With These Eyes (44 page)

The layer of ice was getting thinner ahead,
the liquid helium's reach had ended in the middle of the hall. The
metal plate under her feet came to a scraping halt, Isabelle shot
forward. Her suit's thick layers of Nomex and vanadium protected
Isabelle from the friction as she shot across the floor. She could
hear the roar of the waterfall booming from the gap in the broken
turbine - safety! Without blinking and eye, Isabelle dove into the
opening, which lead her directly into the outlet pipe.

The remaining helium supplies disconnected
from the missile in a tremendous hiss. The weapon had reached its
magnetic state despite Isabelle's efforts. The support wheels
retracted downwards and the missile was levitating. The countdown
clock on the wall had reached
zero
. The heavy weapon
thundered forward into the launch tube. Despite the increasing
number of fires in the enormous energy storage device, enough
electricity remained stored for a successful launch.

The track's shifting magnetic field propelled
the weapon to the speed needed to fling it on a suborbital path of
terror.

57 MOTHER NATURE DEFENDS HERSELF

In the skies above the lair, the fruits of
Tasha's labor were coming to bare. The two colliding
pressure-systems that surrounded the fearless warrior's final
release of condensation seeds had created a massive rainstorm. The
sudden reaction resulted in thick layers of water droplets too
heavy to stay afloat as clouds. As each drop fell towards the
ground, it merged with smaller droplets. The result was the
heaviest rain the little island had ever experienced.

The jungle was littered with fires. For the
moment, the flames were mostly localized to the crash sites of
Tasha's fleet. Their heat was quickly drying out the surrounding
flora and fauna. It appeared that soon the island would be little
more than a charred rock. Fortunately, the rain that had formed was
about to douse every bit of fire on the ground. As the large water
droplets fell through the clouds, they did more than just pick up
mass. The speeding rain built up an enormous amount of static
electricity in the single, thick cloud layer that had formed. Just
like the opposing poles of a magnet attract one another, so was the
strong negative charge that filled the storm cloud drawn to
positive charges in the launch track’s magnets.

The lair's launch tube had become the highest
point in the shallow bed of the drained lake below. Its intense
electromagnetic field drew in the cloud's electricity like a
superconductive lightning rod. Electrons from hundreds of cubic
kilometers of cloud-cover rushed to the center and formed a channel
to the interior of the missile's port. Mother Nature's face
appeared in the clouds, when a brilliant-white lightning bolt lit
up the island. It connected the heavens with Gene’s underworld in a
blinding flash. The missile was only lengths away from the end of
its underground journey. Since its hull had become a superconductor
in the cooling process, it was the route of least resistance for
the lightning strike. In a thundering crash, the orb and
containment field drew in all its energy. Electricity arced across
the quantum orb.

The basic design of the weapon was such that
an arc from the onboard capacitor was to trigger the photon
explosion, once the target had been reached. The lightning strike
had the same effect. The luminous orb in the warhead burst into a
high-intensity photon wave. Deflected by the graphite in the
missile's front section, the blinding flash of energy shot down the
launch tube. The huge pipe exploded with tremendous force.
High-energy photons were consuming everything in their path. The
lake above buckled around the launch tube. The sudden influx of
energy expanded air and solid contents of the lair for a brief
moment. Equipment and supplies vaporized. Much of the granite which
encapsulated the lair turned into molten lava that spilled into
shafts and rooms throughout. The cracked and partially molten top
of the lair collapsed inward like a funnel. The still substantial
amount of remaining lake water rushed to the center and disappeared
into the shaken ground. Moments later, the water shot straight up
towards the rainy sky in a gigantic geyser stream. The concussion
echoed across the terrified jungle. Moments later, the falling rain
produced the only sound that could be heard across the tropical
forest. Every creature of the jungle had frozen in fear. The
downpour soon extinguished the fires caused by the downed armada.
The animals of the island returned to their nature-given activities
of hunting and gathering food. The lair’s molten granite had
hardened when the lake water gushed in.

