CHAPTER ONE

2101

Los Angeles, California

KILGEN 1st floor

9 a.m.

Ivan Kaminsky pushed the sheet-covered gurney up to a ten-foot conveyor that led to a set of incinerator doors.

He approached a plain black box that resembled a pedestal, positioned a few feet from the conveyor; it was a control hub that required an optic interface to operate.

Ivan lightly touched the edge of his ear, awakening the data chip implant. Instantly, the digital, water-based optics lens in his eye brightened. A QR code hovered above the pedestal, prompting him to log in; with a subtle focus of his optic lens and a trained ease, Ivan willed his thoughts to guide the cursor over a translucent, blue, virtual button that glowed faintly in the air. He touched it with his sausage-like finger. The interface detected his optic implant, promptly populating the login fields. He depressed the virtual “Ent

er” button. The holographic display pixelated to life above the pedestal, revealing a myriad of vital statistics: pressure gauges, temperature meters, and fuel valve position. He swiped his finger as if turning a page, and a green “Start” button appeared, triggering the incineration process.

The induction motors roared to life, and the fuel valve snapped open with a sharp hiss. Ivan turned to the sheet-covered body resting beside the conveyor, left the controls, and dragged it from the gurney and onto the conveyor belt. As he paused to catch his breath, he winced and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his lab coat. Approaching the pedestal, he noticed the room temperature was a sweltering ninety degrees, while the incinerator had reached the required 1,400-degree mark. Satisfied, he swiped to another page and pressed the holo button to initiate the sequence.

The conveyor dragged the body slowly and effortlessly toward the closed incinerator doors.

Something shifted beneath the sheet, catching his eye. He blinked, shook his head, and tried to dismiss the thought, rationalizing that he felt spooked by the basement’s eerie atmosphere and the presence of a dead body. After all, he had made countless trips down here.

Hot enough to melt human bone into chips of dust, Ivan thought.

He stepped backward a few feet and pulled a smart wipe from his pants pocket, then lifted his glasses from his head and wiped the lenses.

Maybe the air from the incinerator moved the sheet, he thought. Had to be. The doctor and I both pronounced this one dead hours ago. The arm must’ve moved from the vibration of the conveyor. Yes, that must be it. Everything was a blur without his glasses. He searched through the pockets of his lab coat, past his flask of vodka, then his pants - and could’ve sworn he saw the sheet move again.

Finally, he wrapped the arms around each ear and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Focusing on the virtual holo controls, he noted the needle on the temperature gauge was at 1,400 degrees. He glanced back at the sheet, startled once more as he realized he’d been right all along. Something had moved - a twitch; it may have been a finger, a thumb. Suddenly his eyes grew wider as he watched an arm lift, reaching out from under the white linen. Ivan lurched forward in panic; he went to grab the body, but the heat from the incinerator forced him back.

“Good God, he’s still alive!” Ivan muttered, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He quickly searched for the emergency stop button on the holo controls, feeling confused when he couldn’t find it; he’d never had to use it before.

Ivan watched as the incinerator door opened like the mouth of a dragon, revealing its flickering tongues of flame. The white-hot fire hissed as it licked at the conveyor’s offering. As the legs slipped into the fiery chasm, a hand thrust out from beneath the sheet, desperately opening and closing, reaching for something to grasp, but the heat was overwhelming.

That’s when he heard the man’s mumbling, though there were no discernible words. They weren’t the groggy moans of the possessed or inflicted, but the sounds of a man chained to his own execution. The slight whimpers grew into primordial gasps of agonizing pain, begging to be freed from life.

The haunting screams were silenced by the thud of the automated steel door slamming shut; then there was a faint slap of flesh hitting the incinerator’s small observation window, and Ivan watched as the skin of the hand combusted into flames and quickly turned to ash, disintegrating.

Frantic, his eye zipped left then right, trying to locate the emergency stop button. He knew it was there; he’d seen it a thousand times before but never imagined using it.

Frantic, he thought, Dammit, there’re so many controls, I can’t find it!

Then, he spotted it - right there, in plain sight, at the bottom: a red button labeled “E-Stop.” He swiped it, but nothing happened. Frantic, he swiped again and again, his movements growing more urgent, until finally, a shrill buzzer erupted. The incinerator flame extinguished, and the conveyor came to a screeching halt.

Ivan’s gaze was riveted on the door’s glass window. The hand was now completely gone. He shook his head slowly, his hands covering his mouth as if muting a scream.

