Renaissance Corporation

By James Datta

Buried deep beneath a Colorado mountain range, operating in total secrecy, Renaissance Corporation has been rapidly pushing the frontiers of technology beyond anything most of us can imagine. Suddenly, violently, a well-armed and organized insurrection is launched when Congress threatens Second Amendment rights.
New recruits to Renaissance, Brad Hutchins and his wife Martha, quickly become part of the Renaissance team, which includes an Artificial Intelligence named George, Brad’s former Special Forces commander Gary, and many others. The Corporation puts it’s ultra-advanced computer skills to work, and soon learns just how corrupt the oligarchy that is ruling the U.S. has become. Realizing the U.S. is no longer worth defending, it joins forces with the insurrectionists. The leader of the insurrection, a former Senator from Texas Tom Woolridge, has bigger plans than hit and run attacks on politicians and corrupt law enforcement.
Woolridge realizes that a violent insurrection has little chance of success, so he has been organizing Texas to secede from the Union. With a state of their own those who love freedom can battle the growing tyranny of the U.S. oligarchy on even terms. Renaissance agrees to ally itself with Woolridge and Texas, and uses its technology to blunt any U.S. military action against the new Republic in order to gain valuable time for the new nation to find its footing.
But the U.S. oligarchy is desperate to maintain control — its leaders have been secretly in bed with China for years, and call on its Chinese partners to crush the new Republic. China sees an opportunity to dominate the world, but Texas and Renaissance Corporation have other plans as the battle is joined with naval forces in the Pacific.
Violent and intense, this action thriller, is set in the future but rooted in today’s politics. Both sides use advanced weapons and technology to decide whether our future lies with a free Republic of Texas or a corrupt Chinese CCP and U.S. oligarchy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Datta
• Release date: Sep 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005208349

Book preview

Renaissance Corporation

The future is in its hands

James T. Datta

Renaissance Corporation

Published by James T. Datta at Smashwords

Copyright 2022 by B. Henderson

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Who Is Calling?

Chapter 2 – The AIs

Chapter 3 – George

Chapter 4 – Special Operations

Chapter 5 – Rebellion

Chapter 6 – Insurgents

Chapter 7 – Captain Goldsmith

Chapter 8 – Allies

Chapter 9 – Worse Than We Knew

Chapter 10 – Panic in the Government

Chapter 11 – Texas

Chapter 12 – FBI Raid

Chapter 13 – Groundwork

Chapter 14 – Secession

Chapter 15 – China

Chapter 16 – Pearl Harbor

Chapter 17 – Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 18 – Battle Stations

Chapter 19 – Unrestricted Submarine Warfare

Chapter 20 – End Game

About the Author

Chapter 1 – Who Is Calling?

The video call that suddenly popped up on my computer screen was from an unfamiliar caller. Something called The Renaissance Corp. I had never heard of it, so I refused the call. I was annoyed and concerned that my state-of-the-art privacy firewall hadn’t blocked a call from an unapproved source, so I quickly added that ID to my block list. We had to take privacy seriously. The consequences of failing to use well-encrypted communications or allowing a connection of any kind with a source you didn’t trust could be severe.

The next day it happened again. I was alarmed that whoever it was had managed to get past the firewall, again. I checked the system and blocked them again. Next day, same thing. On the fourth day, the call bypassed all my protective features, and I was face-to-face with an animated figure. It said very politely that The Renaissance Corp had urgent business with me and my wife, and would we agree to have a representative come to our home to discuss what could be the most important offer we would ever receive.

Again, I clicked off the call and rechecked my firewalls. How the hell were they getting past my security? I went online to find out what I could about The Renaissance Corp. There was nothing out there, but no complaints either. Then I dug through my bookshelf to find an old book I’d read years earlier. It was written by a futurist who predicted a second Renaissance. I began to wonder if there was a connection. My curiosity was aroused, but the tech giants were getting better and better, with advances in artificial intelligence and progress in quantum computing technology. They were ruthless about keeping track of everyone — just to help make our lives easier they said. They wanted you to own a refrigerator that would automatically order a gallon of milk when you were running low, and a smart speaker system in every room, listening constantly, so you could order the lights on and off with a voice command. They wanted to track your every movement, communication and transaction to inform you when your favorite fast food place was nearby, among other conveniences. They also monitored for hate speech — if you said or wrote something or even read unapproved material you’d get a polite warning notice. Just letting you know that what you’d read or said was false information and that good citizens shouldn’t spread hate speech, the messages said. There were stories of ordinary people, conservatives like me, having their financial assets confiscated for the crime of hate speech.

