Print Article
BookMark Article
The Shell Collector - A Sci-FI Novel
Author : John Cosper
Chapter One
How could anyone ever get used to such a magnificent sight?
Sebastian Harwood smiled as he gazed out the windows of his latest acquisition. The red jet car sailed smoothly over a tropical landscape, a lush paradise forged in the middle of central Texas. Beyond the park, the lights of San Antonio twinkled in the early twilight. But their luster was nothing compared with the scientific wonders lumbering in the darkness below.
“How about some lights, Captain?”
The pilot complied, flipping a switch that awakened bright lamps on the undercarriage of the jet car, causing the wildlife below to stir in reaction to the bright source of light. Many of the beasts ran for shelter in the trees. The larger ones looked up, curious about the strange contraption hovering over them. And in the enclosed aviary, winged monsters fluttered to the top of their cell for a closer look.
“Pterydons,” said Sebastian to his riding companion, pointing to the beasts flying circles round the aviary. “My favorites since I was a kid.”
Michael Horner, the billionaire behind Horner Aviation and the jet car flying over Dino Land Animal Preserve, gawked in wide-eyed wonder. It was his first trip to the park, and like most visitors, he was completely speechless.
Sebastian chuckled at his stunned companion, then gazed out over the park inhabited by so many revived species: Brachiosaurus, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Allosaur, Raptor, and Tyrannosaurus Rex. Names Sebastian learned as a child, now brought forth for all the world to see in their original forms. He told friends and colleagues it was the child within him that lit up every time he visited the park. But truth be known, it was the grown man and ambitious entrepreneur that really grew excited, especially in light of Dino Land’s roaring financial success.
Many had tried this experiment before, some with disastrous results not unlike those seen in the now classic films about a park full of genetically engineered dinosaurs. But the brilliant minds working under Sebastian Harwood at GeneTex had succeeded where others had failed. Dino Land, now in its tenth year, was raking in billions of dollars every month, with a scant few injuries to animal care takers the only chaotic incidents on the park’s near-spotless record. So much for Mr. Crichton and his chaos theory.
The wings of the jet car with their turbo-fan engines started their ninety degree rotation, which signaled to the passengers that their destination was at hand. The car would make a vertical landing on the helipad atop the Dino Land Conference Center. Harwood could see the stock holders outside, momentarily distracted from the dinosaurs by the red jet car hovering over head. The crowd vanished as they floated over the roof and touched down softly on its mark.
“I love it,” said Sebastian, clasping the hand of his long time friend. “Thank you.”
“No, no, thank you,” Michael Horner answered. “Without GeneTex, this car would never have become a reality. I owe my own success to you and your family.”
The story was true for many of the great new companies of the day. Horner Aviation owed its success to an investment thirty years prior in GeneTex, the world’s foremost genetic research company. Michael Horner cashed half of his stock in 2045, a banner year in which the GeneTex stock split seven times in five months. He poured his money into his childhood dream: flying cars. And this red beauty, dubbed the Apollo, was the first commercially available flying car in the world.
Sebastian practically glowed as he stepped onto the elevator. His grandfather’s dream had made the entire Harwood family wildly successful. Indeed, without the vision of Jacob Harwood, Sebastian’s own brainchild, Dino Land, would never have been possible. Jacob and his original partners were more than Nobel Prize winning scientists. They were pioneers whose work represented advances on a par with Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, and Gregor Mendel. For it was Jacob Harwood and GeneTex that perfected a technology that had people living longer, healthier lives than ever before.
And now, Sebastian Harwood was CEO of GeneTex, the world leader in medical cloning technology.
Stepping off on the first floor of the convention center, Sebastian found himself surrounded by people who had gained from GeneTex, financially and physically. As the band on stage played a triumphant march, Sebastian shook hands with Texas oil baron Xavier Dunlop. Now 97 years old, Xavier was both an original investor and one of the first to benefit from GeneTex’s unique products. A liver transplant and a kidney transplant had extended his life twenty years and counting.
