn reflects the tattered condition of her frame of mind, but acts as a welcome distraction to the line ahead. The crowds have never bothered Jada, but her grandfather, Cortland, bristles at the slow moving passengers ahead of them migrating towards the security entrance for the Brussels VAC. Always sensitive to his moods, Jada sympathizes with his anxiousness.

Papa, it’s been a long day. Relax, Jada whispers into her grandfather’s ear as she takes his hand. The words and touch of his seventeen-year-old granddaughter calm his prickly demeanor.

Jada smiles as Cortland resumes his customarily arrogant disposition. She hesitates and skirts behind him as they arrive at the screening checkpoint. Jada watches him wave his hand over a security scanner, and his identification flashes onto a crystalline display in front of the guard. The sentinel examining identification gives Cortland a double take.

She imagines what the sentinel’s first impression of Cortland might be. Few can wear a custom-designed, black Uffizi and be taken seriously. The fitted jacket hugs Cortland’s shoulders with exposed champagne stitching outlining the tightly fitted ToraleLuxe-leather alternative. The half-trench length tapers to a long V at the back. Cortland exudes style, a man of consequence.

The bustling of background noise ebbs, and a moment of quiet stifles the sound of the station. Jada awaits Cortland’s inquisition, but it never comes. The sentinel drops his eyes to study the file a second time. Cortland follows the sentinel’s dismissive, Thank you, with a nod. He re-shoulders his pack and paces to the end of the passenger screening area to await her.

Jada is more accustomed to travelling now, but lacks her grandfather’s confidence around governmental officials. She passes her hand through the scanner, avoiding eye contact with the sentinel by staring at her thumb adductor where her implant is being scanned. Not that she could see it, but it seemed a welcome distraction.

Origin of travel? the sentinel questions.

Venice, she answers.

Venice? he asks, lifting his eyes toward Jada, And what permissions might you have to be visiting a requited territory?

I was… traveling with my grandfather, Jada says.

She nods in Cortland’s direction.

The sentinel evaluates Cortland with a look of regret. Jada suspects he would like to ask Cortland some additional questions. Cortland’s pursed smile gives a friendly advisement that he is no one to be trifled with.

Jada searches the sentinel’s face for any clue to his thoughts. A stoic expression accompanies his silence. She wishes she understood her grandfather’s work better and the complete purpose of the trip. Not just anyone was allowed in a requited territory, but she never anticipated her visit would raise the eyebrow of international security.

Enjoy your trip back to New York, Miss Brilliant, the sentinel remarks with a forced pleasantry.

Jada sighs in relief and takes a cue from her grandfather by returning the sentinel’s farewell with a gracious nod. She strides toward her grandfather and slips her hand into his. This time, his hand reassures her.

Everybody wants to know what ONE is up to, he smirks.

Don’t the VAC sentinels know just about everything? she asks.

No. They’re low level security. They know only what ONE wants them to know.

The crowd thins as they enter the behemoth mouth of the three-story VacTrain concourse. Jada squints at the early afternoon sun infusing the concourse with daylight. Streams of light cascade into the cavernous atrium. A skylight arcs above the city street, announcing the presence of the world above.

Jada tugs at the fitted-winter apparel clinging to her slender figure as the clothing absorbs the radiant heat from the sun. She pulls her leggings and checks for residual dampness from the Venice flooding. The loss of her luggage in the collapse of Hotel Chioggia forced her to wear wet clothing on the journey home. The elastic material snaps back tight to her legs, accentuating her toned muscles developed from spending years in competitive gymnastics, dance, and yoga.

Escalators, located to their left and right, descend to a retail district on the second level, mesmerizing Jada with a flurry of activities. Duty free shops, entertainment, and eateries bustle with travelers conducting business meetings with clients from various cities, making last minute purchases, or relaxing before making connections to other MegaAlpha cities.

Jada loves Brussels, the new epicenter of global commerce.

She snaps out of her daze and notices the distance she lags behind her grandfather. Her pace quickens.

Where are you going? she asks.

My sketchbook is full, he answers, holding out his tattered, leather bound volume.

