This Number Speaks

By Jason P Doherty

IMMORTAL CLONES ENSLAVE HUMANITY!

When scientists invent machines that extend life indefinitely, world leaders begin working together to control world populations and ensure their own power.
One worker drone named Thirty-Seven must fight the system to keep himself from becoming a scapegoat in the world's most corrupt society. He fights against a the whims of a desert prison dictator named Satan and gets mixed up with Satan's wife, Suicide.

Through harrowing tribulations and gripping battles, Thirty-Seven evolves from a naive servant to fearless leader of a massive pack of fierce disciples. He joins a secret society and learns the truth about how immortality was invented. Coming to terms with the realities of surviving on his own, Thirty-Seven grows and evolves into a wise and powerful revolutionary.

This post -apocalyptic dystopian thriller will keep you guessing. Lots of surprises and twists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason P Doherty
• Release date: Jun 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370134793

Jason P Doherty

Jason is the maternal grandson of German rocket scientist Wernher von Braun's mathematician assistant, Harry H Merrywell, who was U.S. Navy, U.S. Army Technical Team Chief Warrant Officer 2, and fought in World War II and the Korean War. Notable collaborations include Industrial Records founder and cultural pioneer Genesis P-Orridge, Invisible Records founder Martin Atkins, actor Thomas W. Ashworth, (L.A. Law, Criminal Minds) and avant gard artist Steven Johnson Leyba. Jason is also a sometime musician, and enjoys playing Stratocasters. Since 2007, Jason has written several interesting books, including A.I. Civil Rights, the seminal text on the subject. His newest work is a theory on attaining near-light speed travel using electromagnetism, superconductors, and particle accelerator technology. Find more of Jason's work at www.jpdBooks.com Jason lives.

Book preview

PART ONE I: THE STORY

THE FIRST DAY OF MY LIFE

By

Thirty-Seven

I am looking into a mirror. My name is Thirty-Seven. I have black hair and blue eyes. I am keeping this journal for the admittedly selfish reason that I wish for someone living thousands of years from now to read this and know who I was and what I had to say. I am 2 meters and 3 centimeters tall. I am 17 years old and live in Eternalife. Eternalife is a state, like almost all states, owned by a corporation of the same name. I was elected to serve in Eternalife by the government at the age of 13. That's when I was given a name. Until my four year term at Eternalife University (known as ELU) began, I was known by the same name as everyone else whom the government has not yet bestowed an identity upon: Double-Zero. Eternalife is a small state and we have all we need. We have homes, fields for growing crops and raising cattle, and a shopping center. There are two power plants and a water recycling/purification center.

Most of us here at Eternalife are part of the Working Mass and will never leave. It is forbidden to leave and all who attempt such a ridiculous thing are captured immediately and taken away to Hell. Hell is another state far away owned by the government where people are said to be tortured in unspeakable ways. Going to Hell is the consequence for breaking any law, so laws are seldom broken. No one ever comes back from Hell.

As I have mentioned, Eternalife is a small state with only 300 residents making up the entire Working Mass. We also have 3 Governors and 30 Marshalls. It is the duty of the three Governors to watch over and regulate the State, including managing assignments for the Working Mass, making and abolishing laws, and communicating with other States whenever necessary.

There is one Marshall for every ten Workers. This is to ensure a zero-tolerance policy for those who would be foolish enough to break any laws. The Marshalls have exactly 2 assignments. The first is to watch over the workers and make sure that no laws are broken, and the second is to apprehend any law-breakers and dispatch them to Eternalife’s detention center, known as The Dent. This is where they will await transportation to Hell via the Black Bus – a lurching, unwieldy vehicle designed to inspire horror in the hearts of all who see it. Ah, but let us not speak of these terrible things.

Let us turn now to the life that I love: Eternalife. Today is my first day out of Eternalife University. I am the only passenger on a personal train headed for the Eternalife Administration and Processing Station where I will be received by my Ruling Governor, my Assigned Officer and my Immediate Supervisor. I am extremely excited to get started in life and cannot wait to begin working.

Eternalife is a fantastic corporation whose sole purpose for existence is to extend life indefinitely. This is accomplished by means of a process discovered over a century ago by a woman named Patricia Kasabian. Now, this is before the government assigned names. When parents kept their own children and named them at birth. Since then, the government has developed a much more practical class system of naming. The very rich and powerful – or Alphas as they are known – are given alphabetical names, like Caesar Axegrinder. Marshalls and moderately wealthy or important individuals are given alphanumerical names, like Silvernail 88. The majority of people however, especially those in the Working Mass, are given simple numerical names like mine: Thirty-Seven. I like spelling my name out alphabetically instead of numerically though because it makes me feel more important, although I know I am about as insignificant a being as has ever existed.