Senator Amanda Zucker and her husband Gabriel greeted Sebastian as he passed. The couple had nearly died in a plane crash on their ranch in New Mexico. Were it not for GeneTex, the internal damage suffered by both would have taken their lives three years previous.
Astronaut Roy Hilton, the first man to travel in space with a transplanted heart. Computer software genius Ted Prescott, a huge stakeholder since his son’s life was spared thanks to a bone marrow transplant. Actress Marina Francis, now free from dialysis thanks to a new pair of kidneys. The miracles in the room were surely countless. Sebastian wondered how many others in this crowd, the not-so-famous faces, had received the gift of life. So much good has come from this company, he thought to himself on the way to the platform. Truly, this company embodied the old saying: the end justifies the means.
The applause filled Sebastian with elation as he stepped onto the stage. The band wound up its tune, the lights dimmed, and the video projector over the stage began to roll a short film giving investors an overview of the year past. The new facility in Miami. New patents, and new technologies emerging from the labs. A new contract with the department of defense for top secret research. All of it spelling out the most important message of all: GeneTex was getting more and more profitable, and the company’s investors were going to continue to make lots of money.
Polite applause followed the video presentation, and actor Gregory Bauer, the evening’s master of ceremonies, took the podium.
“Good evening,” he said. “And welcome to the 2051 annual meeting of stock holders for GeneTex, Incorporated.”
More applause, whistles, and cheers, as the evening officially began.
“Tonight we are pleased to be here to celebrate not only the tenth anniversary of Dino Land, but another banner year for GeneTex.” More applause. “We do have some brief business to take care of, including the election of the board of directors. But I want to assure you, we plan to move quickly so the champagne can flow, and you all can enjoy a delightful moonlight stroll through the park.”
More cheers from the eager investors, all prepared to have a great time. The weather had certainly cooperated. No rain was expected, so this would indeed be a pleasant night for a stroll through Dino Land.
“To kick things off,” Gregory continued, “We’re going to hear from a man who needs no introduction in this room. He’s the grandson of the company’s visionary founder, and the current CEO of a company that has given the gift of life to people the world over. Please give it up for Sebastian Harwood.”
Sebastian stood to thunderous applause and a standing ovation. Taking time to wave to the crowd and point at familiar faces close up, Sebastian made his way to the podium at center stage. He held his hands up in a gesture of false humility for the crowd to cease, all the while basking in the moment.
“Thank you,” he said with words drowned out by the crowd noise. “Thank you very much.” He couldn’t even hear his own voice over the applause. “Thank you, you’re very kind. Thank you.”
And suddenly, a strange thing happened. The applause died almost instantly, and a murmur of spoken voices emerged from the hall. Sebastian smiled, taken aback by the sudden change in mood. Something was wrong. Instinctively, Sebastian checked his person, finding his tuxedo was fit perfectly and nothing out of place. He turned to the others on the stage, looking for an answer. That was when he noticed heads turned back towards the video screen.
Sebastian looked up... and nearly buckled at what he saw.
The young woman now featured on the screen was not an actress or athlete or celebrity of any kind. And yet her face was as well known as the President of the United States. She grinned into the camera, looking down onto the bewildered faces in the convention hall.
“My name is Mandie,” she said, an introduction that was hardly necessary. “And on behalf of myself, and all the other fully human clones manufactured by GeneTex, welcome to the annual stock holder’s meeting.”
A few laughs echoed in the hall for a moment, as nervous attendees tried to decide how to react. The laughter slowly gave way to murmurs and even boos as the stock holders realized this was for real.
Gregory stepped back to the podium and whispered to Harwood: "Kind of a rough idea for a joke, huh?"
Sebastian glared at the actor, sweat beading up across his red forehead. "Do you honestly think I would make a joke like this?" He pushed Gregory aside, stalked to the edge of the stage and grabbed a security officer. “Find out where it’s coming from and cut her off!!!”