We’re not here to save lives. Dr. Vandenberg’s words echoed through Ivan’s mind as he stood slack-jawed, beads of perspiration collecting into little rivulets that slowly traced paths down his face.

A familiar buzzing from the implanted data chip in his ear jolted him from the haze of devastation. A translucent image of Dr. Vandenberg materialized in his optic. Ivan willed the cursor to the image and selected it, his nostrils flaring, his heart fluttering, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. ‘Why aren’t you here witnessing this insanity?’

“Ivan?” Dr. Vandenberg’s holo inquired.

The incinerator door opened, and the conveyor rolled out. Ivan’s eyes widened at the charred body, a sizzling, burnt flesh odor forcing him to cover his nose. He attempted to answer, but his words were nasal-sounding, panicked mumbles, a mix of English and Russian.

“What are you babbling about?” Dr. Vandenberg probed.

Ivan wanted to scream. He turned away from the conveyor, gathered his thoughts, and in a clear but short tone, blurted out, “He wasn’t dead.” Ivan shifted his weight away from the conveyor and, most of all, from the flaking body. He covered his mouth with his hand as the incinerator wound down.

“What are you talking about?”

Ivan let his hand fall from his mouth “Number Sixteen was still alive. I saw it.”

“Stop it. That’s not something to joke about; he was dead, I made sure of it. Now get back here—”

“Listen to me. I understand what you’re saying. We checked his pulse. But Number Sixteen was as awake—”

“Impossible.”

“Dah, I agree, but that doesn’t explain why my heart feels like it’s about to burst out from my chest right now. I watched his hand turn to ash on the incinerator window; it was unnerving.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Vandenberg said while he folded his arms.

Ivan nodded. The holo of Dr. Vandenberg’s long, lithe frame went rigid. “Listen, Ivan, comrade. My father once told me about the tadpoles and how they transformed into frogs. We’re paid to find that secret, that metamorphosis, to extend humanity, to reconfigure the DNA.”

“Yes, I get it. I don’t need a refresher on your father’s teachings. The point is, plan A is no longer working; we need a plan B, whatever that is, and a plan C, as a matter of fact. Or you can come down here and do the dirty work yourself.” Ivan tipped his large head to the side and gave Dr. Vandenberg’s holograph an “I’m serious” look.

Dr. Vandenberg sighed with exasperation and said, “Meet me in the Celeritous lab.” Ivan’s COMM link went blank, showing a termination message.

Ivan patted down his lab coat and dug out a flask. He looked over his shoulder at the body and quickly took a gulp. Shaking, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, capped the flask, and dropped it back into his lab coat pocket, then walked out the door.

***

After ending the COMM link with Ivan, Dr. Vandenberg ran his fingers through strands of his silvery gray hair and strode down the hall.

Dr. Vandenberg grunted and thought, I checked him myself; he was dead. Was Ivan seeing things? We’re all overworked... Or was it that damn vodka? 

He willed the cursor of his optic, activating his desktop, then reached out and tapped the icon - an image of a woman peeking over a shield. Instantly, a bluish hologram resembling the icon materialized before him. “Yes, sir, how may I be of assistance?” the hologram asked, her voice cool and precise.

“VAL, did you detect any abnormalities in Number Sixteen?”

“No, Doctor, his condition was deceased, and my sensors confirmed. He was dead upon arrival at the incinerator; thanks to the concoction you administered. Protocol for all those you deem a failure for Ambrosia.”

Dr. Vandenberg rubbed his chin for a moment. “As far as Celeritous goes, are there any conditions I should be made aware of?”

“The main circulating pump’s pressure is low by ten percent,” VAL’s smooth, female, digitally enhanced voice said.

“And why wasn’t the correction made?” He rocked back onto his heels and back to the toes of his wing-tip shoes.

Her digital holo folded her arms and said, “Because you left the pump in manual mode, Doctor.”

“Oh, yes. Um, has there been any change in our patient’s condition?”

“With Professor Einstein? No, Doctor, I’m afraid there hasn’t.”

“I see … I may need you for the Adelaide experiment later, depending on how the professor is doing. Until then, VAL, on with your duties; I’ll expect a full report.”

“Yes, Doctor, you will have it in your mailbox by midnight.”

“That will be all, VAL.”

“Good day, Doctor,” VAL said and dematerialized.