Martha and I had no smart speakers or internet connected appliances. We had cell phones, but I spent a bundle on software to encrypt all our communications. Since we were retired, we didn’t have to worry about jobs and the requirements employers were enforcing for their workers. You could be fired for using encryption on your phones. Only criminals needed encryption, they insisted.

The next day the incoming call again bypassed my protections and the animated figure, which looked alarmingly real, again plead the case for allowing a visit from a representative. This time I clicked on the ACCEPT button and set a time for two days away. I was mad as heck and just wanted to confront whoever the hell was doing this.

I almost refused to let the guy into our neighborhood when he arrived, just to waste his time. Like nearly all middle class people in the country, we lived in a gated community, surrounded by walls and protected by serious security. If I told the guards I didn’t know the guy they would not only prevent his entry, but record his license plate and track his activities to find out who and what he really was. But I’d reread much of the book about a second Renaissance and my curiosity got the best of me.

The guy who showed up looked young. Naturally, he was well-dressed and polite, but I saw in his eyes a depth of experience you don’t find in youngsters. His smile seemed ever so slightly mischievous when he told us his name was John Smith. I’m from The Renaissance Corp., he announced. I believe we have an appointment?

We all sat down at the dining room table while John Smith shed his coat and loosened his tie. We offered him some iced tea and he began taking material out of his brief case.

I’m not here to sell you anything, exactly. You’ll either think I’m a total lunatic or a Godsend. What I want to talk to you about could completely change your lives for a long, long time to come, he began.

We’re damn near 80 years old, I said. How much longer can it possibly change our lives?

Let me see if I’ve got my information correct, before we begin, Smith said. You’re Bradley Hutchins, retired, former research physicist at Lawrence Livermore National Lab and assistant under Secretary of Energy, served in the Navy, special forces I believe, PhD in Physics from University of Texas?

That’s right, I said.

And you’re Martha Hutchins, former high school music teacher and composer of a good bit of unpublished music, he asked.

Yes, but how did you know about my compositions? Martha asked.

We have ways of knowing just about all there is to know about folks we’re interested in, Smith said. But that’s not important right now.

What’s important to me right now is how you got past my security systems to deliver your message in the first place, I asked, still angry about that.

We have capabilities, Smith said. But please, let me continue?

Well, go ahead, I said.

"What I’m about to say is going to sound crazy, but you see I have to be careful not to disclose too much before we have your buy in. You know what it’s like out there these days, people make reports. The project I’m representing is highly classified — but not a government project, it’s totally private enterprise — we’re just not ready to have the whole world know about it yet. We aren’t threatening anyone, but we’re asking you not to disclose anything I say today if you reject our offer. If you violate our trust we have effective ways of denying it that, unfortunately, will make you look like right wing extremists.

This is nuts, I protested.

Just give me a few minutes, Smith said firmly. I told you it might seem crazy. But please, would you sign these non-disclosure forms for me?

He shoved the forms and a pen over to us. I read the form quickly and signed. I had to admit to myself that my curiosity was really getting the best of me at that point, even though my bull shit alarm was going off. When we’d both signed a form, he began.

You’ve been selected to be among the first to participate in the next stage of human evolution, Smith said, but there are a number of conditions you’ll have to agree to.

What do you mean, the next stage of human evolution, my wife asked.

We know that you have many books and magazines about leading edge genetics, evolutionary psychology, even futuristic stuff like Ray Clemens— we thought you’d know what that term means, Smith said.

That would be my reading list, I said. Martha isn’t interested in that stuff, so yes, I know what you’re talking about. But that’s all just speculation, right?