“I know you don’t believe me,” Mandie continued. “You don’t want to believe my story, and I can’t blame you. It’s not only horrifying, but illegal. But denying the truth will not make it go away. GeneTex is in the business of cloning human beings, or as their scientists call us, ‘Shells,’ for the purpose of harvesting our vital organs and tissues.”
“You’re lying!!” shouted a man down front. Harwood took comfort in the audience’s hostile reaction to the video. But his heart raced as the seconds slowly ticked by.
“But don’t take my word for it,” said Mandie. “In the very near future, I will show you proof of this new Holocaust. And when I do, the whole world will know what has taken place behind closed doors of the GeneTex—“
The screen went to blue, as the transmission finally ended. Approving cheers and shouts popped up throughout the audience, as the stock holders settled back in their seats, ready to resume the business which had brought them all here.
“Before I begin, any of you looking for a new career out there will be interested to know that a ground floor opportunity is now open at GeneTex. We are now taking resumes in consideration for the position of a video projectionist.”
The crowd laughed, and Sebastian allowed himself to relax a bit. He went on with his speech, reminding the audience how GeneTex had given them a brighter today and promised an even brighter tomorrow. As the audience applauded his final remarks, Sebastian turned to take his seat, shooting a fiery glance at the executives seated on stage. Heads would roll as a result of this incident, and steps taken to ensure this would never happen again.
A few hours drive from the convention center, a young, red-headed woman of around twenty-five danced the night away with some locals in a roadhouse called the Chicken House, a place known for cheap beer, fights, and the best roasted chicken within a hundred miles. Jessica was a new face, and had caught the fancy of every boy in the pub. Yet as she laughed and swayed to a happy little love song, a predator looked on at his prey with watchful eyes, waiting for his moment.
Max had spotted him the moment he walked into the restaurant. An unshaven face and hawk-like eyes marked him as a man who was not out for a casual drink. This would make the extraction more difficult for Max, but it was not something he could not manage. Few of these radicals had any real combat training. If it came to a fight, Max would have no trouble coming out on top. The trick was eliminating the opposition without alerting the rest of the bar as to what was taking place.
Jessica fell into the arms of her dance partner, laughing as the song came to an end. Then she made her way back to the bar for another drink. In a back corner, Max caught the eyes of the hunter. The man tipped his drink back, summoning a final ounce of courage. Rogan realized the moment of opportunity was at hand. He, of all the patrons in the bar, knew the reason her life was in danger.
Having watched for the last half hour, Max knew she was alone. A foolish choice, to be out in public without any friends or allies. Perhaps her rescuers did not warn her of the danger. Or like so many others, perhaps she simply ignored the warnings and decided she would go have a good time, despite the risk.
The boy sitting to Jessica’s right stepped away from his seat to dance with another girl. Checking the hunter ' s position one last time, Max took one last sip of his drink, then rose from the booth, headed straight for the vacant bar stool. He sat down without even a glance at Jessica and ordered a club soda.
“Hey there,” the bubbly young woman spoke up. Max looked into her smiling face and could not help but smile back. She was strikingly beautiful, with charm to match. Qualities like beauty and charm were thoroughly unnecessary, but such is the result when the technology geeks of America turn their attention to anything female. Decades previous, these lonely young men with a world of brains but no persona whatsoever for charming the affections of young women satisfied their desires for human affection by creating their ideal women on a computer screen. Ridiculously-proportioned women who could deliver karate kicks and leap tall buildings in a single bound. But genetics had taken geeks a step further, allowing them to engineer their feminine ideal and bring them to life.
“Usually, this is when the man says, ‘Hi,’ back,” Jessica went on. Max realized he had let his thoughts wander a bit, and had yet to respond.
“Hello,” he said.
“There,” Jessica beamed. “I knew you could do it. I’m Jessica.”
“Max,” he answered. He nodded a thank you to the bartender who set his drink before him. He took a sip as Jessica looked on.
“Not a big drinker, eh?” she asked.
“I have a long drive ahead of me tonight,” he said.
