Percivious: Escape

By Jennifer Cook

A vicious insomnia pandemic devolves into a devastating apocalypse, and humanity teeters on the brink of extinction in the thrilling final installment of the Percivious Trilogy, "Escape."

Emerging from the dark side of the moon, the "HELIX" and its crew embark on a desperate effort to save the last of their species—and ours.

An unexpected alliance forms between humans and the XYZ—Earth’s first intelligent hominid species—to stop the pandemic once and for all. But when unforeseen forces surface, Herriden, captain of the "HELIX"—which carries the last of the cetacean XYZs—must make an unfathomable choice, if it’s not already too late . . .

"Percivious: Escape" is an astonishing conclusion to the Percivious Trilogy, in which life as we know it will never be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Cook
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781777377496

Jennifer Cook

J J Cook’s background in marketing across a spectrum of industries—technology, finance, and the arts—brings insight and depth to characters spanning an array of disciplines, ages, countries, and cultures.A J Cook’s current role as a pediatric urologist and director of fellowship education at the Alberta Children’s Hospital has allowed him the opportunity to author and contribute to numerous published studies and hone his writing skills, while his experience as a surgeon—as well as the relationships he’s developed with his young patients and their guardians—has contributed credibility and realism to the narrative.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Herriden

12:12 a.m. / Times Square, 42nd Street Station, New York City

A giant mesh hand protruded from One Times Square. Its 3D billboard made it possible for the artificial appendage to stretch across the street and literally pick the overworked Macintosh apple off an adjacent building, far above the heads of the unimpressed crowd of exhausted insomniacs below.

Herriden, a towering stranger to the city, cloaked in black, stared up at the digital marvel in disbelief as he exited the subway station that served as his portal to New York City. He had accepted the recommendation to first visit Times Square from his fast friend and Greyhound bus driver, Roland, after almost two days spent in his company. As Herriden took in the overpowering, chaotic display only Times Square could maintain, the extent to which humans endeavored to entertain themselves became a concern rather than an amusement to him, for he began to appreciate just how problematic holding the sleep-deprived attention of Earth’s apex species had become.

His education on humans’ vast and varied pastimes had commenced soon after he had left his craft at the bottom of Lake Michigan and started his journey here. It had begun along a beaten path, one intermittently interrupted by the lifeless brown tethers, like tangled ropes, that had impeded his progress and caused him to stumble. The heat emitted from the dying vegetation and the soaring stalks that limited visibility and concealed the exit had caused his pulse to quicken the deeper he ventured into the labyrinth.

The nearest signs of life to Herriden’s entry point had been in the village of Richland, Michigan, population 830, within the Richland Township, about nine miles northeast of Kalamazoo. It was home to one of the twenty best, biggest, and scariest Michigan corn mazes to get lost in⁠—according to Google search. And the family-friendly flashlight experience it promised turned out to be an epic fail for this humanoid cousin, who had landed just miles from its borders.

In an attempt to avoid attracting attention to himself, Herriden had set out on foot once he’d surfaced from the lake that hid his ship. He had left the HELIX in haste, with no thought to his next move and only a compelling conviction that he needed to make his way down to Earth, the planet XYZs had known as Orbyss. At the time, he felt that the walk would do him good, would help him collect his thoughts. That was until he found himself literally lost, twisted up and tangled in a corn maze, reluctant to use a light source besides the basic provision his suit provided.

It was Vanae who had finally come to his aid, but not before the entire crew⁠—save Tirus, who was deliberately absent⁠—had a good laugh at his expense from the control pod of the HELIX.

I’m glad you all find this amusing, Herriden had transmitted. "The navigation on my suit is still syncing to the HELIX. Presumably, it has a vast amount of information to sort through, thanks to your failure to catalog the satellite data chronologically. So why don’t you just go about your business. I’ll sort this through on my own soon enough."

Vanae laughed out loud back at him. Really, Herriden! You’ve been walking for hours on end. Stop playing the hero. You should get out of that maze as fast as possible. It looks impossible on your feed . . . scary as hell.