Dr. Vandenberg opened a thin door and entered an antechamber. Lifting a jumpsuit off the rack to his right, he slipped it on and pulled the hood over his head, the sterile elastic conforming snugly to his face.

A red light illuminated the room, and he closed his eyes. Suddenly, a violent blast of air filled the chamber, stopping as fast as it had started. Then the whining suction of a vacuum kicked in, removing the excess air from the over-pressurized space. The light on the wall turned green, signaling the decontamination process had been completed, and a door slid open. He stepped over the threshold and into the Celeritous lab like he had thousands of times before.

Stopping short of the railing, he looked out, scanning the lab, his eye immediately drawn to the vat that was holding the brain of Albert Einstein.

He walked down the ramp, stepping over the raised tiles, toward the pedestal that cradled the three-gallon glass vat. The container’s surface was etched with delicate, frosted lines of digital circuitry, intricate patterns that linked to a network of emitters and sensors. He leaned in closer, the soft glow of cerebral fluid reflected in his eyes, casting a faint pink hue across his face. He couldn’t help but admire the eerie beauty of it, the way the fluid seemed to pulse in rhythm with the faint electronic whispers of the surrounding tech.

For a moment, the room felt still - too still, like a moment stretched beyond its natural boundaries. The brain was a masterpiece of bioengineering, but there was something unsettling about its peacefulness. It wasn’t just the advanced tech, it was the quiet, unnerving thought that what lay within this vat might once have been a mind, now reduced to a floating, helpless fragment of its former self. But as that thought lingered, another, more undeniable one emerged: What he was after lay inside the brain. The intricate patterns of thought, the neural pathways that once sparked equations that changed humanity forever.

The parietal lobe is oversized. Other than that, it’s no more remarkable than any other brain I’ve seen, Dr. Vandenberg thought.

Realizing there was much more to do, he tore his eyes from the vat and walked across the room to the pumps that hummed in the corner. Through his optic, a QR code hovered above them. He slid the cursor over it and tapped it with his finger. Instantly, a light blue, translucent virtual schematic of the cooling system illuminated before him, displaying pressures and temperatures hovering over the pumps and the vat. Dr. Vandenberg’s pencil-like finger touched the holo’s pump icon. It blinked, enlarging a graph of its pressures over the past two days, picking up on the sensors: The pumps were at forty hertz. Next, he selected the makeup tank that supplied the cerebral fluid. It was at its proper level.

He continued his rounds, moving on to the most important part of the operation: a cart holding four two-foot-long transparent cylinders. Each cylinder contained millions of nanobots that were color-coded red, blue, white, and black. At the top of each canister was the delivery system - fifty hair-like synthetic tubes, each acting as highways for one of his most prized possessions - the miraculous microscopic marvels of technology. Each tube delivered the nanobots onto the surface of the brain at a precise location. The nanobots’ mission was to scan, map out, thaw, and record their descent down into the brain. Eventually, they’d perform the delicate surgery that no human could.

Dr. Vandenberg stepped carefully, watching his footing to avoid tripping over the bundled hoses and cables snaking across the floor. His eyes traced their path to the vat that held Einstein’s brain.

A graph streamed into his vision, tracking the neurological synapses of the brain, along with its primary vitals. He swiped the graph away with his hand, then willed his optic cursor to the vat icon and tapped it. Real-time data on the vat’s operation populated before him, displaying millivolts, milliamps, and other key metrics. Swiping the metrics page away, he spread his fingers over the vat itself, enlarging the etched, frosted circuitry, checking for any burn marks or discoloration. Satisfied, he bent down to inspect one of the one-inch, wireless block emitters that received and transmitted data to and from the computer’s network. Delicately, he grabbed one of the thirty small block emitters and wiggled it, ensuring the connection was solid.

He stood up and leaned over the flowing pink cerebral fluid; he blinked, and a prompt of the brain automatically displayed. Dr. Vandenberg guided his cursor with practiced precision and activated it. The sine wave barely moved, presenting as little more than a blip. The report on the bottom showed the brain was still inactive. He sighed and looked to the left, which closed out the optic, and walked over to a bench that had wrenches on it.

His thin, pale fingers skimmed the chrome tools lined up from smallest to largest. He identified the size he needed and selected it, then slipped the open end of the wrench over one of the four compression fittings atop the manifold of the oxygen canister. This would’ve been a job for a lesser employee, except the project was too sensitive. Every detail was significant. Satisfied that he had a tight connection, he placed the wrench back down in its proper spot on the bench.