No, Clemens’ so-called Renaissance has arrived a bit earlier than even he predicted. I can’t disclose all the details this minute, but I’m offering you the opportunity to participate. You’ve been selected because of your technical background, work ethic, your wife’s artistic talent, and your longevity and good health. Even so, at 80, you’re right, you don’t have all that much time to look forward to, unless, that is, you are willing to completely depart from your lives as you know them today and join us.

Depart? I asked.

Yes, you will both ‘die’ suddenly and will not interact with friends or relatives again for an indeterminate period of time, Smith said. Also, you must invest all your financial assets with us. It will be the best investment you’ve ever made, returning many times the value of your capital in a few years, and your children and grand children will all be taken care of. We’ll let you inform your children — you’ve got two, right? — if they sign a non-disclosure form, but that’s all. Your friends and more distant relatives will believe you’ve died.

Martha was shaken to her foundation. Trembling, she asked And what do we get out of all this?

Another 100 years or more. Plus the opportunity to be among the first humans to make the biggest, most significant evolutionary leap since homo sapiens rose on two legs.

The other requirement we have is that you go back to work. Don’t worry that you won’t have the energy. You’ll be eager to join our team in pushing the frontiers of knowledge — we’re making incredible progress in all areas of science, engineering, biology, the arts, and of course computing, communications, information science. It’s all very exciting, Smith said.

My heart rate was rising rapidly. I began to grasp a science fiction vision of a new life, of renewed energy and discovery. Maybe a chance to make up for regrets of the past.

Are you serious? I asked.

Dead serious, Smith said. There’s a secure website you can visit. Take a picture of my face with your phone and use it to verify my identity and gain access to the website. It will help you answer any questions you think of.

Can we have some time to think it over, Martha asked. This is so much, so suddenly… I, I don’t know what to think.

I understand. Of course you can have 48 hours to make an initial decision. But I must warn you; we have ways of knowing who you talk to on the phone and what you say, who you email and what you write, even where you go and who you talk to face-to-face. If you violate our non-disclosure agreement the offer will be retracted. We have to know we can trust you, Smith said.

I suppose my strong encryption software won’t protect me from your prying eyes, I said.

No, our technology is far beyond anything you’ve ever seen. And your initial acceptance is just the first tentative step, Smith said. You’ll travel to our home base in the U.S. where you can see for yourselves that we’re legit, and also so we can perform physicals, DNA tests and so forth to make certain of what we already believe we know about you.

I have a question, I said. Why us? Why not some of the more famous scientists and more accomplished people out there?

Can you be sure that all of the sudden celebrity deaths you’ve heard about were actual deaths, Smith asked in reply. What you’ve done, or not done, in this stage of human evolution isn’t going to limit you in the next — so trust me, you’ll be alright.

For the next two days Martha and I argued and cried over our decision. Frankly, I was eager to take the offer right from the start. I’d been retired for 15 years and was pretty bored. I had been involved in some fairly significant research at LLNL before I wasted more than four years at DOE, and I missed having important things to do each day. I had enjoyed being free to play tennis and work out at the gym any time I wanted, and we could travel on a whim. But lately tennis wasn’t any fun because I couldn’t move, and even travel seemed more trouble than it was worth.

Then I became afraid I was falling for a scam. I’ve learned that being an intellectual involved in important projects can give one a false sense that you know the truth about, well, everything. They wanted us to invest all our financial assets. Their project is super secret. Yes, Clemens made a compelling case that artificial intelligence would change everything, but what if it was being used for something sinister, something selfish, extralegal even. There were so many conspiracy theories flying around, how could I be sure this wasn’t one of them.

Martha, of course, was reluctant to leave friends and grandchildren. I was fighting old age with a passion, but she was more accepting, enjoying her role as senior matriarch in our family. We spent many hours examining their secure website, which built a cautious, skeptical excitement for me but only seemed to alarm Martha. It explained some of the gene therapy in simple terms, spoke of the artificial intelligence breakthrough that had been made and how that combined with nanotechnology was enabling so much rapid progress. It was a lot like Clemens had outlined, but of course most of the details were quite different.

