Virgo 97

By Italo Maragò

A French reporter mysteriously disappears in Russia. Two brothers sneak into a cutting-edge research facility in San Jose to score the heist of their lives. It's 2024 and life on Earth is about to come to its end. Einstein had predicted it: bee extinction, plant infertility, and consequent human decimation. All this is now a reality. Only the astronauts on Virgo 97 stand between humanity and the Apocalypse. The four brave men are supposed to save the World, but things on the spacecraft are unexpectedly taking a turn for the worse. Sergeant Voclain will try his best to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But time is running out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Italo Maragò
• Release date: Apr 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370545667

Italo Maragò

Medical student with a passion for sci-fi.

Book preview

VIRGO 97

A science-fiction thriller by Italo Maragò

Virgo 97

Copyright © 2016 by Italo Maragò

All rights reserved.

This book, or any portion of it, may not be reproduced or used without the express written permission of the author. The use of brief quotations in a book review is a very welcome exception.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real characters, events or places is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Design © 2016 by Ida Maragò

Digital Art © 2016 by Isa Minen

This book is dedicated to the one I share my life with. The pages that follow are as much mine as they are yours.

A special thank you goes to Francesco Bertuccio and Martina Marmai, who patiently proofread my work.

To ‘Le bogne’, who supported me in the process.

Last but not least to my family, who have always been there for me.

Table of contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Prologue

I am panting.

A trickle of blood runs down my cheek, slow but relentless. My heart pounds so fast I am amazed it's still within my chest. It wouldn’t be that surprising if it exploded, all of a sudden, crushing a rib or two on its way out.

An excruciating pain comes from my leg. It must be broken. As I look down, I see a bulge on the skin where the pain is worst. I’ve seen enough crime TV shows to guess it is my displaced tibia. Hell, I am lucky I am sitting on a chair…

I lost track of time soon after the beating began. Now I lost my memory as well.

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

Another powerful punch to my stomach. Once more I spit out blood.

I'll ask again because it’s your lucky day! Who knows you’re here?

The Russian accent is strong and unmistakable. It comes from a man two-meters tall, stuffed in so much muscle that he seems just as large.

Where are the files? He goes on.

I would love to give him an answer and make him stop, but I don't recall a thing. A blow to my head must be causing the amnesia - it would also explain the blood on my face.

I don't bother anyway. I must focus on the present as my next move may either save me or kill me. And it turns out the options on what to do are rather limited. Option One, I find a way out. Option Two, I surrender to destiny and die a horrible death. Option Three, I can answer his questions - that is, if the amnesia concedes - and most likely end up dead anyway. Yes, Option One sounds like the most appealing.

I start searching the room with my eyes. I’m in some sort of bleak warehouse and the place is dark and empty – my beater excluded. The only object in the room is a ground spotlight to my left, like the ones they use in photographic studios. It may not be enough to illuminate the large room, but it sure is enough to dazzle me. Just past the infernal light source a figure sits in the shadows, his arms crossed. He's staring at me with something on his face that remotely resembles a sneer, but doesn’t speak a word. His silence is infinitely more frightening than the punches I am taking and I look away in a split second or two.

The rest of the place is featureless; the stark floor is in cement and bears no pavement. No distinctive smell or noise neither inside nor outside the building. Nothing whatsoever, except for a large steel door on the far corner to my right. With no other windows or air vent openings, the door is the only path to salvation. It would be good news, were it not roughly twenty meters distant. Right now, twenty meters or a billion miles away are exactly the same, considering that I am secured to my chair by means of tight ropes.

The first step towards the exit is to set myself free of the nylon knots. At the moment, though, my major concern is once again the shouting gorilla and his unorthodox questioning.

Who else is in this with you? The man insists.

I have no idea why I am here, I swear! I try.

You think I’m a fucking fool? A hook to my flank asserts he isn’t.

Where the fuck is the rest of it?

Memories start coming back in disconnected flashes: the flying colors of Moscow Kremlin… Me, scribbling on my notepad in the freezing air of the Russian winter… The rush of blood to my head when I put the final pieces of the puzzle together…

Now I remember! I remember it all!

