Assignment Yggdrasil

By Christopher James Dubey

Originally published by Chipmunkapublishing, and now thoroughly revised, Assignment Yggdrasil is a groundbreaking novel about how far governments can go in the fight against bioterrorism. Set during the presidency of George W. Bush and the height of the War on Terror, the United States Department of Defense has secretly garnered intelligence confirming that, within a decade, groups intent on mass murder will possess bioweaponry capable of annihilating either the USA…or the entire human species. A special operation, Assignment Yggdrasil, has begun in an attempt to avert the so–called ‘Ragnarok,’ doomsday. Although they appear human, subjects have been genetically converted from human to transhuman, given immunity to all biological pathogens known to infect humans, as well as special abilities from other species. Only the new species, the transhuman, is predicted to survive the bioterrorist Ragnarok. The government has staked its bets on these transhumans, hoping they will rebuild American democracy in the resulting chaos. Yet the government is performing this transhumanism covertly, infecting thousands of citizens with the virus through their food, drink, and medicine. Some test subjects have died unwittingly under experimentation and the government is hiding everything. An equally furtive resistance has formed, led by various radical groups who dispute the bioethics of the operation. In a precarious showdown with the government, the rebels question whether the removal of humanity is really a gift and if the end justifies the means.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jun 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783331055

Book preview

damages.

Preface

The proper pronunciation for Yggdrasil is "ig-druh-sil." In Norse mythology, Yggdrasil is the supernatural ash tree that connects worlds.

Chapter 1

Friday, April 14, 2006

6:32 p.m.

Tisiphone revved her Lamborghini Murcielago through the urban labyrinth of Levinox, California. With the volume high, she synchronized her lips with the indulgent music she was playing on the CD player. She grabbed the rearview mirror for an instant to blow herself a kiss.

She powered the Murcielago through the alleys of Levinox. The headlights hunted the road signs, while the engine growled with her eagerness. Through the windshield, she saw a dragonfly blow away in the automobile’s turbulence.

At last, she sighted the neon lights and sleek, bare skin of Club Vodka. She slowed the engine to a rumble in the vacant spot marked Playgirl. Her bronze hands removed a cluster of condoms from the case under the passenger seat, and stuffed them into the pouch of her crimson purse.

What’s cooking? she asked, stepping out of the car and eyeing Tosovic, the chiseled bouncer. Besides me?

Wish I could dine on some of that, he said, directing his piercing, aquamarine eyes at her burly body. The boys are waiting. Got your ticket?

Like always, she said, flashing a condom and then placing it back in her purse.

Go get ‘em, girl, he said.

Treading down the red pavement in her black platform boots, she flexed her robust muscles and salivated with anticipation. The dazzling lights of the nightclub cast firefly glows over her sinuous body, hugged by a fuchsia, halterneck dress. As she walked up to the bar, a dozen rotating chairs shifted to face her direction. Suitors eyed their deity with glazed eyes.

No words were necessary. She knew what they were thinking. Eleven men would go home tonight to their dissatisfactory lovers...or their empty beds. One man would not go home.

Tisiphone’s large, cobalt eyes studied the men. Some old, some new. A thirty-something white bodybuilder, in black, leather pants. A college yuppie with moussed hair, in an Abercrombie & Fitch shirt. A bearded, tanned man with Oakley sunglasses, whom she recalled was an aging psychotherapist. A thirty-something chief executive from one of the elite businesses down on Azoren Avenue. A heavy, pasty computer geek out on vacation from Silicon Valley, and saturated in cologne. Like a snake picking a target to strike, her squinting eyes now scanned these twelve waiting torsos.

Lights and shadows rippled over her stunning physique. Neurotransmitters fired through synapses, to a mainframe calculating every possibility. Her eyes narrowed and then widened. A new image appeared on her retina: a russet tank top bearing the phrase Most Likely to Conquer the Conqueror.

You, she said, promenading into the area of a slowly moving spotlight, which illuminated her face as the techno thrummed to a resounding climax.

The man with the tank top, shaggy of chin, with swirling, umber brown hair, stood. Hello, Tisiphone, he said. Our time has come.