Herriden shook his head in reply. It was a relief to hear his sister’s voice. The maze consumed him, and with neither of them wanting to open Pandora’s box, the violent farewell between Herriden and Tirus was left hanging in the air. There was no time for resolution, and Herriden’s departure from the HELIX, while disturbing, was only a distraction. His focus needed to remain on the task at hand if he were to have any success with his mission.

For the life of him, Herriden couldn’t imagine why something like this even existed. An elaborate maze of corn deliberately devised to frustrate, frighten, and fracture what friendship existed before its participants ventured inside.

It was with the help of his crew and eventually the HELIX, which had finally retrieved and shared all relevant data with Herriden’s suit, that he made his way out of the corn maze and on towards the Greyhound station in Kalamazoo, where he managed to purchase a ticket for the thirty-hour ride to New York City. This was made possible via the HELIX’s ability to almost instantaneously manipulate the financial system by flawlessly disabling their encryptions with the HELIX’s organic quantum computing ability. The starship was able to create an identity for Herriden, including passport and stock trading account, turning a profit on margin in seconds.

Voluntarily accepting as dramatic a change in mode of transportation as a starship to a bus left both Herriden and his crew dumfounded in a collective state of disbelief. Instead of a journey that his personal vehicle, integrated with his suit, could have accomplished in under an hour, he was left to endure a ride that would eat up a day and a half. All in the name of remaining undetected.

It was only after a grueling day and a half of travel, during which Herriden had at least been able to sleep on and off, that he arrived in New York City, exhausted and still undecided on where he would set up camp. And after all this, he concluded the trip with his harrowing ride on the New York City subway at midnight only to be greeted by a giant hand that fortunately sought out a larger-than-life apple, instead of Earth’s early hominid.

Instinct rather than intelligence guided him towards familiar surroundings. At least what he had learned had been familiar to his ancestors who once walked the planet. Nature had been a learned experience, the best the HELIX could make available to him, during an existence in the stars. The XYZs had been taught to seek solace in nature, organic life, and each other. As scary as the maze had been, at least it was organic. To set foot in Times Square confused him; it was an aberration, the whole digital experience, that had been slowly seeping to the surface, inch by inch, the closer he travelled towards the Big Apple.

Intuitively, his eyes sought out an end to the blinding lights, and with the help of his suit, he started in the direction of Central Park.

As he made his way towards what seemed to be an impressive green space, especially considering the arguably small amount of real estate available on the island, he could not help but be drawn to the elaborate window displays that graced the expensive shops on Fifth Avenue. His interest in the window displays was further encouraged by the not-so-subtle sideways glances from the early-morning revelers once the crowd attached to Times Square had begun to thin out. It was a week before Halloween, and his Lenacyth cape, which would have gone unnoticed in a few days’ time, stood out like a sore thumb, even in the early hours.

That was easy enough to fix. He walked on, the cloak covering his undersuit and personal vehicle for warmth and containment, respectively. Of course he stood out; he just hadn’t paid much attention to it until this moment. In his favor, New York City seemed to be open minded to alternative attire. In Herriden’s estimation, so had the midwestern Greyhound travelers who had tried their best not to stare. However, he had been careful not to expose his face, keeping it hidden beneath the generous hood of his Lenacyth cape.

New York City was a war zone for a weary traveler unfamiliar with the lifestyle, habits, and idiosyncrasies of the planet. Yet it was his best hope for camouflage; its inhabitants would pay no mind to his alien skin tone as it would have involved looking up at him from their phones long enough to notice him through the blurry lens of their fatigue-wrought vision thanks to the global insomnia pandemic they suffered. Herriden also knew that his suit would take care of him should a situation demand it, as it could easily morph to reflect any cover he required. The suit, made of Lenacyth, was fabricated as a black, translucent, mesh-like, living material. It communicated directly with the starship and under Herriden’s command, via transmission, could transform in order to provide protection, camouflage, and any personal assistance required by the one who wore it.