The fume hood’s exhaust whistled as he passed by, the sound barely audible over the pounding rush of his thoughts. He reached the sinks and scrubbed each finger with a heightened fervor, the water running in sharp contrast to his goal: gain access to the genius. When he finished, he held his hands in the air, trembling slightly, before tearing a towel from the dispenser and roughly drying them. After finishing with the towel, he made his way up the dais toward a rectangular black box the size of a small desk. His optic quickly scanned the box’s QR code. Dr. Vandenberg used his thoughts to slide the cursor, selecting it with precision. A holo overlay materialized before him, revealing a translucent panel with a login button. The system recognized his data chip and automatically populated the password field. He swiped the button, and in response, it pixelated to life, overlaying the box with a series of holo-displays.

Above him at the entrance of the lab, the door slid open with a soft hiss, and the suction from the decon chamber slowly wound down. In walked his assistant, Ivan, clad in a white jumpsuit identical to his own. The faint hum of the lab faded as Ivan crossed the threshold, his presence filling the space with an air of urgency.

“Ivan, so glad you could join us,” Dr. Vandenberg said, his voice booming through the lab as he worked the controls.

“I thought you said he was dead!”

Dr. Vandenberg looked up. “He was. You saw it with your own eyes. You checked for a pulse. Maybe you’re tired; we’re all tired.”

Ivan made his way down the ramp. “Yes, we all are, but I still don’t understand. I checked him, I made sure of it.” Ivan found his place next to Dr. Vandenberg.

“Is he gone?”

“Is he gone?” Ivan muttered something in Russian, then continued in English. “For the record, I do not wish to undergo that event ever again.”

“Duly noted. Now, shall we?”

Ivan let out an exaggerated sigh as his eyes darted in sporadic directions, eventually settling on Dr. Vandenberg, who shuffled through the floating virtual pages of data and graphs with the speed and accuracy of a blackjack dealer.

This was it. At last, they were ready.

Dr. Vandenberg looked down and nodded at his counterpart, whose irreversible frown seemed forged from the hammer and sickle of his Russian upbringing. Ivan answered with his own nod and hit a series of virtual buttons, making sure all the boxes were checked for Operation Celeritous to begin.

Dr. Vandenberg left Ivan at the main controls and walked in front of the two pumps that circulated the cerebral fluid for the brain. Just above them was the variable frequency panel. His overlay highlighted the QR code, and he selected it. Graphs immediately displayed the amperage, voltage, sine wave, and hertz of the two motors. He did the same for the pumps, noticed the pressure was a little off, and selected the RPM potentiometer from the menu, then increased the speed of the motor a tic as the pumps whined with a higher frequency. He scrolled through the RPM’s history; satisfied, he selected the clipboard icon and made a note of the change.

If Ivan is right, how could Number Sixteen have come back? I gave him enough sedative to kill him. For a second, Dr. Vandenberg squeezed his eyes shut and went over the sequence of operations. Thaw first. Second, repair any abnormalities. Then establish blood flow, warm it, and bring it back just as it was a hundred years ago. Then, finally: make contact.

“Nanobot thaw procedure, Doctor?” Ivan asked from the control panel.

“Not yet! Give me a minute,” he impatiently answered, still going over the list in his head.

Ivan pulled his glasses from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dr. Vandenberg walked from the pumps to an open spot where there was no equipment, looked around as if to make sure there was enough room, and shifted his eyes, moving the cursor to select the drop-down menu. He scrolled over the various selections till he found what he was looking for - the nanobot icon, which resembled a spider. Dr. Vandenberg highlighted it, went into the nanobot’s settings, and clicked on the tracking.

He exited the nanobots menu and blinked his focus onto the brain display. The cursor snapped to attention. With a thought, he zoomed in to fifty times magnification. The holo flared to life, casting neural constellations across the room. An oversized version of the digitally enhanced holo of the brain pixelated, filling much of the open space in front of him. The computer’s display of the brain was majestic, in all its intricate, sparkling detail of lobes, thalamus, and cerebral cortex. When Dr. Vandenberg stepped into the holographic rendition of the brain, the cavity was crystallized, neurons were frozen; there was no sign of any blood … or life.

He scanned through the brain’s vitals page.

There’s no going back.

He swiped out of that display and opened the main menu, navigating through the sequence of operations. When he selected the launch option, an “Are you sure?” prompt appeared. He swiped yes.

