Getzi Chronicles: The Alpha Experiment

By Kyle R. Sullivan

A highly classified military experiment turns disastrous when its test plane veers off
course and crashes somewhere just off the Gulf Coast in Mexico. The effects of the doomed
project produce a strange phenomenon that eventually begins to threaten the local
environment and continues to expand. If left unchecked, its invasive effects will threaten
humankinds existence. While the military covertly struggles to contain it, a group of
strangers find themselves thrown together as they embark on a life-changing adventure.
Though these unlikely comrades find themselves pitted against overwhelming odds, their
struggle to find the truth brings them face-to-face with the unfathomable secret behind the
cover-up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504960045

Kyle R. Sullivan

Being creative has always been a part of Kyle R. Sullivan’s lifestyle, both as a tradesman and as an art enthusiast. Trading the brush to handle a pen was the next obvious step in exploring the arts. However, as a concerned parent in an ever-changing techno-digital world, Kyle wished to use fiction writing as a tool to become the best role model he could be for his son. His lesson? It’s sometimes all right to put down the controller and pick up a stylus.

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© 2015 Kyle R. Sullivan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/23/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6003-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6004-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015918501

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

1 The Gathering

2 Captured

3 Prison Life

4 Escape

5 Survival

6 Rayberdyn Industries

7 Aluxob

8 Strength in Numbers

9 Alpha Project

10 Final Test

11 Loyalties

12 Betrayals

13 Wrap-Up

Prologue

There will be a time in our not-too-distant future when humanity will separate themselves in bubbled cities, spotting the earth between vast wastelands and old cities left in ruins. These broken buildings will be all that is left of what we presently call our advanced civilization. I, Taugla of the Tolhautuc, have seen these things with my own eyes.

It wasn't war or terrorism that brought society to its knees, nor was it high crime rates and heavy tax levies. No, we have always lived under these burdens and have always learned to survive. The real enemy is much more base and insidious. Our enemy is greed. From the moment man began to walk this earth, there has hardly been a time when this vice has not touched or controlled us, and for many, it has even changed us. Dr. Johan Markova is one such example. He was---or, rather, will be---an outstanding scientist in the fields of biomechanics and nanotechnology. In the year AD 2293, he will spearhead a massive leap in human advancement that will change civilization, ushering in what comes to be known as the Nano Age. His invention will shrink computer technology to a sub molecular level, making it possible to inject powerful miniature bio-machines into the human body. As a result, sickness, disease, and age degeneration will be virtually stricken from mankind's future. Sadly, by the year 2298, government legislature will forcibly procure the rights to Markova's technology, intent on using it in any area of science and technology they deem fit.

After receiving that government mandate, Johan Markova will leave his home and family behind in the lap of luxury and venture outside of his bubble-enclosed city. In harsh night winds, braving the dangers of the criminal underbelly, Johan will search for a weather-beaten cave that housed his grandfather's old laboratory. Once there, he will unleash his nanotech, bringing with it unspeakably devastating ripples in the dimension of time. As these waves of disaster expand, they will eventually consume anything in their path, until their abysmal center brings Earth's existence to a finish---unless, of course, we act now to prevent it.

1

The Gathering

On a chilly spring night, the echoing thunder of low-flying fighter jets split the air as they hurtled by a large air force base in the Mojave Desert. Both in the air and on the ground, security ran high where an unusual test flight was about to begin. On a lengthy desert runway, a lone F-14 fighter jet was given clearance to take flight. Just below the glass of the cockpit, the pilot's name, Wing Commander Rick M. Stone, was boldly stamped on the plane's fuselage. Being an eight-year veteran test pilot, he customarily checked his analog titanium watch before each mission. This time, it read 9:15 p.m., and the date window cut out of the black-faced watch showed that it was June 14. On the canopy glass near the instrument cluster, a pair of small pictures stole his attention while he waited in the cockpit. One weathered picture was of himself as copilot at the young age of twenty-one with his eleven-year-old brother seated on his knee, posing with his pilot, in front of an F-14 Tomcat. It seems like a lifetime since that picture was taken, he thought to himself. As was his custom prior to every test flight, Rick reached down and plucked the picture above the first one. This picture was also one of himself, when he was much older and his brother was a young cadet. His brother had just finished his basic training and been assigned his first tour of duty with the Blue Beret. Rick replaced the picture and strapped on his face mask. After acknowledging authorization for his takeoff, Rick launched his jet into the air and banked to the right, where two F-18 fighters closed in along either side of him in tight formation.