What had been the most horrific apparatus
ever devised by modern man, remained little more than a thick
lake-bed made of solid rock.

Part 4 - Dawn of an Epoch

58 THE GIRLS SURFACE

Isabelle felt the sting in her lungs left by
smoke and noxious fumes from the fire. How much she wanted to
cough, but she held her breath. She had to get to the surface of
this lake. The journalist turned lightwarrior was disoriented, her
head numb with pain. Isabelle's eyes had not yet adjusted to the
dark. Just moments ago, a blinding flash lit up the stormy sky. She
swam in that direction. There it was - Isabelle had reached air.
Her lungs expelled a disgusting mix of soot and carbon dioxide. She
gasped a painful breath. Her lungs were inflamed from the toxins
she inhaled in the firestorm. The clean and oxygen-rich air of the
jungle infused the young woman with life force. She gasped another
breath. Boulders splashed into the water around her; the cliff that
towered beside her was settling into its new shape.

High above Isabelle, a new lake was forming
in the crater that remained as a reminder of Gene's sinister plan.
The old waterfall had stopped flowing. Fed by one of the many
rivers of the jungle, a new one sprang up further along the freshly
shaped rock-face. Isabelle was bobbing up and down with the ripples
like a buoy. A fine mist surrounded the bottom of the cascading
stream of water ahead. Isabelle's eyes were getting used to the low
light. A giant tortoise peeked out of the water at the unusual
visitor with curiosity.

The storm clouds were moving out to sea.
Their departure revealed the first light of the new day. The
distant horizon behind the jungle was aglow with the bluish light
of dawn. Isabelle squinted. She wiped the water from her stinging
eyes. The turtle had disappeared back into the water of the lake.
Surrounded by the foggy mist of the waterfall, Isabelle saw a
silhouette that had become all too familiar. She recognized the
outline of a head whose thick locks of hair were floating on the
surface like an octopus. It was the woman who wanted Isabelle dead
hours ago, the woman who had made every effort to let Gene succeed.
Was this the same woman who helped her save the world? Much like
Isabelle had seen the humanity in Gene, she saw the love in Tasha.
Isabelle had succeeded by appealing to the humanity in Tasha,
rather than confronting her about her flaws. Where Tasha once
followed the temptations of darkness, her actions were now guided
by the light. Isabelle swam towards her former adversary.

There was one very important thing left to
do.

59 PEACE ON EARTH

When Michael joined Gene's cause, he cared
little about the lack of moral or humanitarian value in his new
employer's intentions. What little personal integrity Michael
possessed had left his consciousness soon after he began his work
in Gene's services. Michael had always found himself to be an
entertainer. For his taste, the reporting of mere facts didn't draw
in large enough audiences. He lived for the fact that his face
could be seen in every household around the globe on a daily basis.
Pure journalism didn't bring that kind of fame. The way Michael saw
it, most people didn't really care to hear what truly went on in
the world, it was too depressing. His viewers slept well after his
shows promised relief from dangers such as terrorism or disease. He
cared very little about the true source of the monkey flu or if
there really was a weaponized strain that killed the
quarantinees.

There were times when Michael felt the
journalistic duty to report the facts, even if that would go
against the company line. Those moments faded quickly with the
memory of his first meeting with Gene.

Along with the promise of fame and awards for
helping Gene further his agenda came a grim reminder of what would
happen to the squeaky wheel. It was the story of Isabelle and how
she ran a report that exposed a dark flaw in the establishment that
was not to be addressed publicly. Gene was quick to point out it
hadn't been Isabelle who lost her livelihood but her father.
Isabelle's only option for survival had become to fall into Gene's
employ. What had truly motivated Michael to follow Gene's path were
the rumors about the disappearance of Isabelle's mother. The
official word of the mysterious fire that destroyed Gemma's jungle
village sounded too coincidental even to Michael. The stakes of
endangering the lives of his parents were too high for the
television personality. Michael had no interest in risking his
livelihood and the welfare of his parents to bring the truth to an
audience whose apathy was the very reason the world had reached the
current state of affairs. The choice for Michael had always been
clear, a way of thinking that had served his career well.