The start button emerged.

He looked over at Ivan and saw that he was watching him. “Ivan, mark the time, please.” He clenched his hand into a fist, then relaxed it, and pressed the virtual button.

It flashed, Celeritous commencing …

Dr. Vandenberg raised his head like he was expecting it to rain. At that moment, attached to the follicle tubing, eight-legged nanobots the size of house spiders repelled down. He watched thousands of them cover the surface in every direction, their sensors scanning as they trekked across the brain tissue until they located their assigned destination. The spiders moved toward him, then past him, repelling further down into the brain’s depths. They weaved through the arteries and sparked the hibernating neurons with a low-frequency trickle charge.

Synthetic blood wept from the tubing and filled the arteries.

The holo-display felt so real that at one point, he flinched, believing he was about to be hit by one of the nanobots, and instinctively moved out of the way. Just as the digital image of the nanobot faded, it returned to a sharp resolution as it zipped past him.

Dr. Vandenberg swiped at the icon of a nanobot, and the display streamed real-time footage as the bot repelled into what appeared to be mineshafts - narrow neural tunnels - toward their objective: the lobes of the most brilliant brain of the twentieth century.

Ivan stepped up alongside Dr. Vandenberg in front of the giant display of Einstein’s brain. Dr. Vandenberg’s nose tickled, breaking him of his trance. “You’ve been drinking.”

“After what I just witnessed, I could be doing much worse. We incinerated a living person, you know.”

Dr. Vandenberg’s looked past Ivan. “Pressures, watch the pressures.”

Ivan went back to Celeritous’ bluish control panel. He slid the virtual potentiometer, the pumps in the corner softening to an idle whisper.

He swiped the pump display upward to an image of a holographic brain. A report of the nano’s progress scrolled. He reviewed the information. In a thick, monotone accent, he reported, “Nanos have repaired twenty blood vessels. Going for conductivity check of the neurons.”

Dr. Vandenberg walked out of the brain display and stood alongside Ivan at the holo control panel. They watched little bursts of light that represented the force-fed electrical fireworks stimulating the brain’s neurons. Every so often, he’d look over at the level of the coursing pink solution in the vat, his head snapping between the holo and back toward Ivan.

Their silent confirmation continued, and Ivan slid the bar, lessening the electrical stimulus, while Dr. Vandenberg monitored the data that rolled up on the display of conductivity of each nerve. A pop-up appeared, stating that the conductivity check was complete; there was a ping that signaled the arterial canals were ready.

“Shall I retrieve the bots, Doctor?”

He nodded. “Stay on the pressure. We could—”

“Blow a blood vessel? Dah, I got it.” Ivan’s round head showed a hint of perspiration as it cocked toward him.

All he could do was sigh like a father about to scold his child for interrupting, but he thought better of it.

Ivan squinted at the controls, his yellowed teeth poking out from his cracked lips. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his thick nose. “Doctor, the bots are in the jar; all have been accounted for.”

Dr. Vandenberg pulled at the elastic that itched his face, and turned toward the holo, noticing a considerable change in the color of the larger-than-life image - it was vibrant, And dare I say … alive?

“Let’s move on to the next phase of the operation. Heartbeat simulation.”

Ivan hit the virtual button that engaged the heartbeat simulator and turned the virtual potentiometer. He moved from this control to another and slid the digital bars, increasing the rhythmic beats. The pumps hummed in unison.

They turned toward each other and gave their customary nod.

It was time.

He could see the excitement in Ivan’s eyes, and Dr. Vandenberg rubbed his fingertips together, trying to ebb the tingle in them. He wondered if this was what Dr. Livingston felt when he first put Professor Einstein’s brain in cryogenics.

“Ready?” He blinked, summoning the menu, then selected the clipboard icon with a flick of his gaze. Dr. Livingston’s detailed notes appeared, and Dr. Vandenberg sifted through highlighted pages, making sure he didn’t miss a thing. Then he swiped the notes away and brought up his own checklist. There was nothing left to prepare for … it was time to attempt contact.

He opened the small notepad with his cursor, and a preplanned speech appeared - one he had revised multiple times over the years. He flicked on the microphone to the thalamus emitters and adjusted the output to bare minimum volume. Because Einstein’s brain had no ears, he didn’t want it to sound like he was screaming.

