The Source

By Charles Ynfante

In the far distant future, Humankind is forced to live in hermetically sealed plastic domes. Most of the earth is barren and uninhabitable because of deadly viruses. Somewhere out in that barren wasteland is an Anti-Body Source to fight the deadly virus and free Humankind from their confines. Three individuals risk all to save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Ynfante
• Release date: Jan 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215679869

Charles Ynfante

Charles Ynfante acquired a Ph.D. in history from Northern University Arizona in Flagstaff, Arizona.  He was a Fellow at the United States Memorial Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. He has authored numerous books of fiction. He was a participant in Hollywood motion pictures, television, and theater.

Book preview

THE THREAT

Deedly and I got scared.

The Red Emergency Light was blinking; it was accompanied by a high-pitched shrill horn. We heard the leak and the hissing air; immediately, the Sealant filled the room. The Sealant was an odorless and colorless gas, a chemical band-aid for punctures, and the leak was quickly healed.

A full ten-minutes had passed, but we were still shaking. It was, after all, a frightening, disconcerting experience; if the leak had been more serious, then the result would have been lethal. That’s why each room in every building everywhere was now built with Sealant Facilities in order to guard against such catastrophes.

It’s the third time this month, I stammered.

Yeah, Deedly responded. Leaks like that are supposed to happen only once a year on the average.

No sooner had he finished saying that than we thought of the room’s negative air pressure, which aided in keeping out external air; but that safety feature was insufficient to keep THEM out.

People were still talking about the disaster that had occurred at the City of the Angels eighty years ago in which over four million people died slow agonizing deaths. A sudden earthquake, which, even in this day and age, cannot be guarded against, had succeeded in fracturing thousands of Domes which maintained internal atmosphere at livable levels. The Domes, being fractured, allowed the mixing of the contaminated outer air with the city’s air, and allowed THEM to get inside. The city’s inhabitants became infected; some died within hours and others, days; a few hardy ones hung on for several weeks. In the end, though, each and every individual died. Those parts of the city in which the Domes were destroyed by the quake are still, to this very day, uninhabitable. Against THEM there is no known defense.

Deedly and I are Meteorological Technicians. Our job is to interpret and record incoming data regarding climate, which is tough when it has to be done from an impermeable plastic dome. There are times, however, when we take the Rover, a hermetically sealed Truck filled with equipment and items for sustenance, outside our Dome for a first-hand analysis of a storm in progress or a freshly made fault line from an earthquake. My own sub-specialty is geology; Deedly’s is viral mutagenesis. It is this fact that makes our duet a quite sought investigative unit.

Deedly Clonnay comes from a family of scientists and technicians extending back to his great-grandfather, who lived in the late 27th Century. As for myself, Plex Clay, I am not from a distinguished family. In fact, I, as so many others, was an orphan, raised by chance and loving hearts. I found my way into my present occupation after ten years of formal training.

Our Research Dome is located about two hundred meters above ground-zero surface on the edge of the City of the Numbers. On the right, toward the west, is the vast metropolis with thirty-seven million people. Perfect gray cubicles of houses, factories, and businesses stacked and situated in no logical sequence as far as the eye can see toward an endless horizon. The only structures that have order are the thousands of Domes, each of uniform size and height, laid out in pretty rows. The Domes protect the people inside.

To the east outside our Dome there is nothing. A wide swath of empty land, flat and uninviting and deadly. A mountainous terrain was barely visible at the horizon.

Our Research Dome is directly between these separate worlds. I can look toward the west and turn my head to look toward the east.

For the most part, our twelve-hour workday is routine. The quantum computer maintains its monotonous regularity, running predictably. Mundane is the password.

THE MISSION

It was 10:30 a.m., a bright Monday. Suddenly, the hatchway opened and there he stood. A distinguished man forty-eight years, his already white hair added to his bearing. His aqua-marine colored Command Center uniform was impeccable.

Mr. Clonnay, he greeted as he stepped into our work-office. Mr. Clay, to me.

That a senior member from the Command Center, Commander Lively, should see us in person was unusual: I don’t remember it happening but twice before. His presence was a prelude that the message or statement carried was important.

Excuse me for interrupting your work, but what I have to say requires an action on our behalf that is urgent.

Deedly was already listening intently.

As the Commander spoke, I realized he had such a charming way that I would forever remember the man more than the words. As he spoke, his eyes swept over the baked earth of the open spaces to the east. His pupils dilated and his entire manner became sad. At times, he gazed longingly and with wonder at the barren landscape. His line of sight slid smoothly across the linear horizon with an uncanny precision. His hands were sometimes relaxed at his sides; and, at other moments, for reasons which I could find no pattern, he clenched them. His voice maintained its reassuring melodiousness and did not betray the urgency of the situation. I liked Commander Lively