It was the perpetually glamorous window display at Dolce & Gabbana on Fifth that caught his attention. Maybe it was the abundance of florals, the roses, the lavish cascading tables, but most likely it was the mannequins of all ages that called to him⁠—a family, from what he could decipher. And family was something Herriden could relate to, even if his was located on a starship hovering at the far side of the moon. So he decided on Dolce as his disguise, head to toe, blind to the fact that he would be trading one type of attention for another. And with the sweep of his hood to cover his hair, his suit⁠—in a Cinderella-type transformation⁠—morphed him into a runway model of altitudinous proportion. Now fully outfitted in fall fashion, with Dolce luggage in tow containing his personal vehicle, Herriden continued, satisfied that he would now blend in. The transformation had happened quickly on the dark street, thin of its usual crowd at the hour since the pandemic had terminated travel to the Big Apple⁠—so quickly that no one noticed, or if they did, they never took note.

A block away, with only streetlights and the bordering hotels and shops to illuminate it, was the unmistakable green outline of the park. He picked up his pace, ready to sleep beneath a tree at this point. And as he passed by Bergdorf’s and reached the perimeter of the Plaza, a query from the hotel’s bellman caught his attention.

Did you need some help with that, sir?

Herriden had caught the attendant’s eye with his head-to-toe Dolce ensemble, and apparently it had him wondering why Herriden would be heading anywhere past the Plaza this late at night.

Vanae, in his ear, intervened before Herriden could wave away the bellman’s assistance.

She transmitted, "Say yes, because you are staying in this hotel tonight. It’s right beside the park. Ask for a suite with a balcony so you can get some air."

Herriden reluctantly accepted his sister’s assistance. He had to think logically, strategically, because he had already drawn enough attention to himself since his arrival. Starting tomorrow, he had better start blending in.

The attendant led Herriden to the Plaza reception and the solitary staff member on reception duty. Something about him put the two young Plaza employees at ease, employees who were already disinhibited due to the impact of the insomnia. They fired their questions at him without pause. Was he a model or an influencer decked out in the full fall line, looking as if he’d stepped right out of Dolce’s Fifth Avenue window display? Was he coming back late from some private trunk show or party, one that he had left still wearing the merchandise?

Herriden feigned that he did not speak English, shaking his head in reply in order to indicate that he could not understand their questions.

He listened to them continue their inquiry even as he walked away.

There was no way he was wearing a sample size, the attendant commented.

"He likely took off from his private party before anyone could stop him and long after anyone would have bothered to. And what is with that makeup?" replied the receptionist.

Both staff members were desperate to know the secret ingredient behind the pallor of his skin. An inclination for deliberately dyed grey hair had caught on over time, and now it seemed grey skin would be the next hot trend, if Dolce had anything to do with it.

Room key in hand, Herriden made his way to the elevator, as the Plaza’s skeleton staff perused his profile from behind. Tall and lean. He was definitely muscular, but due to the reduced gravity on the HELIX, it was not in a way that would have produced the round dense muscles that he may have formed on Earth. He had the appearance of a wide-eyed, larger-than-life Olympic swimmer or, since he was decked out in Dolce, a wide-eyed, larger-than-life supermodel.

The staff stared at Herriden until he left their line of sight, unwilling to look away from what was unarguably the most eventful thing that had happened that evening. Herriden rode up to the penthouse, where his impressive, albeit traditionally furnished, suite was located. The captain of the HELIX immediately made his way to the balcony, desperate to feel the breeze on his face again, now addicted to the sensation of breathing in the air that surrounded him here on Earth.

As he leaned pensively against the stone railing of his balcony, the fresh air, or air as fresh as Manhattan during a pandemic is capable of, filled his nostrils. Now he knew exactly what his next move would be, the reason he had decided to come to New York City in the first place. It would seem that a suite at the Plaza was capable of putting almost anything in perspective. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow. There was no further need to find shelter or determine his timing; he knew it would be tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the day that he would set out in search of the eight-year-old boy, Albert Xavier, who had found a way to transmit Stop to him as Herriden had looked on through the boy’s own eyes. And before Herriden allowed himself to fall asleep, he transmitted to Albert: I am here now, on Earth, and I can’t wait to meet you.

