Ryan Self

Hon 101- SciFi

Soulless

 

Genetic discoveries were being made at a rapid rate in the early 21st century.  Unfortunately, they began to move faster than the governing forces.  A genetic laboratory, Phasma Corporation, based in the small town of Terra Haute, Indiana, began making advances in the possibility of human cloning.  But with these discoveries came the media, and immediately following the media was the court summons.  In the end, Phasma vs. the Supreme Court resulted in a cease and desist order along with a 2 million dollar fine. 

While CEO Marshal Bellows, now Saint Bellows, paid the fine, he did not halt his company’s research.  Instead he began appealing to other countries, attempting to find a safe haven for his experimentations.  All the world powers ruled against human experimentation and Saint Bellows was forced to move his corporation to an uninhabited island several hundred miles from the island state of Hawaii, named Phasma.  With no governmental regulations to slow the scientists down, progress was massively accelerated.

The experiments with human cloning resulted in the creation of biologically functioning human bodies that were “dead.”  The heart pumped, the lungs breathed, but there was no functional life to the body.  The scientists narrowed this down to a specific gene that they titled the ‘soul’ gene.  Try as they might, this gene was so detailed that it could not be replicated.

By isolating the lack of it in the cloned humans, they were able to locate it in living humans.  This eventually allowed them to transplant people into different bodies.   This became a lucrative business for the scientists, eventually tuning the island into a unique nation of its own; the first National Corporation.

The only focus of the entire nation was to produce prime bodies for purchase and habitation by the monetarily elite.  This single island off the coast of Hawaii consisting of no more than 30,000 people became the center of human civilization, controlling 70% of the entire world’s gross profit.  Phasma proved that in the modern era, economy is equivalent to power.  Whoever controlled the money didn’t need to have a grand army or advanced politics.  This was proven by the famous Half-Hour World War. 

Seeing that they were becoming dependent upon this small island, the United States offered Phasma the opportunity to become the 51st state and rejoin with America.  Upon refusal, the US decided they would take the island by militaristic force.  Within roughly 20 minutes of the declaration of “forceful habitation,” 18 world powers had declared war on the US.  It didn’t take long for the president to recall his troops and cancel “Operation 51st.”  It did take a decade, though, to sooth things over with the rest of the world.  Since then, no other country has dared to move on Phasma.

With the promise of eternal life, everyone wanted to befriend the small island.  The Phasmasian Unit became the heaviest form of currency in the world, having a 1:24 ratio to the American Dollar and 1:27 to the Euro, the two closest forms of currency. 

In addition to this, they had become the center for a new form of religion: the religion of science.  With the advent of soul replacements, older individuals could buy young, healthy, and attractive clones and be implanted into them. 

What need is there for promises a spiritual eternal life for the cost of worship when you can have physical eternal life for the cost of a mere $4 billion every 40-60 years? 

Thus began the Religion of Phasma.  The scientists were the secret to living forever.  Intelligence will always prevail over raw strength, because physical stature can always be purchased, knowledge must be worked for.  In this new religion, only the strong survive. 

The world became a bubbling cauldron of accelerated Darwinism, with the little island of Phasma as the catalyst.  While there were still pockets all over the world that maintain the core religions, most had learned to incorporate the religion of Phasma’s with their own, if not dropping their previous religion entirely.  Surprisingly, Catholicism and Buddhism in particular made the most radical changes in order to accept the new development of soul transplants. 

Attractive looking individuals were picked from a young age and physically trained to become clone donors, instantly awarding them free replacement bodies for life.  Children showing an aptitude for learning were drilled mercilessly into being more intelligent than their neighbors, in hopes that they could earn a salary good enough for eternal life. 

Greed had become the primary driving force in the world.  Most people believe that if you want something, then you should take it, and if you’re strong enough to obtain it, then it was meant for you.  The world was ruled by an oligarchy of celebrities and scientists, with everyone else as simply the peons that would do the dirty work until they died poor.  Much like feudal Europe, it was a very cruel world if you weren’t on top.

Above all else, the great statute of Phasma ruled supreme, “Those with worth may live forever.”

Eldwin Herbst knew all of this.  This had become his world.  He was only a baby when the scientists had first revealed their discovery.  In fact, he was born in Indianapolis, Indiana, roughly an hour from the plant in Terra Haute where the “soul gene” was discovered.  When he was 18, he enlisted in the US army, by 24, he was trained for the CIA.  By 36 he was their most skilled espionage agent.  He was proud of all this.