“Oh? Where are you headed?”
He turned to her, gravely serious. “To get you out of here.”
Jessica laughed nervously, not sure what to make of such a line.
“You can’t stay here,” he went on. “You’re in serious danger.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jessica was getting frightened, and spun in her seat to walk away.
Max took her by the arm. “I know who you are. And where you have come from.” She looked away, concern sweeping away the joyful mood she previously enjoyed. “If you don’t get out of here, you’re going to be killed.”
A look of alarm crossed her face, but Max could sense suspicion mixed with the fear. "Back right corner, underneath the poster of James Dean," he told her. The man was frightening enough looking to convince her, and when he looked away, she was certain max was not fooling.
“Is this guy bothering you, Jessica?” The young man on Jessica’s other side seemed to puff out his chest as a warning to Max. It was all Max could do to keep from laughing in his face. As if some kid in a bar could match up with a former special forces officer.
“It’s okay,” Jessica said. “He’s a friend. And I need to get going.”
“Can I drive you home?” The young man clearly did not want to lose out to Max.
“I’ve got her,” said Max. He dropped several bills on the bar and led Jessica from the bar. The would-be suitor turned back to the bartender and ordered another drink, another quest for romance ended in disappointment.
A slight drizzle dropped from the sky as Max and Jessica walked out into the night. Max guided Jessica across the street to a black Cadillac. He pulled his keypad from his pocket and hit a button, unlocking the doors of the car.
"Not so fast." Max knew right away who it was. Jessica gasped when she turned around and saw the gun.
"You don ' t want to do this," said Max.
"On the contrary," he said. "The girl is going with me. Step away, and you won ' t get hurt."
"I can ' t allow you to take her," Max said firmly.
"I don ' t see how you have a choice in the matter!" The man was getting testy. Max was now confident he was alone, or else any back-up would have rushed to assist him. That would make it easier.
The man reached out his hand. "Come with me. Now!"
"Don ' t move. He ' s bluffing, he won ' t hurt us," said Max with a sneer, knowing full well it was a lie.
The man moved closer, putting his gun to Max ' s temple. It was the mistake Max had been waiting for.
"Come with me, or I will--"
The words were cut off in a scream as Max ' s hands connected with the man ' s forearm, snapping it in half. The gun dropped, and Max kicked it away. He grabbed the man up by the collar.
"Send word to Dunleavy for me," he growled. "Don ' t waste my time with untrained lackeys any more." He shoved the man back, and the wounded hunter staggered away to his car.
Max took Jessica by the arm and led her back to the car.
"Thank you," she said.
"Don ' t thank me just yet," he said. "We need to leave quickly."
“Where are we going?” asked Jessica.
Max took her by the arm. She felt a sharp sting just above his hand, and looked to see him removing a hypodermic needle from the spot.
“What was that?” she asked, feeling suddenly woozy.
“A little something to keep you calm on the way home,” he said.
“Home?” She leaned heavily on Max as her head began to spin.
“That’s right,” he said. “GeneTex Labs.”
Jessica lunged to escape, to drowsy to go anywhere. Max caught her and guided her to the car. “Why are you doing this?” Jessica asked. “What did I do to you?”
“It’s not me,” said Max.
Terror filled Jessica’s mind, but only for a few seconds as she drifted out of consciousness. Max opened the car door and guided her into the passenger seat, strapping her down tightly. All too easy, he thought to himself as he got in the driver’s side door. True, the presence of the man from Humans First had troubled him, but the inexperienced terrorist had actually made his job easier. Perhaps he should hire an assistant, and always use a decoy.
It would not always be this easy; Max knew that. But the anonymity he now enjoyed with the anti-cloning factions meant easy pickings for GeneTex’s secret weapon in the war to maintain their corporate secrets.
Chapter Two
Harrison Block could feel the sweat soaking through his undershirt. He knew that look on his boss’ face, and it usually meant the end of a career for whoever was on the receiving end. Sebastian Harwood paced like a caged lion in between glances at the chief operating officer of Dino Land. Harrison sat silent, awaiting the word to clear out his things and turn over his keys.