Chapter 2

Khalid Al Gamdi

5:12 a.m. / Burlington Bunker, Corsham, Wiltshire

Burlington was perfect for Khalid, the Saudi prince and jet-setter who was well on his way to winning everything. The bunker was thoughtfully stationed in the middle of his worlds, with easy access to wherever he might need to fetch someone from. It had been around for so long that the small town paid little mind to his comings and goings. However, as an extra precaution, Khalid had bought the silence of all who mattered. His arrangement ensured that the town prospered, and in return all he demanded was that it remain sleepy to all that went on below it.

Burlington was originally a 240-acre quarry used for much of nearby Bath’s iconic architecture. Once abandoned, it had been chosen for a doomsday nuclear bunker because of the extensive system of limestone caves running under the town. Kept top secret until it was decommissioned in 2004, the bunker was designed to house the prime minister, along with the entire British government and the royal family, in the event of a nuclear attack. It remained, to this day, on the market to interested investors, as a subterfuge. The truth was, it had been purchased via an intermediary on behalf of Khalid et al. in 2007, just ahead of yet another greed-fueled financial crisis.

Khalid had spent nearly a decade on plans for its renovation. He had travelled the world and visited the most luxurious and expensive bunkers in existence for the sole purpose of ensuring that they would be outdone by his. No comfort, entertainment, security, or survival measure was to be overlooked or matched. Painstakingly and personally designing every inch of his five-star private quarters and hand selecting the staff that he himself had vetted, Khalid and his illustrious partners now boasted ownership of the very best a bunker could offer. No detail was too small, no item was overlooked, not on Khalid’s watch; and now, before daybreak, he took the opportunity to silently congratulate himself on his triumph.

Today, having fully realized its destiny, Burlington housed the most impressive underground city on the planet. Nearly two billion pounds had gone into its renovation, turning Burlington into the world’s most secure and sophisticated bunker, and consequentially its best kept secret. Available information provided that the original structure had been decommissioned in 2004 and was still, allegedly, for sale.

Khalid had kept several facets of its original design intact. He loved the romance and terror they elicited from the company he entertained in his underworld⁠—his subterranean palace. The bunker’s artwork, which Olga Lehmann was commissioned to paint in 1943, was retained, and it covered the circus, prehistoric monsters, sports, sailors of bygone days, and mermaids, as well as a once-controversial depiction of a missionary padre being boiled alive in a cooking pot, surrounded by tribal people gnawing on his bones. Truth be told, this mural was what sold Khalid, and others, on the purchase.

Khalid had also kept the pub alive, one of the most popular establishments in the bunker, the Rose and Crown, modeled after the Red Lion, the iconic Whitehall Tavern, a favorite amongst civil servants.

Most impressive was that Burlington featured an underground aqueduct that supplied its occupants with fresh drinking water. The bunker was even climate controlled, maintained at a constant humidity and heat, around twenty degrees Celsius, and it fully supported a commercial farm-to-table aquaculture facility alongside three Michelin star restaurants.

There was no getting in or out of Burlington without Khalid’s knowledge or approval. The bunker’s surveillance and technology went far beyond state of the art, making anything else currently in existence obsolete, be it on or off planet. The extensive roadways linking the underground city formed a labyrinth, one that contained everything Khalid found necessary to conduct his business, no matter how unpleasant it became. And in an underworld few knew existed, Khalid was truly king, the chosen one, who ruled an entire city hidden away from the rest of the world.

Burlington seemed an ideal arrangement for almost all involved, and since its conversion, completed to Khalid’s satisfaction in 2017, it had been the last unknown address for over twenty-seven of Khalid’s business partners and associates. Dr. Cooper Delaney made twenty-eight.

Chapter 3

Cooper Delaney

7:00 a.m. / Burlington Bunker, Corsham, Wiltshire

As his electric-blue digital clock finally turned to 7:00 a.m., all of the lights immediately came alive in his cell. Exactly as they had done on each of the seven days prior.