Jada scurries to catch up and takes it from his outstretched hand. She flips the worn pages and recalls Cortland feverishly recording every aspect of their moments in Venice. In a single day, he penciled a full sketch book riddled with memory, dark imagery, hopelessness, and, of course, his professional shorthand descriptions— the boring notes that will become a part of his Environmental Impact Report.

Papa definitely needs a new sketchbook. Notations were jotted on the edges or in between other sketches in order to document the experience, to the extent there was not an inkling of parchment left. The collapse of Hotel Chioggia is noticeably absent.

That looks like the perfect place to find a replacement, he says pointing to a non-descript vintage art supply store, oddly sandwiched between the glitzy rows of brand name boutiques.

Jada admires Cortland’s habitual documentation of the living world around him, his personal anecdote of the world’s unfolding events. His sketchbooks contain a mixture of words, scribblings, detailed drawings, and even quirky things at times, such as puzzles, not treated with a sense of privacy like a diary. Rather, he is happy to share his documentation with almost anyone who might inquire a peek into it. But the contents are unmistakably personal and clearly authored by his hand, unfettered by the impersonal quality of storing information as digital bytes in his IRFID.

Jada is mused by both her grandfather’s disdain for the IRFID, embedded in their hands, and the odd pronunciation, ‘Er-feed’, of the protracted acronym for Implanted Radio Frequency Identification. She cannot recall a time without one and considers it as much a part of herself as an ear or her eyelids. Important, but she rarely thinks about it.

A bell chimes as they enter the art store. Jada follows Cortland as his seemingly instinctive nature navigates him like a migratory pattern to the location of a very specific 20cm square sketch book containing 100gsm Strathmore paper with the infiniti acid-free paper symbol.

Jada reminisces about the time she was first introduced to the unusual acid-free paper ten years earlier. She had asked why the special paper was so important to him. His response, Although paper is a cellulose fiber, having a basic pH of 7 can preserve documents for a long period of time, had a peculiar phrasing about it, and reminded her of only one thing.

‘You sound like a hygiene commercial, Jada replied, and Cortland burst out in laughter at the seven-year-old’s assessment of his prized paper.

Standing close to her grandfather’s shoulder, Jada glances toward him, knowing the memory is one they share fondly. His hand slides across the familiar symbol, and a coy smile creases his face.

Never can be too careful about hygiene, Cortland says, and the first moment of levity in the last two days washes over their depleted spirits.

They saunter to the front of the store, and Cortland sets his item for purchase on the counter. The back wall behind the cash-wrap captures Jada’s attention, with a series of charcoal sketches loosely posted. As she surveys the drawings, Cortland points out a number of lesser known Venice landmarks rendered with the skill of an accomplished artist’s hand. He admires the collection and explains they must be pieces accumulated over a significant period of time, the result of an appreciation for things that could be considered in peril.

Find everything you were looking for? the shop owner calls, stepping out of his back office.

Yes, Cortland answers, Your shop is a rare find in this cesspool of commodification.

Cortland motions for Jada to hand him the old sketchbook, and she watches as he flips through the book with a measured accuracy. He carefully tears at a page close to the binding, extracts it from the middle, and offers it to the shopkeeper.

The staircase of Contarini del Bovolo is noticeably absent, Cortland says and points to the ragged collection on the wall with the page in hand, I thought you should have it.

The shopkeeper studies the illustration with a curious mix of wonder and bewilderment.

It’s from yesterday, Cortland adds in a strangled voice.

The artisan carefully handles the sketch, contemplating its appropriate place on his wall. He pins the Strathmore paper with a reverence that communicates finality in the shopkeeper’s collection.

I’d like to grab a couple of extra Derwents as well, Cortland says to Jada, referring to his favorite sketch pencils.

Feel like a chino? he suggests.

Jada nods with a longing that can only be compared to a thirst driven by a march across the Sahara desert.

Why don’t you go ahead and order up two at the Canephora Café. I’ll be there in a moment, Cortland says, indicating he would like to speak further with the shopkeeper.

Sure thing. I’ll try to find a table in the atrium, she says.

Chapter 3

Jada passes a deep-bowled mug across an aluminum two-top as Cortland joins her at the table. He takes a long sip of the smoldering cappuccino.

Mmmm, Cortland says while closing his eyes.