Sebastian stopped once again. He turned to Harrison, then to the other man in the room, GeneTex’s vice president of finance, Rick Reagan.
“Rick,” said Sebastian. “Mr. Block has stated clearly he has no defense for what happened. Further, he has yet to provide an explanation for how Mandie made her little cameo on stage. Perhaps you would care to say something on his behalf.”
Reagan hated being put in the middle, as he often was. A long time friend of Harwood dating back to college, Rick Reagan often received questions on matters he’d rather not comment on. The termination of Dino Land’s most successful leader (until tonight) was just such a question.
“It could have been worse,” Rick offered. “The press was kept out of tonight’s meeting, and our audience was hugely sympathetic to our side.”
“But you and I know we cannot bank on sympathetic investors!” Harwood snapped. “So long as her actions go unchecked, the risk will remain. That shell can destroy us. We simply cannot afford risks like we took tonight.”
“Forgive my asking,” Block said, “But didn’t you all capture that Mandie six months ago?”
“We’ve snagged a dozen shells that should have been Mandie,” said Reagan. “Unfortunately, they were all decoys. Either that, or different shells are filling the role.”
“Maybe if you all made the shells look more distinct...” Block suggested.
“Homogenous clones are more economically feasible,” Reagan answered. “Plus, there’s less chance for mutations and flaws.”
The phone on Block’s desk rang. He looked up at Sebastian, uncertain if he should even bother to answer. Harwood gave an approving nod. Block picked up the phone, hoping and praying for a miracle on the other end of the line.
He got one.
“Block... Yes?... Please, send her in immediately.” He hung up the phone. “Mr. Harwood, I have good news.”
The door opened, and a tall blonde woman in a sharp outfit entered, her ID badge revealing her status as Dino Land’s chief of security.
“May I present April Gertz,” said Harrison Block. “Chief of security, and the bearer of good news for all of us... I hope.”
“Mr. Harwood, it’s a pleasure,” said April, confidently taking the CEO’s hand.
“The news, Ms. Gertz,” said Harwood impatiently.
“We have three people in custody,” said April. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Lime of Portland, Maine, stockholders in GeneTex for two months, and one of my own people, Brent Sanders. The Limes are sympathizers and investors in G2, the anti-cloning faction that claims responsibility for all of Mandie’s past broadcasts. They bought stock as a way of gaining access to tonight’s meeting, then this past week contacted Sanders with a bribe offer. They supplied the tape, he broadcast it.”
Block smiled, pleased with his employee and hopeful she had spared him the ax.
“One of your own security men?” Harwood cross-examined April.
“Sir, over the past year, I have personally initiated a five step hiring process, designed to eliminate such problems as best as possible. But greed is unpredictable.”
Harwood nodded. “How did you discover this little conspiracy?”
“Mr. Block had informed me of the possible threat and asked me to hire more security. Rather than hire more rent-a-cops and increase the risk of bribe, I hired a few private investigators to check out your guest list. The Limes were under suspicion before a crime was ever committed. I only regret we didn’t nail them beforehand.”
Harwood nodded, satisfied with the answer. He turned to Block. “You have done well, Mr. Block. I’m impressed with the quality of people you have hired here.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Block.
“Let’s hope those skills will serve you well again,” said Harwood.
“What do you mean?” asked Block.
“Ms. Gertz’s services will no longer be available to you.”
Block looked at April, who looked at Harwood with uncertainty.
“I have need of someone like her working directly for me,” said Sebastian.
Block started to object, but halted, knowing it pointless to argue with Sebastian Harwood once his mind was made up.
"When do I start?" asked April.
"Immediately. You ' re to finish up this investigation and have a full report to me by morning."
"Yes sir," April responded. She turned and nodded to the man who had hired her and walked out of the room.
"Mr. Block, please go with Ms. Gertz and give her every assistance possible to complete her investigation."