Breakfast would be served at 8:00 a.m. on the nose. Therefore, in the next hour, he was expected to shower, shave, and facilitate peristalsis in accordance with his digital assistant’s blue reminders. After that he would dress (although remain barefoot) in a fresh white cotton inmate suit (jacket, T-shirt, and pants) in anticipation of his first meal of the day.

Today was a special day as, for the past seven, no meal had been repeated. Cooper oscillated between panic and boredom and had lost his perspective, allocating undue importance to this mundane moment of truth: to see if the menu would be repeated weekly, or if there would be a never-ending repertoire of sustenance variation available to the captive in cell A1-580.

Cooper required exactly sixteen minutes and seven seconds to perform his grooming. He had perfected the timing over the past week. Initially he had considered noncompliance as an option, but the four evenly spaced ceiling cameras in the hall leading up to his cell, which were pointed in his direction, made him reconsider. The thick Plexiglas that separated him from them offered little privacy; so little, in fact, that he had started to fantasize about who might be invading his privacy, and if she (with any luck) appreciated the view.

White⁠—blizzard white⁠—covered everything, including Cooper. If not for the dank humidity that filled the air, one would have had absolutely no clue as to where they might have been.

His cell was a paradox. All was contemporary⁠—modern amenities, state-of-the-art technology, and all the imaginable comforts sixty-five square meters would allow⁠—all but the walls and floor with the industrial feel of concrete. The space was loft-like, and when he had entered it a week prior, he had reluctantly admitted it reminded him, slightly, of his beloved condo clock tower. But the over-five-meter ceilings were a surprising luxury in a space, presumably, so far below the surface.

While no neophyte to the allure of abduction, Cooper had to admit that he was now outpaced. Kidnapping Will had been child’s play compared to what he now experienced.

He sat in the whiteness, a white suit to match. All color, or absence of it, depended on the artificial schedule being created in order to maximize the experience. During a simulated night, when the lights went out, a blue haze would occasionally pierce the absolute darkness in defiance. With this, his only connection to the world beyond his cell, he pondered how long his incarceration would go on as the computer display so rudely interrupted what little sleep he was able to find amongst the sterility.

Through the thirty-five-inch display, he would receive periodic alerts⁠—the date, the time, reminders of his daily routine, which included breakfast, lunch, periodic relief from the enclosed space through a self-guided tour of the school-like gymnasium and back, dinner, then lights out: back to absolute darkness, from white to night. But outside of his digital companion, he had not seen or heard from anyone since he had been escorted to the space.

Just over a week in his cell had him exhibiting early symptoms of social isolation⁠—anxiety, paranoia, stress headaches, and hypersensitivity to sounds and smells. Multiple times throughout the day he would trace an obsessive visual pattern around his cell’s perimeter.

First, he would follow the frame of the door, always ending with its silver handle. Then his eyes would compulsively find the point where the white concrete wall met with the white concrete floor. The path a mouse would take, should one miraculously find its way into the room. This trail would lead Cooper over to the Plexiglas, where he would methodically count the seventy-four dominant scratches, nineteen semiscratches, and four black marks that decorated his window. This transparent wall was his only way out of his prison. It looked onto a hallway painted the exact color of his cell walls, which made the width of it difficult to estimate from his vantage point.

His ocular ceremony neared its end at the black monitor (which had yet to come alive and had no remote or on switch that he had been able to locate during his many attempts earlier that week). And then, at last, the finale, the sliding door that led to the water closet and shower, the only other room, as it were, within his cell. All of this from his position on the bed that doubled as his couch, pushed up against the wall and barely wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders.

Lately he had begun to draw a comparison between his current accommodations and being molded in snow after an avalanche. The cell was white, until night, when it became black, save his clock. The hill had been blinding white until he’d become trapped in a snow-lined jail, then it had also gone black, as had his mind as it raced with panic while imprisoned in the snow.

The avalanche had confiscated his breath as it confined him. The cell slowly did the same as anxiety started to weigh heavy on his chest. And his terror on the hill had been almost insurmountable as he feared for his life, knowing that he might never see the light of day. The same was true as each day