And, by all means, I'm not telling them shit!

Listen… I don’t know who you think I am, but honest to God… I start in pretended confusion.

My already injured foreleg is the target of a new right kick that would make any professional footballer green with envy. It makes me scream like a wounded animal – I fucking am a wounded animal.

But I won’t give up. All the pain in the world couldn’t make me speak. Not after all I’ve been through. This is huge and they know it. I must run away… I start untying my hands with little writhing movements.

Ok, ok! I’ll tell you everything I know, but please stop it! I beg him in a fake whining – well, say sixty percent fake.

I can work harder on the rope now that I have engaged the brute’s fullest attention.

"I got here two months ago and started my research. After weeks of hard work, I couldn’t find anything in the official accounts of what happened – I mean, nothing. But I didn’t give in. To me, that nothing meant something. So I decided to investigate unofficial sources – it’s amazing what a couple of rubles can buy in this country if you know how to spend them…"

Obviously, they already know all this and I’m only wearing their patience thin… but the knot is loosening.

…as days went by, seemingly meaningless details started to come together, one at a time. They looked like coincidences at first, until a true pattern emerged before my eyes. You see, I couldn’t get the whole picture until the very end, but when I did…oooh aren’t you some slimy bastards!

My capturer is trying hard not to kill me, but he doesn’t strike yet. He thinks I’m getting somewhere and as a matter of fact I am: my left hand is free.

One more to go.

I have proof of what you did, and I am not afraid to share it with the world. You motherfuckers are all in the same boat, and I’m the one who’s gonna sink it!

I show a grin that is as insolent as it could get, and it serves the purpose: One-hundred-forty kilograms of human flesh jolt towards me blinded by rage and contempt. An instant before the impact, though, I lean to my right and use my body weight to fall on the ground. The trick brings the chair sideways on the floor and the huge approaching Russian mass is now targeting nothing but its legs. The crash is inevitable and the man stumbles and falls meters behind me, followed by a trail of shattered wood: the very same wood that was holding the ropes.

I am finally free.

In the milliseconds that follow, I crawl four-legged towards the exit as fast as my wrecking body allows. The pain from my leg is overwhelming but I barely notice as the crawling becomes staggering, and then true sprinting. I must reach the door and lock it from the outside before the torturer gets back on his feet and the boss rises from the shadows.

The surge of adrenalin dampens the pain and the exit is ever closer. Delirious shouting comes from behind me and I look back to see the heavy man clumsily rising from the ground. One of the splinters pierced his right thigh quite deep in the muscle, judging from his wild groan and unstable standing. The other man stood up from his commanding post but unexpectedly never moved from there. He seems still in control as he orders his made-man to come after me. Unfortunately, the latter obeys in the blink of an eye.

Be it the startle of the approaching threat or the ache from my weight-bearing leg, I stumble myself and roll on the ground five meters from my finish line. The irregular footsteps of my zigzagging chaser are growing louder and louder. Desperate and helpless, I ignore them and push myself forward to reach the door. I can’t believe it’s actually working!

In a monstrous struggle against gravity, I lift the bulk of my body to come level with the knob and turn it clockwise. The door is finally open.

Before my eyes, the dark blue night sky lies cloudless and serene. The countless bright stars hover peacefully over the hilly landscape. A crispy breeze caresses my blood-clad cheek. It is a most relaxing sensation.

Freedom.

Then everything goes black…

***

What are you doing? the boss asks calmly.

I’m dragging this bastard back inside so we can go on with the questioning. The man replies.

No need to. He already told us everything.

Huh? A blank stare on the brute’s face.

There’s no other file. Otherwise he would have published it already. Journalists can't hold back information of this kind for more than a minute. And we also know that he was working alone...

How can you possibly know that? He asks.

"Because he always spoke in first person: I got here two months ago... I didn’t give in...a pattern emerged under my eyes. The asshole was so busy trying to escape that he didn’t even notice he was giving us what we wanted." A sinister smile mixed in