In the black of night, Rick could only see the few crimson and blue marker lights of each jet until they cleared heavy clouds. As they burst out of cloud cover, the brilliance of the full moon bathed them. He marveled at the sleekness of their silhouetted forms while wispy threads of vapor clung to the wing extremities trailing off each of the jets. Because of the nature of this particular mission, Rick found it to be the most nerve-racking assignment he had ever done. Even under these circumstances, as with every mission, he still got wrapped up in a tranquil adoration for these high-tech machines. He nervously cast his eyes down to his control panel. Only a small control mechanism betrayed the presence of something that the Air Force would categorize as sensitive. Black-and-yellow striped warning decals decorated the rectangular box with the word Experimental, setting it apart from all of the other instruments just above his knees. There, a small T-handled lever that slid along the center of the box was paired with an abort button to the left of it. Rick slid the lever forward, activating the device. For a brief while, his jet surged ahead of the others, then without warning, his plane began to shake with heavy vibrations that increased in intensity. After fifty seconds, the tremors were so extreme that Rick felt they were detrimental to the operating systems. Rick pulled back on the T-handled control lever, cutting off the power to the component, but the unit did not respond. Before long, a malfunction warning light flashed on the box. Rick's F-14 began to emit a strange blue glow that got increasingly denser. Rick glanced anxiously at the escorting planes as they pulled away, performing evasive maneuvers. While wrestling with the control stick of his faltering test plane, Rick tried pushing the abort button on the box, but that too had no effect. Amid jumbled words, he heard orders from flight command: Abort mission. Abort. Repeat. The true sense of that order became clear when he heard the intermittent buzz of his aircraft's missile lock system as it activated.

Rick scrambled to think of alternative solutions to his predicament and opted to dump the main part of the experimental device located in his cargo bay. That too malfunctioned. Both F-18 escort planes were now in full strike mode, firing two more missiles at their target. Only seconds remained before four stinger missiles would destroy the faltering aircraft. As hurtling missiles closed in on his plane, Rick frantically yanked the ejection levers as a last resort. To his dismay, for some unexplained reason, the rocket ignition system to the ejection apparatus also failed. In fact, by now, every electronically operated system had gone completely offline, shutting down the plane's functions. Entombed in the cramped, blackened space of his cockpit, Rick began to feel the certainty of his imminent end as the plane glided to its doom. A hazy blue glow began to surround the jet, intensifying with such density that the plane became hardly visible. Almost as if weighed down by the invisible mass, his jet sank slowly from the sky. All four missiles pierced the blue aura in consecutive pairing. Each pair slipped into the haze and vanished as if devoured.

Shocked beyond belief, Rick pulled his mask away and desperately attempted to maneuver his stalling plane again in its slow, gliding descent. With all his might, Rick tugged at the control stick, frantically throwing his full weight against it, but the aircraft kept on its lethargic course, sinking steadily toward the earth. Rick assumed that the attacking planes would switch to their guns as a logical next step in accomplishing their mission. He could hear the high-pitched whine of twenty-millimeter rotary guns as both F-18 fighters baptized his aircraft in thousands of rounds of armor-piercing bullets. The gunfire had even less effect on its target. Bullets sprayed in every direction as they bounced off of the almost-solid, dense blue shielding of Rick's jet. Having drifted far off course, both escort planes followed the test plane as it descended toward heavy tropical forestry. Rick was lost. The cool-headed, calculative reflexes he was known for brought no relief to his dire condition. He knew his fate was sealed to a fiery demise. Resigned to his fate, he clutched the pictures stuck to his canopy as regretful tears welled in his cool blue eyes. He heard no sounds as his jet skimmed light branches and felt no jolts as heavy forestry interrupted his path. He heard only the low, eerie hum of some foreign mechanism that powered his shielded plane into its final resting place. He pushed against the canopy as a final effort to brace for impact. The attacking escort planes stayed at a safe distance from Rick's crippled fighter jet as it cut a channel through heavy tropical forestry. They could not see Rick's plane from their vantage point; it was now a large, glowing ball of blue plummeting into a wet, marshy grave. They saw no explosion or shrapnel, just the explosive effect of an object colliding with mud, water, and marsh vegetation, followed by stillness as they circled above the impact site, watching the glowing orb sink into the murky depths of a large, swampy lake.

