The Bionics (The Bionics Series Part 1) (7 page)

“Because of their rebellion and breaking of the law requiring all Bionics to willing
ly
turn themselves over to the Restoration Project
’
s Science and Technology Department, these members of the terrorist organization known as ‘
The R
esistance'
, will be put to death on the eighteenth of August. Their
execution
s will be televised live as a message to those still holding out hope that this so-called Resistance will accomplish anything. It will serve as a reminder to them, that they have no choice but to turn themselves over for the good of their country and for the safety of other citizens. Ladies and gentlemen, I leave you now with this plea
:
if you have any information that will lead to the capture of one or many rogue Bionics, please do not hesitate to inform the nearest Military Police Officer. Do not try to apprehend them yourselves, as they are often dangerous and violent. Urge any family members that you are harboring to turn themselves in, for they are not only
posing a risk to those around them, they are also sacrificing your
freedom as well, as any citizen found harboring fugitive
s
faces severe penalties according to the laws of their individual states. Any person with bionic apparatuses issued by the government who turn themselves in willingly will not face any penalty.

“And finally, I want to remind the American people that the founders and leaders of the Resistance are still at large. Professor Neville
Hinkley
and his associate,
Jenica
Swan, are the voices behind the Resistance. My offer stands, America
:
five million dollars each for the Professor and Miss Swan, alive. If we can put an end to their reign of tyranny, we can take a step in the right direction toward ensuring that our citizens
are safe. Please
,
everyone
,
let us do the right thing for the good of our continued growth and
prosperity as a nation. Thank you and God bless the United States of America.”

The
President
’s image disappears and the newsroom is now being broadcasted into the
Professor
’s living space
. After a few moments, the
Professor
finds his remote and silences the inane chatter of two newscasters. He knows none of us want to hear the political pundits continually praise Drummond’s efforts at creating peace and harmony in our society.

We’ve heard it all before.

After a few minutes of silence in which everyone works through whatever emotions
are the strongest,
Dax
stands and faces the
Professor
, who is sitting in his favorite armchair, arms wrapped around his chest as if he’s in an immense amount of pain.

“Sir, we should really call a meeting with
Jenica
and discuss a rescue mission,” he says softly, knowing as well as I do that the
Professor
is probably in emotional hell right now. As one of the foremost scientists leading the Restoration Project’s Healing Hands initiative,
Professor
Neville
Hinkley
personally created all of the bionic and computerized technology used to modify those injured in the blast and
,
even some like Olivia, who we
re exposed to radiation and lost
vital organs to disease because of poisoning. He never says it out loud, but I know he feels responsible for many of our predicaments. After all, he created us. None of us blame him, at least none that I know of. If anything, we love him for saving us, for going underground with
the
Resistance and giving us a safe haven from the tyrannical laws of our
President
.

“Sir?”
Dax
says when the
Professor
doesn’t answer.

The
Professor
’s head snaps up and he pulls his pen slowly away from his mouth, blinking several times and looking around the room as if just now realizing that he has visitors.

“Hello,” he says softly, gazing back and forth between
Yasmine
and Gage. “I am
Professor
Neville
Hinkley
.”

“
Yasmine
Zambrano
.”

“Gage Bronson.”

The
Professor
cocks his head slightly and studies Gage. “
Have we met before? Looking at you, I’m experiencing a rather strong sense of déjà vu.”

Gage lowers his gaze from the
Professor
’s and shakes his head. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but he seems to blush a bit as he answers.

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”

He studies Gage a bit longer and then shrugs, seeming to dismiss the conundrum from his mind. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll let us know if he remembers
.

“It’s very nice to meet you both.”

He turns to me, his eyes expectant behind his frames.
“How many in Dallas?”

I shake my head. “No more than two dozen. These two were with them. They’re interested in joining our team, Sir.”

The
Professor
looks at
Yasmine
and smiles, reaching out to touch her arm.
Yasmine
flinches, but is otherwise still for the
Professor
’
s inspection.

“Lovely,” he murmurs as he taps his fingers against
Yasmine’s
skin.
“Flawless finish, strong, durable
...
a girl with impenetrable skin.
How m
uch of this did they use on you
?”
?
”

“It covers ninety
percent of my body,”
Yasmine
answers.

The
Professor
smiles.
“A human’s skin is his first line of defense against injury and sickness. Tell me, since receiving your skin transplant, have you experienced any illness at all?”

Yasmine
opens her mouth to answer, but Gage’s voice muffles her response.

“I’m sorry, but shouldn’t you know
these things already? After all, you are the inventor of every bionic organ or body part currently used by the government.”

I sense
anger
in Gage’s tone, and I don’t think I like it.
Dax
doesn’t either. The
Professor
fixes Gage with his wide, wise stare, seemingly unruffled by the stranger’s outburst.