This was salt on the wound, but Block complied and followed his former employee out of the office.
A knock on the door was answered by Harwood ' s, "Come in." The man who entered was in his early thirties, and he handed Harwood a note.
"Thank you, Mr. Collins," said Sebastian. "Do me a favor, please. Find Joe Sharp and the rest of the legal team and and send them in here."
"Right away," Collins said, turning to exit. Harwood leaned back in Block ' s chair and unfolded the piece of paper Ian had slipped him. He smiled, and then dropped it in the shredder over Block ' s trash can. At least the night wasn ' t a total wash.
The sound of rain pattering against the windows woke Jessica from her slumber. Her eyes gradually focused on her surroundings. She was well strapped into the seat. Her hands were not bound, so first thing, she grabbed for the door.
“It’s locked, so don’t even bother.”
She looked at the fuzzy outline of Max Rogan, seated in the driver’s seat. Slowly it all came back to her. The bar. The warning—no, the lie. Then the drug. She felt a twinge of pain where the needle had broken the skin.
Gazing out the window, she saw the Texas prairie passing by quickly. The car sped through the rain at nearly eighty miles per hour.
"So who was the poor guy with the broken arm?" she asked.
"A barbarian," said Max.
"Funny," said Jessica. "Isn ' t that who you work for?"
Max did not even look at her. "He ' s one of those nuts from Humans First. Another one of those anti-cloning groups that make my job harder."
"Too bad he lost the fight. I might still be free," she said.
"He ' d have destroyed you himself by now," said Max. "Humans First isn ' t the clone friendly outfit that broke you out. They see you like we do, in that you ' re nothing but a science experiment. Only rather than using you to better mankind, Humans First sees your kind as a threat. They want to see you all destroyed."
"Oh," asked Jessica. She paused a moment, watching the surroundings pass her by out the window, wondering if it would be her last glimpse of freedom. "Kind of dangerous letting me ride up front, isn’t it? You ' re not afraid of my trying to signal other drivers, or make a get away?"
"We’re a hundred miles from any town,” said Max. “And no one will be out here this late at night."
"You forget," his captive replied. "I escaped this place once before."
"Your Genesis friends are not here to help you tonight."
Jessica glanced outside the car, memorizing the placement of the stars in the sky. On the outside, she had befriended a young man named Brian who taught her the names of the constellations and stars visible in the clear night. She wanted to remember that friendship, and the stars. That was one thing they could never take from her.
She glanced around the car and spied an ID badge at her feet. She picked it up and examined it. "Max Rogan," she read. “Maximum Security Access, GeneTex Southwest.”
Max ignored her.
"Your name ' s Max?" she paused, then went on when he did not answer. “Well, at least you didn’t lie about your name.”
"You always like to chatter this much?" Max asked.
"I ' m sorry," said Jessica. "I only thought we might pass the time a little more quickly this way."
"Anxious to go back into storage?"
"Would you be?"
"Not my problem."
"And why is that?"
Max looked at her with a disdainful look, then turned back to the road. "You ' re the shell. Not me."
"I have 46 chromosomes just like you," she said. "I can think, reason. I can do anything you can do."
"No you can ' t," he replied.
"If I were given the chance--"
"Which you won ' t."
"If I were--"
"You won ' t," he snapped.
"And why not?"
"You know why not," he said coldly.
"I have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness just the same as anyone," she fired back.
"You have no rights," he replied. "You ' re not human."
She sat back, crossing her arms in frustration. After a pause, she looked back at Max. "Then what am I, if I am not human?"
"Inventory," he said. "Medical resources. A shell.”
"Ever have a debate with a scalpel? Or a bandage, perhaps. I hear Band-Aids can be very opinionated when you get them on the subject of politics."
"And shells are quite adept at sarcasm," Max remarked. "Especially when they know their time is up."
"That doesn ' t tell you anything?"
"What should it tell me?" Max huffed.