***

Five years had passed, and the young Blue Beret cadet from Rick's photo had grown to become a seasoned ranking officer who spent much of his time searching for answers. Though the military had released a limited report about the accident that had caused his brother's death, John was not convinced that so-called pilot error was to blame for the accident. He searched relentlessly for reliable information. Eventually, his extensive investigation led him somewhere off the coast of Campeche, Mexico, just east of a large lagoon where there was a deep bay that resembled the shape of the head of a large snail-like creature. Finally able to pinpoint the location in that bay where his older brother's plane had gone down, he forced his way through dense tropical vegetation, wearing rubber hip waders. As his boots pressed thick clusters of frail shrubs into the soft earth, John thought of fishing as a good way to relax and sort out what was important to him while scouting the surroundings. Three days of scouting had turned up nothing of notice, but on this humid, overcast day, he was about to stumble into a seemingly small event that would eventually open many doors for him.

In a marshy cove of that same bay was an attractive blonde woman named Delores Clark. She had made that cove a focal point of interest. Though her studies were closer to the realm of human biology, the young doctor had chosen to center her career and passion on preserving the planet and its ecosystems. For the past three years, she'd been meticulously studying many changing balances in this particular wetland, Cooper's Bay Marsh, in order to stop large-scale chemical dumping. One industrial giant, Rayberdyn Industries Inc., held her undeterred interest for two reasons: first, her humble career beginnings stemmed from that establishment, and second, she had long suspected that corporation of handling their waste in a shady manner. Thus, on every early morning such as this one, even though the entire bay and lake area was deemed restricted government property, she would steal away into the forest and continue her work.

Delores bent to sample the lake water with a pair of small vials while tossing her heavy braided blonde hair over her shoulder. She held the vials carefully as she reached into a pocket of her long white smock and pulled out a tiny syringe. Delores injected a colored chemical into one of the vials and swirled it vigorously. She shoved her hand into a side pocket of her tight khaki shorts and plucked out a small recording device as she knelt at the water's edge. Dr. Clark held the vial high against the cloudy sky, scrutinizing the substance's fluidity. She pushed her large-framed glasses farther onto the bridge of her nose with the back of the hand that held the recorder as she glanced up toward the massive high-tech industrial factory. To Delores, that building was an immense eyesore amid a lush paradise of peaceful green. Its white concrete walls stood at the top of a large hill like a rampart against the forest, with a pair of mammoth size round solar collector panels affixed to the roof, like mechanical ears. The doctor carried the vials to a small, portable workstation about twenty paces away and placed both vials into the cavity of a machine that measured bacterial growth. She carefully observed the LED display as a cascade of numbers gradually slowed and became static. Delores began to document her findings on her recording device.

One o'clock, August fifth, thirty-one degrees Celsius. That's, um, close to ninety degrees Fahrenheit. All contamination levels are well below tolerance. Her deep blue eyes continued rifling through the list of digital numerals. She continued after a long pause. Odd---bacteria levels are also alarmingly deficient. How is it possible that this water is cleaner than it's been for decades? She shook one of the vials against the sunlight again. A vibration from her cell phone shook her other smock pocket, and she absentmindedly reached in and answered it. It was an old friend working at a government agency called the Federal Resource Inquiries and Engineers Division. His familiar voice sounded slightly rushed and desperate.

The results from the samples are back. Everything checks out, but that sample also has some sort of strange component in it. It's a base chemical that is not known. His nervous voice paused, then he added, It does not exist! Delores offered no response; she just stared at the vial, deep in contemplation, wondering what was going on in that bay. The voice of her friend continued. By the way, watch your back, Doc; a few suits came and confiscated all of the data that I had on this, and they asked a lot of questions about my source. Right now, they are in the main office combing through our backup database. They aren't EHI, he said, referring to the Environmental Health Investigations, and they seem to have a lot more clout than the CPs, he guessed, referring to the Civilian Police Force. I've got to go. Be careful out there.