* * *

The songstress on the disc sustained her hunt for lewd indulgence, while Tisiphone synchronized her lips and drove. She swung the car left and right, accelerating and decelerating. The Murcielago had amazing power and control over the road, just like the Spanish bull after which it acquired its name. She relished the feel of her dampening fingers sliding over the sleek steering wheel.

You don’t see obstacles, do you? he asked. You only see challenges.

What are obstacles? she said. She turned down the volume.

The man smiled. Guess I’ll be your prisoner tonight, he said.

She licked her lips, but then tensed her forehead. Where did you get that shirt? she asked.

Oh, this, he said, clutching at his tank top. Custom-made. Only for you.

Just then, the tires squealed as the car flexed around another tight corner. The man flew back in his seat, the smile erased from his cocky face. Tisiphone’s face remained stern.

Did you go to Wesleyan University? she asked.

He chuckled slowly and quietly. No, I’ve no affiliation with the university, he said, with a returning grin. I studied somewhere else.

Where?

Olympus.

Tisiphone was unusually quiet for the rest of the ride after that. She studied the man’s bone structure, chest structure, and what she could discern of his phallic structure, all from the corner of her eye, as she navigated the Lamborghini in and out of the shadows of Levinox. As the tires grasped the nicks and crannies of the road, so, too, her eyes grasped for the nicks and crannies of her strange passenger’s face and mind, out of the corner of her vision, in the reflection in the rearview mirror, in the portraits being archived in her psyche. Finally, she pulled into the parking lot of the silvery Park Hyatt Levinox. The engine murmured into silence.

Here’s our pad, Sugar, she said, sliding open the scissor doors of the automobile and crashing one boot after another next to the nearby puddles by the side of the car.

The man grinned from behind her through the rearview mirror.

The clouds swirled in the overcast twilight, shading most of its weak light. She locked the car and strutted in brisk strides to the hotel entrance. Her companion merely followed.

Bachelorette Pad, said Tisiphone, tossing her Hyatt Aether Passport onto the desk of the attendant. First class. Full dining service.

Of course, said the buttoned attendant, imputing the information into the computer. Right this way, he said, standing up and escorting them to the gold and marble elevator doors.

When the attendant had left them, in the cavernous room of plush, velvet sheets and silk, zebra pillows, Tisiphone motioned to him from beneath the dappled glow of the skylights. I’m ready, she said.

He came to her slowly, stalking forward in rippled movements like a tiger investigating a fellow predator.

You know, she began, you can’t conquer the Conqueror until she’s conquered the world first.

I know, Tisiphone, he said. But the Class of 2000 voted you alone Most Likely to Conquer the World.

She squinted. Who gave you the yearbook? Or are you just a stalker?

He laughed and glanced at a Japanese crane imprinted into the rug. I’m no stalker - I’m a scientist. And you are the object of my study.

What shall I call you, then, Mr. Scientist? she asked.

Call me Jonah, he said. I’ve come to be swallowed whole.

She sprung around and onto him, pinning him down to the bed. The coils lashed back and forth from the impact. Her tongue dove into the void that was his mouth.

Well, he said, when she finally gave him reprieve, I think I’m gonna really like this.

* * *

Several hours later, a suntanned hand swept through the velvet sheets, scouting for a warm body. Instead, it reached a pillow, and crumpled it like an origami crane.

Tisiphone mumbled in her sleep, not yet fully awake, until an eiderdown feather flew up one nostril, making her sneeze. Her eyelids opened; her eyes stared at the mass of feathers over the mattress.

What? she asked herself, staring at the mass of feathers that had once been the pillow. It seemed that, somehow, she had shredded the pillow in her sleep.

She got up, washed her face, put on and adjusted her bra. Gazing into the golden bedroom mirror, she smiled at herself and then clenched her teeth.

Another face appeared behind hers.

She yelled and punched forward by instinct, smashing the mirror. She yelled, surprised by the force of the blow.

I didn’t know your strength was increasing this quickly, said Jonah, as she turned to face him.

I didn’t know men still walked after a night with me, said Tisiphone, giving a look at his briefs.

Oh, succubus, but I’m not just a man. I’m a scientist. Assignment Yggdrasil.