He cleared his throat and began. “Dr. Einstein, hello - my name is Dr. Jonathon Vandenberg. The year is 2101. We are in a lab in Los Angeles, California. In 1955, at Princeton Hospital, Dr. James Livingston removed your brain just after you expired. It was cryogenically frozen and kept in the Pentagon for safekeeping. Your frozen status has been monitored until technology could provide the opportunity to revive you. My colleague, Dr. Ivan Kaminsky, and I have been entrusted with this delicate operation, dubbed Celeritous.”

He looked down at Ivan’s full, round face. Ivan looked back up at him and shook his head in frustration.

Dr. Vandenberg looked away as if someone were in the room and asked, “VAL? You pick up on anything?”

“No, sir,” VAL, the virtual algorithm linguistics artificial intelligence program, said in a soothing female voice. “However, well done. Professor Einstein appears to be in a coma and quite—”

“Thank you, VAL. When I require your input, I’ll ask for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He should be awake, not in a coma, Dr. Vandenberg thought.

He studied the oversized holo across from them and turned toward Ivan, recalling what he’d said earlier about things not going according to plan. “Ready for plan B?”

“We just thawed him. We could—”

Dr. Vandenberg closed his eyes and thought for a second. Is this it? Is he really in a coma? The control data says he is. But from my calculations, he should be awake. This is highly irregular.

His eyes snapped open and fixated on the holo, then back toward Ivan. He recalled when Dr. Morrissey first told him about the neuro-ways of all the brain’s senses and where they ended up.

Rushing to the console, he brought up a small digital rendering from the holo-display. “Look.” He flipped the holo upside down and highlighted the bottom of the brain. “Here’s a collection of tubes that lead to other lobes. I want you to concentrate a charge here.”

Ivan straightened. “The thalamus? The third eye?” He nodded, realization dawning on his face. He had been so focused on the details, so consumed by the process, that he hadn’t seen the broader picture until it was right there, already formed in Dr. Vandenberg’s mind. “Right away, Doctor.” His expert hands swiped at the controls, readied the emitters, and targeted the thalamus for the blast.

“Instead of an overall shock to the whole brain, we’ll jump-start the thalamus - the section that collects sensory data and distributes it to the rest of—”

“His brain,” Ivan interrupted “Like a trickle charge.” Dr. Vandenberg heard Ivan mutter the word genius under his breath.

Ivan frantically punched in the data for the computer to calculate the charge. They’d give it a slight electrical nudge to awaken it.

Ivan gave him the ready nod and thought, This must work, or we’ll fry the brain.

Dr. Vandenberg held his hand up, counting down. “On my mark … three, two, one.”

Ivan swiped the button. The emitters etched into the vat carried a pulse with a flash of concentrated light that released a deep throb.

The display of the brain showed faint pulses of light that passed from one neuron to the next. They illuminated each lobe as they faded away, like a lightning cloud giving off its energy.

“Brain synapses firing… signals are attempting to … to energize.” Ivan looked over at Dr. Vandenberg with tears in his eyes and his arms raised in the air. “You, you’ve done it!”

Dr. Vandenberg put his hand to his chin and sighed with relief. He could hear his father telling him how proud he was. He came out of his moment, recalling the plan. “Yes, we did, didn’t we? Congratulations to you as well.”

“Thank you, comrade. Should we …?”

“Not yet. Communication is our goal. But for now, that was enough for one day. Let him rest.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Ivan said, repressing his enthusiasm. “Shouldn’t we do something else?”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Play him some Mozart, perhaps?”

“Sounds good, comrade, sounds good.” Dr. Vandenberg walked up the ramp and out the door as the first notes of Mozart’s seventh symphony filled the lab, the display pulsed - once, faintly. Then again.

***

On Dr. Vandenberg’s desk sat a bottle of his favorite bourbon, Eagle Rare. He didn’t have to read the card to know who it was from. Somehow, Damen always knew when something was worth celebrating. They had never shared a drink, but Damen still knew what he liked. Dr. Vandenberg wasn’t a social drinker, but when it was time to unwind, he could appreciate a flavorful bourbon.

He grabbed the neck of the bottle, twisted off the cap, and inhaled. The smoke wood aroma stirred a rare smile. He undid his tie, opened a desk drawer, and retrieved a crystal tumbler. Setting it beside a small display case, he poured two fingers of the caramel liquor. It swirled gently as he rotated the glass.

He sank into his leather chair, took a sip, and rolled it around in his mouth. “Aaahh …” He set the glass down, then reached over and picked the plastic cover off the display. With great care, he lifted his father’s old scalpel, holding it like a pencil, testing its weight. The last time he saw it used, he was barely old enough to understand what it meant.