I don’t believe God wants us to live forever, here in this material existence she complained on the morning of the last day. I truly believe there is life after death — how can our spiritual selves just be snuffed out and gone without leaving a trace? I believe the next step in evolution is a spiritual existence in a spiritual world — call it heaven, but that’s what I know in my heart.

What do you mean by the term spiritual, I asked. If our essence, our consciousness, can be reduced to neurons firing in our brains and information encoded in our DNA, and we could disconnect that from a biological body, wouldn’t that be pretty much the same thing as a spiritual existence? If instead of our personality being embedded in a big sack of flesh and bone, suppose we existed in a sort of universal internet as information transmitted via microwaves. No one could see it, it wouldn’t occupy any space, but it would be you and me.

But that’s not what he’s talking about, is it? she complained.

Not yet, not today, but in a few years, with almost infinite intelligence to work on the problem, it won’t be long.

But what about our souls, she murmured. You can’t recreate a person’s soul on the internet.

Martha, I said quietly, I don’t believe we have a soul, not in the sense of something non-physical, something spiritual, a ghost, that dwells inside our body. Yes there is something unique about all of us, but it’s a mix of genetics and experience. There’s no magic ingredient.

She said nothing further, but went off to fix breakfast.

When I sat down to eat, I said: Can you imagine what you might do with your music when you not only have your youthful energy back, but an almost unlimited IQ? That got her attention.

What is music? I asked her.

What do you mean? she said.

Technically, music is nothing more than hammers on strings, bows drawn over strings, vibrations blown through big brass tubes — a collection of notes that can be written down and fully defined — right?

In a sense I suppose that’s true, yes she said.

But there’s something sublime about Mozart’s music, it’s so much more than just a collection of notes, right? Human intelligence is necessary to discern the genius of Mozart. Remember your friend who desperately wanted to be a composer, but her songs were so mechanical? Her compositions had no soul, you said. Yet they were a collection of the same notes that Mozart used. People are like a Mozart composition — beautiful not because of some magic ingredient inhabiting our bodies but because the sublime beauty of the whole transcends the sum of its parts.

I don’t know, I have to think, she said.

I’m just… I don’t know, maybe tired. We’ve lived full lives; we’ve had children, grandchildren and great grandchildren; we’ve made money, lost money — remember the dot com bust? — and made more money; we’ve traveled; we’ve given to charity, helped others as much as we could; you accomplished a lot in your career; what adventures you had in the Navy; I feel totally fulfilled as a wife and mother; we’ve had a wonderful life together. Isn’t that enough? I don’t see what else we can expect from living longer; isn’t it time to slip away and let our children have the stage?

I had to pause and think about that. She was right, except for the part about how much I accomplished in my career. I had done a lot of research, but in the end I became a bureaucrat. Go along to get along. I hadn’t complained when they implemented the diversity training, and then antiracism training. I didn’t protest when they began cutting our programs that made sure we had up to date nuclear weapons. I was tempted to go along with Martha’s attitude, and I didn’t mention the dark cloud that hung over me, my fear that this was all a huge scam.

What I hope, I began haltingly, is that if, by some miracle, what we’re being asked to participate in is going to reinvigorate both of us — imagine what it would be like to feel that old restless energy we had when we were 21. Imagine having that energy and vastly more intelligence and wisdom and tools to go with it. We didn’t know what we were going to do or where life would take us back then. I don’t think we can know for certain now — but something is telling me we have to… well, take a leap of faith.

In the end it was her love of music that convinced Martha to take the first step with me. That last night before we had to make our decision she sat in the dark at her grand piano. Martha has the gift of improvisation. She can slip into a state of relaxed, but intense focus, the zone as athletes describe it, where her instinct at the piano takes over, free of any conscious effort. In those moments, incredibly beautiful, completely original music pours out almost magically. I sat nearby, unseen but entranced, with tears streaming down my cheeks listening to her. The performance went on for an hour or more.