A smile formed at the sides of Tisiphone’s lips. And what is Assignment Yggdrasil?

Assignment Yggdrasil is the special military operation that will save humankind. Hey, don’t you smirk at me, Ms. Most Likely to Conquer the World. We’ve come a long -

What? Tisiphone said. I’m sorry, but I’ve had many suitors in this life. They all claim to be something, but they tend to tell magnificent lies to try to impress me. So, I’ll listen to your stories, but don’t expect my belief.

Jonah replied, The scientists who studied Myna weren’t so dubious. But I don’t have to explain that to you. You were there when the authorities informed you of her unnatural death, in the unfortunate year of 1988, when investigators concluded that she took her life in the bathtub with a hairdryer, of all things -

His words were suddenly choked by the vise grip of a hand locking his esophagus down to the floor. What did you say about my mother?

His limbs flailed. She released her grip just enough for him to breathe.

Haaahhh - your mother - he began, still gasping for air, your mother was a martyr for America. But it wasn’t just your mother - it was hundreds of mothers - and fathers, sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, grandparents. And, lest I forget, Myna Carter was also my mother - sister.

Her cobalt blue eyes widened.

No, you can’t be - she stammered. You can’t be Menok. Vague memories of a quiet, younger stepbrother inundated her quaking mind.

The police told you I was kidnapped. But that was a lie. I was raised by the military. I was given an elite opportunity. They told me all about Assignment Yggdrasil. They told me all about how our mother’s life could potentially save human society.

What! What the fuck! shouted Tisiphone, holding her temples with her forefingers, trying to numb the pain. She stumbled backwards until her legs hit the bed and her butt fell into a sitting position.

Jonah, Menok, whatever the hell his real name was, got up from the floor and looked at her. He snapped the waistband of his navy blue briefs. Who knew that my stepsister would grow up to be such a good fuck?

She snarled, but remained seated. She tried to say something, but it came out as a growl. Okay, okay, if you really are my stepbrother and all this is true, then why in fuck’s name was Mom killed, and why in fuck’s name would you go along with it?

He stated, "There are individuals, nations, and organizations threatening the mass murder of Americans. They want to end our existence, to unseat American democracy. There’re various ways to do that - sarin, anthrax, neutron radiation. But the most dangerous is bioweaponry. And soon they’ll have the pathogens necessary to wipe out the USA, maybe even the human species.

"But the government has a plan.

"Call it human bioengineering. Call it transhumanism. Whatever you call it, Assignment Yggdrasil is America’s and humanity’s salvation. Through years of experimentation, we’ve been reengineering a multitude of citizens to survive Ragnarok, the obliteration of America...or even the human species. We call them Lifs or Liftrasirs.

You see, in Norse mythology, Lif and Liftrasir are the last man and woman, who take shelter in the supernatural ash tree Yggdrasil before civilization is annihilated during Ragnarok, doomsday. The legend states that Lif and his wife Liftrasir will ensure the survival of humanity.

Tisiphone cocked her head to one side. What does that have to do with Mom?

He smiled. Our mother was one of the test subjects.

Holy - Tisiphone started to say. It felt as if the majestic cranes in the rug design had collectively stabbed her with their spear-like beaks. Her right hand squeezed one of the ornate, golden bedposts. She heard a crack, but kept her gaze straight ahead.

Are you familiar with the endosymbiotic theory? Menok asked. "Well, let me give you a refresher course. The theory states that eukaryotes evolved from different species of prokaryotes living in symbiosis, and that at least one species lived inside the body of another, which is endosymbiosis.

"Eukaryotes are organisms with encapsulated organelles, members of the taxonomic domain Eukarya. Specifically, animals, plants, fungi, and protists. Prokaryotes are organisms without encapsulated organelles, members of the domains Bacteria and Archaea.

"Scientists believe smaller prokaryotes survived entrance into, or engulfment by, larger prokaryotes. Some of the endosymbiotes, the inner symbiotes, may have been members of the photosynthetic phylum Cyanobacteria, a form of bacteria able to create energy using sunlight, just like most modern plants. In fact, the cyanobacteria may have evolved into the chloroplasts that conduct photosynthesis in plants. Some other endosymbiotes may have been members of the order Rickettsiales. They may have evolved into mitochondria, the organelles that perform cellular respiration in most eukaryotic cells.