Eldwin Herbst remembers well the Half-Hour World War.  He and ten others.  They were the only casualties of that war.  While there was never a shot fired in that brief threat of nuclear holocaust, 11 Americans lost their lives.  Not by conventional means, though.  The 11 agents that were captured on Phasma were allowed to return home, but they were denied permission to ever purchase a body for themselves or their immediate family.  From that day on, Eldwin and his wife Alyssa were dead.  That is, until he received the letter in the plain brown wrapping.  In that letter was life.

 

 

Eldwin Herbst’s new body felt amazing.  It was like driving a brand new sports car off the lot after trading in a 20-year old station wagon.  Herbst felt a small twinge of nostalgic pain as they carted away his 86-year old home, but his new muscles and flesh quickly overtook that feeling.  He was told that the body was an Alexius model, from the world famous 3 time gold pentathlon winner, Alexius Seltovich.  It sure felt like it. 

Herbst felt like he could conquer the world, which was good, because that was just about the cost of this new body.  He was still not certain who had hired him, but he was fairly sure that he was meant to never know.  He even speculated that there might be multiple countries involved in this endeavor.  All he knew is that he was 86-year old man in a brand new 20 year-old body in a hotel in Hawaii.  The last thing he wanted to do was go to a mission briefing.  But he didn’t exactly have an option.

The small grey cell he was waiting in had the feel of an interrogation room.  The door opened and a small man stepped in.  He pulled out the chair on the door side of the table and sat down, beckoning Herbst to follow suit.  Herbst wondered at how many times he had been that man.  He did as was suggested.

Eldwin T. Herbst?” the man asked.  Herbst nodded. “…a very German name.”  Herbst nodded again.

“And what shall I call you?”

     “Of course,” the man chuckled.  “You’re former CIA.  You know how this works; the less you know, the better.  Just call me…Red.”

     Herbst nodded, “Let’s get down to business, Red.  What do you require from me?” 

Red chuckled again.  “I was told you were an expert.  It shows.”  He passed a manila folder over to Herbst.  “I am here to answer any questions you may have.”

Herbst opened the folder and looked carefully over each document, being certain to notice and memorize every possible detail.  When he was finished he looked up at Red. 

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Travel?”

Phasma Airlines.”

Herbst thought for a moment.

“Why me?”

For the first time in their conversation the little man known as Red seemed unsure of how to answer.  He rubbed his fingers along his bushy burgundy mustache.

“We had all the equipment we needed,” he motioned to Herbst’s body, “we just needed someone who knew how to use it,” he motioned to Herbst’s brain.

     “I’m honored,” Herbst mumbled with a smirk.  The truth was, he really was.  He just wondered if 10 other ex-CIA were hearing the exact same spiel.

 

 

     Herbst was sitting in his barely too tight seat, wondering why they didn’t bother to upgrade him to first class.  They bought him a new body for over four billion dollars and they couldn’t spare an extra hundred on an upgrade for a more comfy ride.  Go figure.

     He had no weapons on him, with the exception of his legs, on which 600 grams of Semtex were strapped underneath his trousers.  Herbst was quite familiar with Semtex, a plastic explosive comprised primarily of Pentaerythritol Tetranitrate, one of the strongest known high explosives, with a R.E. factor (relative effectiveness factor) of 1.66.  He remembered it as the most common terrorist weapon of the early 21st century.  He was more concerned with what was in his hands, though.  A small GPS device that he had been staring at the for the past few minutes was now within 5 digits of his required coordinates.

     He tapped the young lady who was napping next to him and asked her if he could get out.  She replied with a groggy, “yes,” and shifted only slightly.  After forcefully squeezing himself out, Herbst began to walk down the aisle of the airplane, just as the pilot began to speak, “We’ll be beginning our final descent over the island of Phasma now.  Please make sure all your seats are in the full upright position, your tray tables are locked, and all electronics are shut off.  Thanks again for flying Phasma Airlines.”

     As Herbst continued moving down the aisle, into first class, one of the stewardesses moved towards him. 

“Excuse me sir, but you’ll have to take your seat,” she said in her candy-sick sweet voice.  Her smile wavered when Herbst refused to stop.  “Sir.  The fasten seat belts light is on.  You need to take a seat.”

Herbst pushed past her, moving steadily toward the front of the plane.  All cordiality was now gone from her voice, “Sir!  I need you to—”

With a brief flick of the wrist Herbst’s palm met with the lady’s chin.  There was a sickening pop as the upper vertebrae of her neck separated and her tendons and veins snapped.  She fell like a ragdoll to the floor.  Screams and chaos followed her death, along with instant regret by Herbst.  This would complicate things.