Delores hung up and immediately began packing up her equipment. She knew the seriousness of having an entity as powerful as the Black Dragon Operations Division of the military following her trail. They were rumored to be an invisible organization that handled so-called sensitive situations that fell beyond normal governmental jurisdiction. She rushed to pack up the things most important to her first, but she was already out of time. Suddenly, two well-dressed men in dark suits approached out of the dense forest, wearing optical pieces and listening headgear. Delores instantly realized her dire position and knew it was useless to secure anything now as she gauged their approach. In both trembling hands, she clenched two five-hundred-milliliter glass beakers. As her heart quickened with each step that they took, she readied herself for flight. Without wasting her thoughts on her panic-ridden body, she threw both beakers with all her might at the closest attacker and then burst into a dash for the cover of the jungle just yards away. She felt she had a small enough lead to make it to her Eco-Jeep. As she dashed through dense jungle vegetation, she glanced over her shoulder to check the distance of her attackers. They weren't following her; they seemed to be more interested in demolishing her worksite. Her anxious panic subsided, and she slowed her pace. Within a few yards, she would safely reach her vehicle and escape. Without warning, she crashed into the pillar-like body of another Black Ops agent, while a fourth agent slammed the hood to her small jeep. It was clear by the way the agents had positioned their vehicles to sandwich hers in that she would not have escaped their clutches even if she had somehow reached her Eco-Jeep. Delores tried to struggle and scream, but a damp cloth smothered her mouth and nose. The earth around her began to spin rapidly, and her knees lost their strength, making her body slump into the man's arms. She had lost all of her strength to fight. She could only breathe out a whimpering murmur as she watched her attacker quickly bind her wrists and ankles with duct tape. One agent swiftly scooped her up and carried her to one of the bulky SUVs that sandwiched her jeep, where he effortlessly tossed her into the driver's-side backseat as if she were a sack of potatoes. The second agent quickly got into the driver's seat of the bulky black machine. Delores thought she was hallucinating when she heard a calm, authoritative voice jab at the two agents as one of them was about to close her passenger door. She clawed herself into a seated position to see if her ears were hearing things.

Now, that's no way to treat a lady! he said, jovially scorning them. The man who appeared before the agents had an unimposing appearance. Delores struggled with her partially focused vision while the intruder stood a distance from the open rear SUV door next to where she was confined. A tattered beige fishing hat decorated with an array of small, colorful lures was pressed onto his short, matted dark brown hair. It seemed as though he had been in the woods for days, judging by his unkempt, thick facial hair, and his army-green hip waders looked old and worn under his coat. In his right hand was a long black fishing rod with an expensive reel apparatus ready for use, while in his left, he carried a beaten-up, bulky antique aluminum tackle box. His loose, weatherproof camouflage raincoat blew open as Delores peered past the well-dressed agent standing in her doorway. For a long, uneasy moment, she kept watching the fisherman, who was now standing about twenty feet away, seemingly relaxed. She felt as if she were watching a gunfight scene lifted out of some long-forgotten Wild West movie. She felt a thick, edgy tension in the air.

There's nothing to see here. Just move along, the agent in front of her said commandingly. The tattered-looking fisherman tilted his head down just enough to hide his eyes from the strengthening afternoon rays. He casually smiled and began to steadily advance toward them. The agents exchanged a glance that spoke volumes as the two other agents who had been trashing Dr. Clark's camp emerged from the thick jungle vegetation. Delores strained her senses to follow the sequence of events unfolding before her eyes. She was certain she saw the fisherman burst into a quick dash and slide over the hood of her incapacitated jeep; however, she wasn't clear on how that rumpled man was able to reach the agent standing in front of her door. She only knew that the agent recoiled in pain after being somehow assaulted. She retrained her eyes on the fisherman's lightning fast movements as he charged agents three and four, attacking them with effortless precision without even dropping his fishing gear. By this time, the first agent had composed himself and turned to face the stranger again, while the second agent tried to open the door and exit the driver's seat, but it was too late. Delores felt the SUV violently tilt as her open door sandwiched the first agent where he stood. At the same instant, she also heard the bone-crunching slam of the driver's door and a loud cry of pain as the driver recoiled, clenching his left hand. Somehow, in her mind, the threat to her safety subsided. She knew she had to act as well to escape her captors. An opportunity quickly manifested itself when agent one staggered away from the rear driver's-side door. She had planned on throwing her body out of the vehicle, taking her chances by rolling under the heavy vehicle, but getting away would be a problem since she was still tied up. She decided that anything would be better than waiting there in her seat. Delores