Michael remembered drumming Gene’s first
campaign of fear across the world. His high-profile career launched
with a true test of loyalty. A few unexplained infant deaths became
the fiery fuel for a
Ponytail Special Report.
With a subject
as emotionally charged as the tragedy of the loss of a child,
Michael’s story needed not a shred of evidence or logic to achieve
its goal. The moment a scientist or composed individual would
attempt to interject with a contradicting fact, Michael’s show
would cut to an extreme close-up of a sobbing woman. The anger
coursing in the brains of the audience would perceive the critical
voice as the offender, rather than one of help. The reason for this
campaign was motivated by so much darkness, Gene had to keep
himself in a furious rage so his mind would be unable to comprehend
the atrocity of his actions.

When a spirit grows into this lifetime in the
womb of his or her mother, it anticipates a world of enlightenment
and joy. The basic design of humanity was to be immersed in
happiness, rather than pursue it. The suffering endured by mother
and child during birth is a product of the process itself and
recognized by both as one of love. As soon as the infant enters the
world, he or she is ready to perceive love and compassion. It is
the very reason that a human is born a fetus that requires another
nine months of maturing before it can separate from the mother. It
is this extended external gestation period that allows the young
member of humanity to absorb its collective consciousness and
become one with its environment. A newborn’s senses are delicate
and keenly anticipate the exploration of a world filled with
enlightened joy and love.

Gene had made sure he kept his flock in check
by bringing birth back to his global chain of hospitals. He could
ensure that his doctors knew they would never work again, if they
skipped the slap on a newborn’s behind. This custom, said to begin
the breathing process had a motivation of a much darker nature for
Gene than simply putting the new mother’s mind at ease. It was this
initial act of violence against an infant by a stranger that would
trigger the cerebellum and its fear based survival mode. Once fear
was introduced into the life of an individual who had few other
experiences, it was easy to maintain such a state. Gene needed to
be sure not a single free spirit would interfere with his plan. He
was convinced that without him, the world would be lost.

This truly tugged on Michael’s morality. When
the man with the ponytail received the call from Isabelle on Ryan's
digital tablet, he quickly realized the tables had turned for the
better. Michael waited impatiently while his new-technology editor
analyzed the files Isabelle had transferred. The upload contained
Dr. Kensington's schematic of the lair and the formulas for quantum
energy. The man sat in awe before his monitor.

"This would have worked."

While his staff pondered the repercussions a
successful launch would have brought for humanity, Michael was in a
whole different state. The missile story had shot him to the apex
of fame. Never in the history of this world had a single program
been broadcast on every medium and channel at the same moment. This
story would change mankind forever.

It was long before sunrise on this freezing
winter morning in Berlin. The city's morning rush-hour had just
begun. Traffic would have normally flowed steadily on the main
promenade, the
KuDamm
, but not this day. Everyone's
attention was trained on the Europacenter's jumbotron that
overlooked the cultural center of town. Pedestrians had stopped
dead in their tracks. Motorists from every direction stood on the
snowy road by the side of their open cars. The enormous video
display was filled with the image of ponytailed Michael Leese in ¾
profile, surrounded by doomsday graphics. Dubbed over the voice of
the ratings-hungry television celebrity, the words of a German
translator were booming from car radios and the giant TV.
Underneath the voice-over, Michael's original dialogue could be
heard.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, extraordinary events
transpired this morning on a small island off the coast of
Madagascar. In what can only be described as a plot to enslave
humanity, industrial magnate Gene Soskyh attempted the launch of a
monstrous weapon that would have extinguished all life on the north
African continent and the Middle East."