Making a mental note to try and control himself more, Herbst continued moving to the front of plane.  He reached the cockpit just as the door was opening, and the co-pilot was stepping out to check on the commotion.  His new resolve dissipated and he flat-palmed the co-pilot in the chest, thrusting him back into the cockpit.  Herbst quickly grabbed the drink cart and propped it against the cabin door.  Then he reached into the steward station cabinets.  He found what he was looking for quickly, a single emergency parachute.

He was forced to kill two more “hero’s” as he strapped the back harness on.  Then he readied himself, watching the ticking numbers on his GPS device.  At the precise moment he popped the door open and was sucked out into the roaring night sky.

Herbst had always enjoyed HALO jumping when he was younger (High Altitude, Low Opening), but even his new body couldn’t remove the fear he now felt as he plummeted through black clouds toward a certainly fast approaching unseen island.  It had been 50 years since his last jump.  Perhaps those years had made him sensible, perhaps paranoid, but whatever it was, he certainly felt his heart pumping abnormally fast. 

His training availed, though, and he opened the chute mere miles from the ground, landing perfectly on his target: the grounds in front of the nuclear power plant of Phasma.

 

 

Herbst dropped from the open ceiling panel into the empty hallway.  He checked his memory and found a map of the facility.  He mentally plotted himself.  As soon as he was certain of his location, his feet began to move, along with his mind.  Of all things, it wandered to his wife, Alyssa, who would, at this very moment, be receiving her new body.  He shook his head and tried to keep focused on the mission.

Down the hallway, he should be heading south.  East through the employee break room, into the women’s restroom.  He pulled up his trousers, revealing a thick layer of Semtex.  He tore off a sizeable piece and began applying it to the far wall.  According to the building layout, this would lead straight to the reactor.

When the plastic was set, he took a long breath.  Once he ignited the explosives, there would be no break, and no turning back.   He knew the guards would be swarming and he would only have minutes to set the rest of the Semtex and arm the timer.  This was it.

With a click he activated the plastic explosives, and ducked into one of the stalls for cover.  The explosion was relatively small, but enough to free a large chunk of the wall, and certainly enough to wake every drowsy guard that was on duty that night.

He crawled through the gaping hole and into the core of the power plant.  With a precision that could only come from 15 years of CIA demolitions training, he began arming the room.  In 6 minutes, the charges were set.  He was preparing the time-detonator when the door burst open.  To say the least, it was not quite what he expected.

He was crouched to a mirror image of himself in triplet.  It took him a second to realize why the three looked so familiar, then it clicked.  They were all Alexius models.  Of course Phasma would be defended by the best.  Another second later and he was engaged.

The three guards could have easily outpowered him, seeing as they were exactly three times his strength, but what they had in physical force, he made up for in combat experience ingenuity.  With sharp ducking and maneuvering, he was quickly engaged in the middle of the group, making their firearms obsolete.  In the confusion of the moment, he soon had them fighting themselves.  If it weren’t for their guard uniforms and his all black, he might have even been able to sneak out without them realizing who was who.

In the initial brawl, he got a few good punches in, took a hard kick to the chest, and feigned one of the guards to kidney shot another into incapacitation.  One down, two to go.

Herbst was just sliding beneath one of the guards’ legs when the dumb brute reacted faster than he had expected.  With a twist of the thigh, he caught the ex-CIA in a neck-squeezing headlock.  Herbst quickly flung his knee into the guard’s back, hitting solidly with a crunch, and freeing his head just before the pinch had cut off blood circulation to his brain.  Herbst was just rolling up to finish off the guard with the broken back when he felt a fist hit his face like an iron bat.  The world flashed white but Herbst forced himself to maintain consciousness.  He dropped to his knees, and through blood-soaked vision saw the third guard approach him, readying for the kill.

It was then that Herbst felt the primer, sitting conveniently next to his left hand.  He fumbled for the override button, but only for an instant, still too quick for the guard to react.

Herbst’s last thought as he pushed the button was of his wife, happy in her new body; probably the last new body to ever be issued from the now extinct government of Phasma.

The nuclear blast shook the island to the core, wiping out every structure, and causing a 100 foot tidal wave to hit the coast of nearby Hawaii.  And like the mystical island of Atlantis, the island of Phasma with all its scientists and hoarded research disappeared from the face of the Earth.