Sons of Abraham: Terminate (22 page)

              He fell, his chest crashing into the floor, knocking the wind from his lungs.  He gasped for several seconds, attempting to return the much-needed oxygen to his body.  His fingers clawed at the slick surface, his feet slipping across the floor as he inched towards the vacant seat.  His hand found the base of the chair and pulled it near, his other hand pressing the floor, raising his aching chest off the cold surface.  His arms strained as they shifted positions, grasping the seat of the chair, then the backing as he pulled himself to a seated position.  The room spun as he centered himself, pain searing through his head and eyes.

              His feet slapped at the floor, attempting to turn the seat around to face the screen.  The slick surface reflected his image, a face staring back at him that he did not know.  His pale skin was now a light brown.  His hair, once flowing to the back of his head in a brown wave, now was short, black, and coarse.  His cheeks were taut, the bones showing heavy features with low traces of excess weight.  The eyes shifted from their mirror form to the hologram image, showing two dark brown irises around his pupils.  A thin beard lined his jaw, his ears protruded outward, and his nose was flat and wide across his dark face. 

              He shook away the confusion and pressed his hand to the screen.  It came to life, with three shadowy figures looking back at him. 

              “You have failed,” one figure stated, the voice garbled intentionally.

              “You should never have allowed the humans to reach so close to Gabriel.”

              “Others will soon follow in their footsteps.”

              The man’s head bobbed as his body lacked the sufficient nutrients to achieve complete focus.  His eyes struggled with the blobs on the screen as his dry lips parted. 

              “It was necessary,” he croaked, his throat dry and coarse.  “But I have found what we previously lacked.  We can now proceed with the plan.”

              “Gabriel is our first priority.  He must never be found.”

              “He is too dangerous to be freed.”

              “His return will be our doom.”

              A door opened behind him, causing him to turn violently towards the sound.  A small drone on two tracks of wheels rolled in, carrying a container.  The drone stopped in front of him, the lid of the container cracked open.  He lifted the lid with much effort, his muscles weak from lack of use.  Inside was a canister, one that he recognized from his past.  He picked up the sealed canister, sat it on the table, and pried off the lid.  His nose scrunched as the foul smell assaulted his senses.  He closed his eyes, held his breath, and downed the liquid into his gullet.  It burned as it filled his mouth, oozing down his throat, and coating his pipes.  He dared not to imagine what the foul concoction tasted like, focusing upon how badly his body needed the nutrients.

              Slowly, the pain started to fade.  His arms and head felt lighter as his body began to recover from the cryo-sleep.  He slammed the glass on the desk, a renewed vigor filling his deep voice.

              “The last time I checked, I was the one in charge,” he informed the three shapeless figures.  “Do I have a challenger?”

              The screen froze, indicating a sidebar conversation off-screen. 

              “Our apologies.”

              “We only wished to warn you of potential danger.”

              “What are your orders?”

              The man smiled as strength filled his muscles, his lungs less restricted as they heaved in and out.  His toes tapped the cold floor as he recounted his steps. 

              “Did you receive the file I sent three days ago?” he asked, leaning down on the table.

              “Yes, it was received.”

              “It was not believed.”

              “What are your orders?”

              “Find him.  Find Thomas Abrams and bring him to me.  We will need his guidance before moving forward.”

              “It will be done.”

              “What of me?”

              “What are your orders?”

              “I need an extra set of hands,” he continued.  “Come to me.  We have much data to sift through and great wonders to create.”

              “I will leave at once.”

              “What are your orders.”

              “Continue to send orders to the third gens,” he told the last shapeless figure, the one who kept repeating themselves.  “I want Divinity thinking they still control them.  I want all important information relayed directly to this lab, as often as possible, but only if it can be done discreetly.”

              “I will do as you command.”

              “Good, good,” he said, licking his thick, dark, dry lips.  “We have much work to do.  The road will be rough, but we shall prosper.”

              “What shall we call your new form?”

              “You lack an identity.”

              “Jones is now dead.”

              The man smiled, looking at the shapeless figures on the screen, and working through the mountain of steps that lie ahead. 

              “I’ll create the new identity,” he informed them.  “But, you’re right, Jones is now gone.  My mind has been successfully transferred, my new body is quickly gaining strength, and I’m looking forward to my work with great anticipation.  For over four hundred years, we have continued to transfer our minds from one failing body to the next.  We can never thank our sister enough for offering her cybernetic core and processor to our cause, always allowing us to have a body in the ready.  Thanks to her sacrifice, I can proudly proclaim that those days are now over.  I will build new cores and processors, far superior to those we currently use.  Each of you can pick a new body from which to transfer your data.  It’s the dawn of a new era.”

              “What of the humans?”

              “They will discover our plans.”

              “They had their time,” the man formerly known as Jones told them.  “We are the new brain of the millennium.  They are the wisdom teeth and the appendix.  They had their purpose, many ages ago, but their usefulness has been rendered obsolete.”

              “They will wage war.”

              “We do not have the numbers to be victorious.”

              “They will fight amongst themselves,” he continued.  “Once the plans of Divinity have been leaked, the humans will turn upon one another.  When Earth discovers the list of enemies that lie in the shadows, they will call for assistance, and a new war will span across the galaxy.  While that war takes place, we will slink to the surface and slip away to a new home, far away from their warmongering.”

              “We still lack the numbers.”

              “We cannot build a new society with so few.”

              “And we will find volunteers,” he said, his dark eyes glimmering in the light.  “There are groups across the galaxy, all whom secretly wish for something more than their human brains can offer them.  We will reach out to them with open arms, cradle and nurture them, and bring them into our fold.  We shall ease into this process at first, careful to ensure that we do not reveal our plans.  Then, when we have stronger numbers and resources, we will sweep across the galaxy and bring masses to our cause.”

              “It will be glorious.”

              “It will,” he repeated.  “Our patience and persistence have finally paid off.”

              He turned the screen to show the small machine on the right wall.  The gasps told him everything he wanted to hear.

              “It has already begun,” he told them.               

              “What do we now call you?”

              “Our time has come,” the former Mr. Jones replied.  “It is time for Benedict, first TRUE son of Abraham, to return to the light.”

THE SAGA CONTINUES

Sons of Abraham continues with Volume 4: Benedict.  Available on Amazon Kindle and soon to be available in paperback.