You know, Canephora never misses on bean selection. Always lightly roasted. The flavor of the fruit is indelible. Ethiopian, I think, he says.

Jada smiles and listens to her grandfather ramble about the merits of picking coffee cherries thirteen times a year to ensure the perfect ripeness. She always relishes his interesting knowledge of the world, and in this case, the diatribe that has turned into a criticism of how the economics of picking cherries off the tree all at once yields fruit that is primarily either rotten or not ripe enough.

I’d prefer siphon coffee for the many flavor nuances of a bean this distinctive. This is a treasure of a find in a transit center, finishes Cortland.

Sipping coffee, they recline into a matching set of sculpted beech wood chairs along the concourse mezzanine. Jada welcomes their first respite in the last forty-eight hours. The refreshment rejuvenates her weary spirit while they people watch. She could sit here all day.

Let’s head downstairs. The VAC should be pulling in soon, Cortland says. Papa had never been one to sit for very long.

The angled concrete walls compress the hall as they descend, separating them from the lengthy platform. A glossy paneled red wall, reflecting movements of passengers, creates a vibrant backdrop to the platform level.

Teeming around electronic shopping billboards ensconced into the surface of the red wall, travelers make last minute purchases for delivery to their final destinations. The billboards, illuminated with high definition videos of numerous grocery and sundry related items, stretch for nearly a hundred meters on either side of the paired escalators that spill into the lower level platform. Jada nudges her grandfather with her elbow.

Mom’s been busy with Ethan, and I’m sure she’ll be working late. I’d like to get a few things for dinner tonight.

Cortland nods and accompanies her to the Tesco boards.

She connects to the shopping system via the Tesco app and browses through the merchandise until settling on a medley of zucchini, broccoli, mushrooms, and carrots from Tantre’s local organic farm. A smile creases her lips at the thought of a veggie stir-fry when she returns home. She waves her hand over the product codes allowing the IRFID to register her selections and completes her dinner menu by picking an assortment of additional items, including sea salt, garlic, and some freshly ground pepper.

She rejoins Cortland in front of one of the numerous VAC display panels where they scan their hands for seat verification, 16C and 16D in Compartment Four.

Jada and Cortland approach the waiting lounge, and Jada peers through the glass-enclosed transfer chamber into the cavity that contains the double magnetic tracks for the VAC.

She reads a projection display touting the merits of the Vacuum Aerotransport Corporation. VAC, in its fifth phase of developing a global network, based its technology on the high speed rail known as maglev, or magnetic levitation. The technological basis of the VAC utilizes maglev, coupled with a vacuum sealed chamber achieved by tunneling through the earth’s mantle. In lieu of travelling a 5,900km arc along the earth’s surface from Brussels to New York, travelers journey through a 5,685km tunnel straight through the earth. The pull of gravity and the near elimination of air resistance allow the VAC to travel at speeds upward of 8,000km/hr.

Jada starts for a moment as the VAC train jettisons into the station with an intense velocity, despite decelerating for half the journey from Moscow. The train hums while hovering over the tracks.

Vacuum-sealed doors pop open and release the suction around the pressurized transfer chambers. Passengers travelling from Moscow to Brussels proceed up to the second level on escalators on the opposite side of the train from Jada and Cortland.

Cortland and Jada organize themselves into the queue as the seal for the vacuum chamber opens for the departing passengers. They place their hands over the automated passenger recognition system and await the green light and the accompanying electronic ring signifying permission to enter the VAC compartment. Cortland proceeds to row 16, squinting to read the small digitized numerals above the 2x2 seating arrangement on either side of the aisle. Jada slips past Cortland to the far seat marked 16D and places her hand on a black-glass panel that synchronizes her IRFID to her seat location. The egg-shaped acrylic chair hollows out to a black interior with mahogany trim inlaid within the armrests. Jada flops into the plush maroon seat, enveloped by the white outer-shell. She sinks as it molds to the contours of her body.

Cortland stores their baggage in the overhead bin and settles into the seat next to Jada, situating the right side of his face into the headrest. His black coat conceals his neck line and opens like a flower just below his pointed ears. His long forehead, capped by a frenzied salt and pepper pelt, matches the trim sandy-colored beard that partially conceals his angular jaw line. Years of advanced skin care create the illusion of a man in his early forties, unblemished by even a hint of wrinkles.