When she was done, I applauded quietly. "What an amazing gift you have! The only sad part is that no one beside me will ever hear what you’ve just created. What was that music you just played? It was a lot more than just the sound of hammers on strings; that was a spiritual experience, we have no idea how our minds generate such beauty. Imagine where you might take that talent in another 50 or 100 years.

She cried and we embraced. I think that was the turning point for her. Smith had promised that in our new lives she’d be able to take her talent for piano and composing to a whole new level.

That last night I lay awake, thinking back about my life, all the way back to the stupid choices I made in high school. I hated myself for the way I disappointed my Dad. He was a good man and he tried so hard, in his own way, to be a great father. I think he was proud of what I did in the Navy, but, although he didn’t talk about it, I know I caused him a lot of pain and sleepless nights. Other regrets haunted me still, even after all these years. I acted the hard-nosed, fearless UDT warrior, but I still had no idea how I might perform under the pressure of real combat. And I deeply regretted leaving Lawrence Livermore for a big paycheck and a meaningless job at DOE. Now I saw the possibility of another chance to make a contribution, so my mind was made up.

The next day, late in the afternoon, John Smith met us at home. He ushered us into a limousine that was unusual for its spartan interior. The seats were leather, but no minibar, video screens or entertainment. The windows were blacked out so that it was difficult for us to see much out of them as we were whisked away. With apologies, Smith asked us to put on sunglasses that were nearly opaque, and left us almost blind.. After a 30 minute ride we were hustled out of the limo and into a small aircraft, again without windows or luxuries. The engines didn’t sound like normal jet engines, just a quiet whirring, and the thing seemed to take off vertically - but I wasn’t sure.

We were offered bottled water and pre-packaged snacks during the two or three hour plane ride. They certainly weren’t trying to impress us with VIP treatment. We were allowed to remove our glasses inside the airplane, but we couldn’t see anything.

Is all this secrecy really necessary? I asked.

Yes, I’m afraid it is, Smith replied. You’ll understand more when you get the briefings and see our operations. We have newspapers, magazines if you’d like to read while we’re in the air.

He opened a cabinet door to reveal a stash of reading materials. I grabbed something, as did Martha, but it was hard to focus. I hadn’t realized how on-edge I was. I hadn’t felt like that since I was in the Navy, waiting, nerves taut, for the start of a mission,. It actually felt good. Usually when I fly I can fall asleep as soon as the plane leaves the ground, but not this time. I thumbed absent-mindedly through a couple of magazines, and Martha was doing the same. We were seated on a sofa-like arrangement, but buckled in. I took hold of her hand and held it tenderly. I was anxious, and trying to dispel her anxiety helped me control my own. I took a deep breath, but couldn’t find any words to express what I was feeling.

When we landed it was night. With our dark glasses on we were totally blind as we were led off of the plane and into some kind of a van or bus. In just a few minutes I heard what sounded like an airlock door closing, and my ears detected changes in air pressure. Martha, who had no experience with secret military sites, moved close to me and squeezed my hand. What’s going on?

We’re in some sort of airlock I think. They’re equalizing the pressure, I said.

Do you think they know about your claustrophobia, Martha said?

I hope this isn’t a cave, I said.

At last Smith told us we could remove our glasses. When we stepped off the little bus we were inside a large room, a tunnel actually, with rounded walls and ceiling 30 feet overhead. I was apprehensive, but it was big and bright enough for now. There was a guard station at the far end with the usual X-ray and metal detectors leading to an unremarkable doorway. We blinked and squinted in the bright lights as we stepped out.

We passed through the metal detector and entered the facility through the door. The tunnel continued on the other side, but the lighting was much dimmer, with a luminous glow coming from the far end. As we stepped through the doorway, I spotted several figures coming towards us, but I couldn’t make out their faces. As we came closer to each other, one of them began to run — oh my God, Gary, is that you?

Until that moment I believed Gary Walker had died of a sudden cardiac arrest four years earlier, but there he was, standing in the light, a huge grin on his face, his wife Margaret by his side.

Hey, you old geezer, it’s about time, he said.

I’ll be God-damned, was all I could say. Tears of joy ran down my