Let me get back to Patricia Kasabian. She is still very much alive and well. At ELU we were all taught that early in her life while being schooled as a biochemical engineer, she met one of the first Intelligent Machines whose name was Prima Fig. Together they explored new avenues in cybernetic medicine and the development of inorganic life forms. In these experimental studies, they discovered a process by which the collective memories of an organic being (such as a human) could be downloaded and stored in an inorganic medium such as a nano-chip. The memories could then be reloaded into another organic being (such as a newborn). Other discoveries in the fields of age acceleration and deceleration combined with Patricia and Prima’s work to give birth to the miracle that we have all come to know and love: Reincarnation. It was dubbed ‘Reincarnation’ because when the process is completed, an old body is discarded and a new one, containing the memories and consciousness of the old one, takes its place.

No one person is given full access to the details of the procedure. I only know what I do because I have been trained to become a Custodian of Shells. This means that it will be my duty to dispose of the bodies. It is not as morbid as it sounds. Actually, each discarded body, (or ‘shells’ as they are called) are treated with appropriate dignity and each is given a simple funeral service before being burned in a temple specifically designed for that purpose.

Let me make it perfectly clear now that not everyone can afford the reincarnation procedure. It is very expensive and an extensive background check must be performed because frankly, there are some people the government does not want living forever.

I am almost there. I hope everything goes well today.

EYES ONLY

When Thirty-Seven first stepped off the train outside the Eternalife Administration and Processing Station, he could not help but marvel at the absolute grandeur of the place. It was a very simple, yet gargantuan building. It was a perfectly proportioned rectangular prism and pristine white. The empty blue sky framed it perfectly above the immaculately manicured emerald green of the sprawling lawn upon which it stood. It seemed as though the building itself was an enormous doorway into that distant blue.

There was a sidewalk leading from where he stood directly into a chrome-plated door in the center of that white rectangle. He started down it, eager to start something. Eager to become someone real, after 13 years of perfect anonymity and the subsequent four years of training and preparation for absolute cultural assimilation, which was every good Worker’s ultimate goal.

When he was ten meters from the silver door, it opened and a suited man walked out and greeted Thirty-Seven and asked him to please follow. Thirty-Seven was exhilarated as he entered the building. The hall was a perfect blank canvas, devoid of the slightest detail, white floors, white walls and a white ceiling. It seemed to go on forever. He became painfully aware of his own imperfections in the absolute spotlessness of the place. This hall, completely immaculate and absolutely unwavering in its uniformity seemed to have thousands of tiny invisible eyes, which caught every infinitesimal aberration in the symmetry of Thirty-Seven’s being. The man escorting him was equally as intimidating with his impossibly proper manner and flawless stride. Silently, they walked down the hall, making sharp lefts and rights without warning from The Man, until they came to another silver door. There was a name on the door: Maximus Agrippa.

Your Ruling Governor’s Office, The Man said, touching the center of the door, which responded with a soft click proceeded by its slow swinging recession into the room beyond. As Thirty-Seven walked into the room, The Man turned and walked down the hall the way he and Thirty-Seven had come.

The door closed behind Thirty-Seven. This room was much different than the hall. It was dimly lit and the walls looked gray. Long oval streaks of slightly yellowed light poured down across the walls from some hidden, unseen source. The ceiling was much higher in here and there was the black rectangle of a desk far back across the room behind which sat a man. The man at the desk was Maximus Agrippa.

Maximus was the picture of a defined man: not exceptionally tall, short, weak, muscular, handsome or repulsive. His features were so equally proportioned as to suggest exquisite breeding. The brown hair was trimmed respectfully, and the hazel eyes contained a tired wisdom that can only come from countless years of unwaveringly diligent responsibility. When he spoke, it was with the tolerating and patient assurance of leadership.

Hello Thirty-Seven, and welcome to Eternalife, Incorporated. We look forward to monitoring your progress and performance. I would like to introduce you to the Marshall we have assigned to your case. He pressed a small black button on his large black desk and Thirty-Seven heard the silver door behind him whisk open suddenly, and he turned to look.

Three men in proper black officer’s uniforms marched into the room with an air of impossibly regimented discipline and lined up single file next to each other between Thirty-Seven and the door.

Come forward, Concrete 72. Agrippa commanded. The center officer stepped out of line and around Thirty-Seven and stood directly in front of the desk, his back to Thirty-Seven. He saluted Maximus.

Concrete 72! the