"The law may not grant me the right to live, to think, but I do. If you hadn ' t captured me, I could have secured fake identification, gotten a job, registered to vote. Or better still, skipped the country, gone some place where cloning is illegal."
"I ' ve seen computers that can reason like a human," said Max. "And robots that looks identical to human beings. But that doesn’t make them human."
"And what defines a human being?" Jessica asked.
Max was silent. This was a debate he had no interest in. GeneTex had given him a place to use skills gained in the military, as well as a means to make a good living. The ethics mattered little to him. Shells were manufactured in a lab for the purposes of preserving human - natural human - life.
"Do you believe in God?"
Religious debates held even less appeal for Max. "No."
"Well I do," said Jessica. "And I believe it was he who created me."
"Science created you."
"Who formed the elements of life? Who designed the 46 chromosomes? Who put all the organs in place?"
"Science."
"Who filled this body with a soul?"
Max was silent. He knew better than to get into such a debate, and yet had fallen into it yet again. Once a shell started ranting on God, it took a lot to shut them up.
"You have no answer, do you?" Jessica demanded.
"I know what science tells me," he replied. "You were created by genetic manipulation, cloned from a perfect human embryo to specifications predetermined by the government and medical science so that you would produce organs and tissue compatible with that of a certain portion of the population. You were made to sustain the life of humans. You were not made to live."
"And yet, I am alive," said Jessica. "I have dreams of falling in love, having children, growing old." She looked ahead and saw the lights of the storage building. "And I ' m afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of the end," she replied. "Of never seeing the sunrise again. Or the sky. Never taking another breath in the open air."
"But how many people will be able to do those things because they receive organs from your body? Think about that."
"Didn ' t you just tell me I wasn ' t allowed to think?"
Max was silent. He was terribly glad that this ride and this conversation was nearing its end. "You were made for a purpose: to serve medical science."
"I was made to serve the God who created me," Jessica snapped.
"Then maybe he ' ll deliver you from your fate," Max sneered.
Jessica looked up in time to see the sign in front of their destination: "GeneTex Labs, Storage Facility Southwest." The car turned into the circular drive in front of the storage building. The complex was deceptive in its size. Only two stories were above ground, the ground floor holding administrative and surgical space, and the top floor a greenhouse, glowing with an eerie green light. Beneath the ground, were the holding and incubation facilities, where shells were created, grown, and matured.
A set of glass doors formed the only visible entrance on the front side of the building. Inside the glass doors, facilities director Dr. Kendall Drake spied the headlights of an approaching car. As the lights approached, the black Volvo became visible amid the dew, telling Dr. Drake and his assistants that this was, in fact, their delivery.
Drake walked out into the rain as the car came to a halt in front of the double doors. Two men in white coats emerged from the building and took their place beside the rear passenger door.
The driver ' s door opened, and the driver emerged. Max cut an imposing figure, six feet tall, with neatly trimmed brown hair and piercing brown eyes. He strode purposefully around the car and opened the passenger door. Jessica emerged from the car silently, a defiant expression on her face. The men in white flanked her immediately, placing shackles on her wrists. The one on her left pulled up her left sleeve, revealing a tattoo: "FCRB-000539322." He noted the serial number on a hand held digital notepad. Dr. Drake stepped forward and looked through his spectacles poised on the bridge of his hooked nose at an angry young woman.
"Don ' t worry, my dear. You won ' t be here for very long. You ' re much too valuable to sit in storage forever."
"You ' ll never be able to contain us all," the young woman answered defiantly. "We will stop you."
Drake laughed. "You? You ' re nothing but a shell. A storage bin for parts which don ' t belong to you."
"I ' m a human being." Her look was intent, fearless. "Just like you."
He nodded to the white coated guardians. "Take her to harvesting," he said. "No need to make her wait."
Jessica tried to pull away, but the men were too strong. She turned her head back to Max.
"See you around, Max," she said.
"I ' m sure," he replied.