Adjusting his grip, he pressed the blade lightly to his finger, just enough pressure to feel resistance. No blood. He stopped, satisfied. It wasn’t just a family heirloom, it was nostalgia. In a world of touchless procedures and AI-assisted surgeries, this was his ritual. Proof he still had the touch. He replaced the scalpel and cover, then picked up the bourbon and downed the rest.

His thoughts rattled in his mind like one of his lab rats lost in a maze. 

Ivan and I should share a glass. Maybe play some chess to celebrate our great accomplishment…

But something still gnawed at him. Number Sixteen wasn’t dead.

When Ivan said something could go wrong, it usually did. Things were going too smoothly. And in this field, smooth was suspicious. Whether it was Ambrosia or Celeritous, nothing ever ran clean from start to finish. You planned, you tested, you failed, you adapted. That’s why you needed backups: three, four, five if possible.

He couldn’t afford to lose Einstein. Not like the tadpoles.

He stared into his empty glass. No victory yet. Not until I’ve cracked the mind of a genius. His thought experiments. That’s what made him different. That’s where the true power lies. I need to get to him before I hand him over. I’ll need more time.

A sharp buzzing vibrated in his ear. A soft icon flashed into view. Incoming call - one he couldn’t ignore. Straightening in his chair, he tapped the virtual button.

“Doctor?”

A blue, translucent holo bloomed above his desk. Damen Kilbourn, propped up in a Victorian bed, frail and sunken under heavy blankets. Vital stats lined the image like a stock ticker: pulse weak, oxygen low, heart fluttering.

“Damen,” Dr. Vandenberg said, hands clasped. “Good news.”

“Let me guess,” Damen said, his voice gravelly and dry. “You’ve completed Celeritous?”

Dr. Vandenberg gestured to the bourbon. “I see by this gift you already know. Thank you.”

“I was hoping. And you’re welcome.” Damen’s head sagged slightly.

“We’re close. Einstein is thawed. Damage repaired. He’s stable… but in a coma.”

“And that’s good news?” Damen narrowed his eyes like coin slots. “Alright, what’s really on your mind?”

‘How does he do that?’ Dr. Vandenberg held his gaze.

“What if we got a head start,” he offered. “Talk to Einstein before the Department of Special Projects does. Tap into his genius. Ask the questions they will. Wormholes, for example.”

Damen raised an eyebrow.

“We decode his imagination,” Dr. Vandenberg pressed. “His methods, his thoughts. Map them. Use them. Think of the credits you could generate applying his breakthroughs. Time. Gravity. Fusion. From one end of the galaxy to the next.”

“Exploit the genius before they do,” Damen said with a soft smirk. “Brilliant.”

“I just need time. Once he wakes up, we communicate. Hopefully. But for now… we stall.”

“The USG wants him. Now.”

“We’re not ready.”

“Why not, Doctor? Is he damaged beyond repair?”

“No. He’s functional. Stable. But he’s not conscious yet. He needs time to acclimate. That’s all.”

“Huh, I see.” Damen leaned back.

“How’s Travis?”

“He’s a spoiled brat.”

“He’s twenty-three, Damen.”

“He’s also insolent.”

“Do you remember what twenty-three felt like?”

“I barely remember sixty-three. Twenty-three was nearly a century ago.”

Dr. Vandenberg rubbed his neck, smiling. “About the tour you mentioned, why not let Travis give it?”

Damen chuckled. “Not a bad idea. I’ll think about it. Anything else?”

“I planned to stop by tomorrow.”

“Let Thomas know,” Damen said with a garbled chortle.

The holo faded out.

Dr. Vandenberg stood, poured another two fingers, and lifted his glass. “To working on what matters. Without timelines, or those government dopes.”

***

In the Celeritous lab, deep within the vat, something stirred, unseen, undetectable, even by the most sophisticated sensors. Amid swirling data streams and the ceaseless hum of machinery, a flicker of awareness shimmered. A nascent spark in a vast sea of synthetic slumber.

This awakening, imperceptible to the high-tech environment, marked the beginning of something profound. Subtle. Silent. A transformation that defied the very systems designed to monitor and control it.

Unfathomable. Unseen. Proof that even in the most controlled environments, the extraordinary still finds a way to rise.

The genius’s consciousness was stirring.