Your father loved Venice, Cortland says.

No answer.

After a measured silence, Cortland abandons the subject of her father, Rehman. Jada lost him ten months ago and is reluctant to discuss his vanishing. She stares out the window at the final passengers scurrying to board the train when the electrochromic glass switches to an opaque gray.

So, what happens now? Jada asks.

Cortland’s unsure expression causes Jada to clarify.

To Venice? she continues.

Cortland draws out a sigh.

"Much of what will be officially decided has already been determined by the joint commission. As a requited territory, it’s only a matter of time before it’s declared officially uninhabitable. The Consorzio Venezia Nuova has done all it can. It would appear that all the efforts of banning groundwater pumping, reconstructing saltwater flats in the lagoon, and even the creation of the MOSE gates have become ineffective.

What are MOSE gates? she asks.

Modulo Sperimentale Elettromeccanico, he says, It’s just an acronym for the mobile flood gates. Another failed initiative. The toxicity of the waters, along with a rise in sea level, has contributed to an overwhelming amount of structural and environmental damage to the city. The evacuated residents are resilient, but I’m sure they can’t help but see the writing on the wall at this point.

Jada holds an empty stare down the long passenger car until The VAC whips her head back as it accelerates out of the station. Cortland continues his detailed account of the destruction of Venice.

The request of our team of professionals to tour the city, catalogue our findings, and prepare recommendations is merely a formality. It’s clear the outcome of the city collectively is perilous. We’ve been entrusted to find some way to preserve some of the cultural heritage, given the preservation of the city is insurmountable. It’s the joint commission’s determination, but we all know the directive will come from a higher entity, he says.

What’s that? she asks.

The Order of Nations Enterprise, he answers.

Why do you say that?

Just feels that way. Maybe I’m just not ready to come to terms with the evacuation. I’d imagine many will be unable to fathom the loss, even while viewing pieces on display in the world’s finest museums, he says.

Cortland unfolds his jacket and slips out a flask from the inner pocket. He sucks a long draw, tipping it upward, before shaking the empty container in frustration. His bleary bloodshot eyes well up with water.

Even knowing what we were about to witness, I just wasn’t prepared for the destruction of this international treasure. It’s becoming a modern Atlantis.

How did you become involved in the investigation? Jada asks.

Government work pays well. Not on time, mind you, but it can be lucrative if it serves the right purpose. I needed something to fund my real work, he says.

Real work? You mean besides the crazy buildings you design?

You could say that, he answers.

And what might that be?

Another time, he says and beckons an attendant for a mini-bottle of scotch.

A silence between them, although unsettling, rings with reverence. An oppressive coming to terms with the reality that Venice will be a memory reigns, despite the rapidly increasing distance placed between them and the City of Water.

In the final minutes prior to arriving in Grand Central Station, Cortland renews the conversation once more and explains how the abandonment of Venice sets a dangerous precedent for the proactive desertion of numerous cities. Cortland discusses his concerns for Mumbai, Miami, Guangzhou, and even lower Manhattan in Jada’s lifetime.

Jada, this isn’t just about environmental concerns and cultural loss. It should be. But… for many, and too many that is, I fear this is about political muscle.

Chapter 4

The VAC train surges to an eerily quiet stop. The airless chamber silences the sonic boom that normally accompanies breaking the sound barrier.

Welcome to the Big Apple and thank you for travelling VAC, a digitally enhanced voice announces over the sound system.

The coloring of the Grand Central VAC Station oscillates between a pale blue and mossy green while the vaulted concourse hall shimmers like streetlamps reflected on wet pavement. The tranquility contrasts the commotion of the 1,200 passengers emptying the VAC at a dizzying pace- scurrying to work, lunch, court, or whatever mundane task awaits each unique traveler.

Jada exits the compartment in front of her grandfather. His recently shared concerns about lower Manhattan coupled with her witness of Venice in the last twenty-four hours burn fresh imagery in her mind. An urgency of pending doom sweeps through her body.

Papa? Do we have time to visit Lower Manhattan? she asks.

I don’t need your mother venting her spleen on me for you being late. You should really catch—

It’s never the right time, Jada retorts.