We considered this in one of our studies to create the ultimate transhuman, the Lif or Liftrasir. We experimented with a special endosymbiotic bacterium, which we named the ‘pyrochondrion,’ or ‘pyrochondria’ for the plural form. In studies involving some mammalian species, we documented how the pyrochondria temporarily increase physical strength by an immense factor. They do this by influencing such things as the production of adenosine triphosphate and epinephrine. We tested to see how well the pyrochondria would take to human bodies. While some test subjects were aided by the symbiotes, the cellular metabolism of most subjects was lethally disrupted.

Tisiphone glared.

Our dear mother, Myna Carter, died not by suicide. Mom was a test subject for Assignment Yggdrasil - but she did not survive the test.

Tisiphone felt something pumping, uncoiling, burning inside her. Her grip on the bedpost tightened more, until she heard another crack. She looked at her hand...and saw her fist holding a piece of the shattered metal.

She swore in Luxembourgisch.

You’ve been given the grandest gift any human could have, he said. Congratulations, Tisa, you are among the chosen. You will survive to save America.

Did you just infect me?! she screamed.

He shook his head, beaming that same creepy smile. "The U.S. military transformed you long before our reunion. Come on. You’re a smart girl. Think about it. How do you think people fight a war? Because this is war we’re fighting. If our opponents are willing to send anthrax in the guise of an ordinary business letter, then we have to be willing to use similar means to ward off their attacks. So we put a special gift in your everyday medications, a counteragent made to combat their munitions. In some ways, you could call it a vaccine, a vaccine for Ragnarok, doomsday.

Unfortunately, most of the other test subjects didn’t live as long as you have. You, Tisiphone, are a miracle.

Her forehead dripped with saline. Her arm muscles tightened.

So you experimented with this technology without people’s knowledge? You made people test subjects without their consent? she asked. Her throat felt like it was about to spew fire.

Are you ungrateful? We granted you survival. When humanity dies, you, as one of the transhumans, will endure, he said.

Dr. Frankenstein, she whispered.

Menok. I’m your stepbrother, Tisiphone.

A coppery sheet of street lamp light beamed over his figure.

She cursed him internally. Ungrateful? said Tisiphone. Menok and the furniture reddened in her vision, as if her eyes were being coated with blood. "That’s not something I should be grateful for. You experimented upon me without my knowledge. You risked my life and disposed of the life of our mother. You selected people for your own purposes and forsook everyone else to this Ragnarok.

"I am not your minion. I am not your acolyte.

I am now an embodiment of retribution, she declared.

He stepped back, just a step, his eyes showing bewilderment and fear.

Tisiphone wondered if he had put a psychedelic in her amaretto, if her eyes were indeed bloodshot. Bloodshot like the eyes of the mythical Erinyes, the Greek goddesses of vengeance, one of which was her nickname.

Tisa - he murmured, in dazed acknowledgement.

She snarled, I don’t go by that name anymore!

She yelled. There was quick movement. Shreds of carpet flurried like confetti.

Menok’s gloating smirk came undone.

Chapter 2

Sunday, April 16

12:47 a.m.

Zander Freeman breathed in and out with slow, deep breaths. Shadows danced across the walls, around the moderate light cast by the burning orange wax and amethyst purple liquid in his beautiful, hypnotic lava lamp. With his back resting on the wall and his legs crossed, he hummed a tune that gently followed the rises and falls of the lamp light, flowing and ebbing in tandem with the waxing and waning of the moonlight through the midnight blue clouds. His dark eyes remained open, though glazed.

On the wooden shelf overhead, sat a somewhat frayed copy of a novel Ms. Jackson had bought him from a thrift store. Zander pondered it for a moment as he continued his musings. Zander had just started reading it a week ago and he found it amusing and intellectual. He grinned just slightly, before the shadows of the clouds darkened the room and his thoughts. He knew that the day was coming, that in just hours his memories of the book’s story might be gone, and perhaps even his ability to concentrate long enough to sit and read more than a page at a time.

His humming