“My time as leader of the Healing Hands initiative was ended when I spoke out against the treatment of our
patients
.
There wasn’t time for me to document the side effects, benefits, or drawbacks of every single case. To date, Miss
Zambrano
is the first recipient of a skin transplant that I’ve had a chance to interview.”

That shuts Gage up and he allows the conversation to continue uninterrupted.

“I have not been sick,” she answers with a smile. “Not once since the transplant.”

The
Professor
smiles and claps his hands together in excitement.
“Fascinating.
Just fascinating.”

He swivels his gaze toward Gage and frowns. “You do not possess any modifications, young man.”

Gage shakes his head. “
No. I came here with
a family member
. She has a very…unique and—according to the government—dangerous modification.”

“A bionic left brain,” I add at the
Professor
’s confused expression.

Confusion melts into horror as he removes his glasses and stares at Gage in disbelief. “Young man, you would have me to believe that
the
Restoration
Project
actually approved the use of a bionic cerebrum?”

“You aren’t the one who performed the operation?” Gage fired back.

The
Professor
shakes his head and stands, pacing in fro
nt of the now dead television screen. “I created the bionic cerebrum as an experiment. Theoretically, it could restore full mental function to a person with limited brain damage. It was designed in a way that it could be used as a whole, or in pieces. My main goal was replacement of the frontal lobes, which are responsible for the retaining of long-term memory. It was never approved for use by
my superiors
. Their
reasoning was that it could potentially create a person with the mind of a computer
, capable of cracking the codes of a bank safe in under one minute, or even such boggling tasks as mind reading or control. Of course, I never believed in the paranormal potential of such a device, but I could see how a computerized brain could pose a problem. In the hands of a convict or criminal, it could be quite dangerous.”

“Well, one year ago, before
President
Drummond went on a witch hunt for the Bionics, an experimental surgery was approved,” Gage says. “One patient who had been in a near vegetative state since
a head injury caused by the blast was chosen as a candidate. The results were stunning.”

“I’d very much like to meet with the child.”

Gage shrugged. “I’d be willing to arrange that on one condition.”

“Name your price, young man.”

“Whatever rescue mission you’ve got planned for the prisoners from Memphis…I want in.”

The Professor rubs his chin and studies Gage as if trying to read him. I know that he is trying to decide whether or not we can trust Gage. I already know where
Dax
stands and am sure
Jenica
would be on his side. As the head of our team, I don’t know if it would bode well for Gage if
Jenica
hates him, but hope the fact that he brought us
Agata
will earn him some bonus points.

The Professor does what I knew he would do all along. He throws Gage a bone.

“We’ve never had an un-modified member of the team before,” he says slowly. “I believe it could be to our advantage, especially when trying to infiltrate areas with heavy Military Police Patrol.”

“But Professor—”

He holds his hand up to stop
Dax
, who is all ready to protest this decision.

“On a trial basis only,” he adds with a pointed look in Gage’s direction. “We will see how you perform on this mission and make a decision from there. If
Jenica
and the others report to me that you are a good addition to the team, I see no reason not to allow it. We need all the help we can get, Mister Bronson, and I am not choosy about where it comes from, so long as it is genuine.”

Gage nods and smiles. “You can count on me, Sir.”

Five

Blythe Sol and Dog

Restoration Resistance Headquarters,
Mosley Hall

August 16, 4010

3:00 a.m.

The blinding flash causes me to cover my eyes
as the sounds of screeching brakes and metal slamming against metal fills my ears. The car flips as if someone has pulled the street out from under
it, and the seatbelt bites into my shoulder and chest, leaving an imprint that will stay with me for weeks after this day. The windows explode and shards
of glass fill the car, spinning
through the air in front of my face in a haunting, macabre dance of deadly danger. My hands move to cover my face too late; a split second before I shield my eyes, a layer of black
ness blocks out half my vision.
Later
,
surgeons will pull a three inch shard of glass from my eye.
Without my left eye, my peripheral vision is impaired and I do not see
the
foreign object flying through the gaping hole where a car door used to be. Seconds lat
er, I can no longer feel my
left
arm…

The screams echoing from the walls of my bedroom are deafening. The high-pitched sounds mingle with the howling of some deranged animal, to create a chorus worthy
of a full moon.
Sweat is dripping down my face, neck, and back as I shoot upright in the bed, realizing through the haze of still-clinging sleep that the noise is coming from me. More precisely
,
it is coming from both me and Dog. I clamp my mouth shut and fight to catch my breath, bringing my hand up over my closed left eye. As always
,
the vibration of machinery meets my fingers and I sigh in both relief
and despair. Dog goes quiet, realizing that I am now awake and calm.
He licks my hand to console me and I reach down to hug him, assuring him that I will be okay.
A few seconds later, the pounding at my door tells me that
Dax
was awakened by my nightmare-induced screaming.