Max watched as the red head walked into the building, her last few steps of freedom. Escaped shells were not kept in storage very long; that is, if they were put back in storage at all. The risk of another escape was too great. Jessica would be disassembled that night, and the valuable cargo inside - her perfectly formed clone organs and tissues - would be distributed to humans who needed them.
Drake pulled a small white envelope from his pocket and handed it to Max, who took the envelope and tucked it away without a word.
"Very impressive work, Mr. Rogan," said Drake with a smile. "We would have spent months trying to do what took you a week."
"That ' s because you ' re scientists," Max said with a wry smile.
"I suppose so," said Drake. "We ' ll be in touch."
Max nodded. Drake walked back into the building, while Max returned to his car. He started the engine and sped off down the road.
Two miles down the road, he saw something that caused him to turn around and head back: three black vans with no lights speeding towards the storage depot. No one ever had reason to drive this far into the desert. The vans, Max knew, did not belong out here.
The disassembly process was a purely clinical, dehumanizing procedure. If a shell had any doubts as to their status, disassembly would set them straight, just before snuffing out their life.
The technicians led Jessica down the white hallway to the disassembly room. Inside, the harvesters were already prepared for her. Plastic storage containers sat ready to receive the transplantable organs and tissue. Everything was kept sterile, and immaculately clean, just like a hospital. Only here, the sterility was not for the sake of the one being cut open, but the one who would receive the harvested tissue on another operating table in a hospital far away.
Dr. Cordelia Braden turned to see Jessica enter. "Remove the coverings and wash the shell," she said. The men in white coats cut away Jessica ' s shoes, and then her clothes, just one of many steps to remind Jessica that she was not human. They placed her under a cold shower and scrubbed her with sponges, removing her makeup and sterilizing her skin and hair.
The attendants working on Jessica never noticed the barrette that fell out while they washed her hair. Even if they had, they had no way of knowing that it contained a homing beacon, allowing three vans full of G2 members to find and liberate the GeneTex Storage Facility.
Dr. Drake never saw it coming. The glass entry doors blew open, and the explosion launched the scientist from his feet into a wall, knocking him out. Five figures clad in black carrying stun guns burst through the door. A pair of guards brandished their side arms, only to be cut down with stun darts. The liberators split, two and three. Two made their way down the hall to the harvesting room and Jessica, while the other three ran for the elevators to the lower levels, to free Jessica ' s sisters and brothers.
Outside, Max pulled behind the vans. Drawing his gun, he leapt out of the car and headed for the doors. Stepping through the rubble, he saw Dr. Drake lying on the floor, blood trickling from a gash in his forehead. He leaned down and put his fingers to Drake ' s throat. He still had a pulse.
Max turned to the other guards lying in the entryway, seeing they had both been shot with stun guns. He heard the elevator bell ring, and ran down the hall to intercept the intruders. The doors closed ahead of him and two guards who met up with him.
"They ' ve split up," said one of the guards. "They ' re headed towards storage and harvesting."
"You take the storage levels," said Max. "I ' ll stop the others."
Max turned back and ran down the sterile hallway, leapfrogging Jessica ' s white coated attendants who lay in a deep slumber in the hall. The harvesting room door was shut. Max paused at the door, then kicked it open.
"FREEZE!"
There stood Jessica, a black trench coat wrapped around her, and two masked individuals dressed in black, one male, one female. The two dropped their stun guns and raised their hands. The surgeon stood against the wall, her hands in the air.
"Hello, Max," said Jessica. "I told you I ' d see you again."
"Your insurrection is over, Jessica," he replied.
"Jessica?" the masked female said. She took off her mask... revealing a face identical to Jessica. "Are you so sure she ' s Jessica?"
"Keep your hands up!" said Max. The next second, he felt a sting in his neck. He reached a hand back to feel the stun dart in his neck. He turned to see yet another masked figure, the one who had shot him, shoot him again in the front. Then Max fell to the floor unconscious.
Author's Resource Box
For more about The Shell Collector go to www.theshellcollector.com
Article Source:
Christian Articles Resource