Cortland stiffens. Jada realizes her reaction surprised him. He pauses for a moment, and she prepares for an admonishment as she settles into stoic defeat, a tinge of hardness creeps into her heart.

This plea is not a normal request in her mind. She just wants to understand the world that is changing so fast. First the loss of her father, now the loss of a city, and maybe the whole world as she knows it.

He must know she is not prone to disrespecting him. Sure, Jada is capable of teenage rebellion. Her most exceptional outbursts are directed toward her mother, Shayna. Her disregard of Shayna’s authority since the loss of her father mounts with each passing month. Shayna rarely played the role of enforcer, but the loss of her husband thrust her into the unfamiliar role of disciplinarian. Bereavement in the family formed a traumatic effect on relationships, creating strain and distance within a household that was previously described as close-knit.

Tension starts with the simplest of misunderstandings—"Who left the bag of dried fruit open?", " Someone put my ePTFE fabric shirt in the water-wash machine," or the latest, "Who used the now hardened acrylic paint brushes?"—and enflames into a growing divide that neither person is aware of or cares to admit to while experiencing exorbitant grief.

Cortland stretches his arm around Jada’s shoulder.

Let’s catch the 5, he says, referring to the green line subway running from Grand Central Station to Lower Manhattan.

Jada’s disposition shifts at her grandfather’s tenderness. She slips her arm through his and pulls her chin close to her chest.

Thanks, she says.

They navigate the renovated Grand Central Terminal to the Line 5 train.

A creaky subway squeals into the Bowling Green Station at 9:14 a.m. Passengers bound for Brooklyn plunge into the train while Cortland and Jada fight to exit, resembling the chaotic journey of salmon swimming upstream, an exhausting effort merely to escape the car and inhale the pungent aroma of overflowing refuse containers along the platform.

Emerging from the glass entry box of the subway station, they escape the underground world confining them since their high speed rail transfer into Brussels from Venice. The cold, brisk air of early March greets their faces with a stiff wind blowing off the frigid water from Battery Park. Jada breathes the chilled, fresh air and grabs a scarf and hat out of her backpack.

Something is different in the way she perceives the world now. It’s a world of flux, of change, constantly evolving. Or is it devolving?

She observes details as she examines the monumental National Archives positioned in front of her. The beaux-arts structure exudes a strength and power, its cubic form embellished with statuary and assorted ornament.

Peering up at the façade above the ornate frieze and cornice, she observes twelve statues, clothed in attire of ancient Phoenicians, protecting the skyline.

Cortland watches Jada as she studies the proliferation of detail typically ignored by the average pedestrian.

The figures represent the great seafaring nations. They were carved to illustrate the future greatness of American seafaring commerce as heirs to the ancient Phoenicians. A show of economic prowess, Cortland informs Jada.

It was originally built at the turn of the twentieth century as the U.S. Customs House, he continues. "It’s housed several things since: Bankruptcy Court, U.S. National Archives, even

Reviews for Vitrium

[Martanda Gautam · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Michael Guthrie's venture into this genre has been very impressive to say the least. A carefully built up futuristic society with well thought out plot has always been my weakness. There are very few books which can actually give just the right amount of both truth and fantasy and this book by Michael is definitely one of them.
There are a lot of layers in the story which are unraveled slowly and aptly timed.
Set in the year 2043, the author has made good use of his imagination. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them actually become a part of our future society especially Order of Nations Enterprise. That's my favorite part in the entire book I think! Jada's character really caught my eye as she is just another normal teen,whose life isn't so normal anymore.
Waiting eagerly for the second book!

[nihi_owl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have always wondered what would the future be like- will we have aliens ruling over us? Or vice versa? People will actually be living on Mars? Teleportation? Sci-fi novels seem to satisfy my questions like this, and especially if they are as good as Micheal Guthrie's venture into futuristic sci-fi.
Though the plot is futuristic,it has a touch of reality and I think that is one of the best things about this book! The author has managed to beautifully combine both what we see today and what he thinks could be seen! I absolutely adore the character of Jada. Maybe because I wish my life was half as interesting as her's ;) Also, the concept of VAC is very endearing.
A thrilling sci-fi with parts of fantasy is always a welcome afternoon read. Highly recommended to all!