PHOENIX: Spooks Read online

  A few years thereafter he persuaded investors to support his asteroid project. The rest, as they say, is history. On a very clear night Phoenix could be faintly seen in the sky overhead, dimly blinking on and off as it rotated on its axis. From space, and closer up, it was a giant rock with a complex of buildings dug right into the side of it.

  Future customers and VIPs could visit it on certain occasions, but for the most part it was inaccessible to the public, who could only see it in photographs.

  Today Phoenix was playing host to such a tour; conducted by some of the wealthiest and most influential business people in the world. The first part featured an extensive tour of the hotel accommodations, which were some of the finest and most luxurious to be found anywhere.

  The next phase involved a tour through the ecto labs which contained, among other things, one of the most elaborate computer complexes ever built. It was a large facility of workstations and security operations with hundreds of people operating the various functions required by the systems. A youthful Tour Guide led the small group down the center aisle of the complex.

  “Now if you’ll all step this way,” he began, “I’ll show you the main control area of our complex.” He scanned the group and looked over them like a mother hen with her chicks. “Are we all here?” he asked. One member of the group, a balding executive named Martin, began to look around for his assistant.

  “I seem to have misplaced my associate,” he said, “Lisa?” he called. The Tour Guide looked around with concern.

  “I’ll have Security locate her for you,” he began, but was suddenly stopped by a tap upon his shoulder. He turned toward the tap and saw Lisa, Martin’s beautiful assistant; she smiled at him and flirted with her big blue eyes.

  “There you are!” Martin said surprised. “We were just about to send a hunting party after you.” She grinned and moved to Martin’s side, letting him move ahead as they walked.

  “Great!” the Guide exclaimed. “Now that we’re all here, this is our Master Control Area. From here we can oversee the entire complex.” He punched up another computer room on one of the display screens. “This is the main computer area here,” he began, “We monitor...”

  “Excuse me,” Martin interrupted, “How do you determine the post life period for each client?”

  “The duration of post-life is chosen by the clients themselves,” the Guide replied, “Six years is the most popular because it allows enough time for the majority of people’s needs. It also has the lowest remission requirement.”

  “Some are around longer than that.” Martin answered.

  “Very few VIPs qualify for extended durations...” the Guide began.

  Instantly the power went out and the whole room was in darkness. In the bowels of an asteroid, that is total darkness. A few seconds later a few dim work lights came on. The Guide looked over his unnerved charges and spoke softly, moving to a display and switching it on.

  “Relax everybody. We’ll have power restored in a few minutes. Just stay where you are.” The guests were only too happy to comply with their instructions and remain in place. In the confusion nobody even noticed that Lisa was gone again.

  The shapely blonde moved down the dark corridors of the complex, looking about carefully to avoid detection. She came to an open archway and pressed herself against a wall to avoid being spotted by two employees, who moved by without noticing her. After they were well clear she moved down the hall in search of a door on her left. She finally reached it and risked turning on a small key light to read what was printed on it:

  CENTRAL DATABASE

  The sounds of confusion were all around her as she opened the door and moved inside. When Lisa entered the room she began to look over the computers that filled the complex. At last, she spotted the data input terminal she was looking for. It was one of the main terminals for the ecto-infusion system. She acted quickly, knowing it wouldn’t be long before they located what she had done to the lights.

  Deftly typing at the keyboard, a listing came up on the screen. After scrolling through the directories, an individual file rolled up on the display.

  It was the file of a client scheduled for ecto-infusion. In the upper corner was a photo of an elderly man with lean features. The file read:

  SUBJECT........HOLT, ARNOLD C.

  DECEASED.....9/19/27

  RECOM. DUR...75 YEARS (See attached

  VIP exclusion special circumstances AR3-709B)

  PROF..............TERRA FORMING

  VIT STAT........ATTACHED

  In a square in the lower corner of the screen was a DNA code group. Lisa began to input more information at the keypad. On the screen the message read:

  “DELETE FILE CLEARANCE CODE 6623719cRS”

  The screen cleared and another message came on:

  “AWAITING DATA INPUT”

  She looked around before opening a button on her blouse and withdrew a tiny drive. She inserted it into a slot on the computer. After pressing a few more keys the same file displayed as before, except now the photograph was of John Morrison.

  As crews continued to work in the main room the Guide talked softly with the members of the tour. After a few seconds the lights came back on with a loud click overhead. The systems also came back up and everyone laughed, expressing general approval of this development.

  Martin looked about him but could not spot Lisa at once. He was just about to comment on this when a hand tapped him on his shoulder. He turned slowly to his assistant, who just smiled at him. He laughed and felt a little bit confused.

  “I must be losing my mind today...” he said.

  The nearby terminal began to beep an alert and the Tour Guide stepped over to it. It read:

  “CENTRAL DATABASE SECURITY BREACH DETECTED”

  Lisa pretended to ignore the message as the red-faced Tour Guide turned off the alarm and reset the computer that had just embarrassed him. He looked up at the group and grinned.

  “A nine hundred million dollar computer and it still goes nuts whenever there’s a glitch!” he mused. The VIPs joined him in laughter. He rubbed his hands together and turned toward the far door.

  “Now that the light has finally dawned,” he added, “Let’s move on to the next stop on our tour. While here, our guests are treated to our very own Five Star Restaurant. Which reminds me: lunch anybody?”

  Chapter Three: Just Like the Good Old Days

  Dr. Jess Carnes had another year to go in residency when he finished out his last month at the prison. On this night his duty required him at the morgue. Although it had only one body in storage, the law was quite clear on the release and transfer procedures for mortal remains: one licensed physician, and at least one guard or attendant as a witness to the transfer. It was now very late and the prison was quiet. The boys had been exceptionally good for a change; no injuries or illnesses had been reported.

  Two trustees were moving down the hallway near the morgue, making no sound as they approached the door. Having managed to skip out on the bed check, nobody knew they were at large. Although monitors were set up on all of the halls, this was a company operation and the staffing had been cut to save money. Nobody was watching.

  Mike, a very big man with a scar on his jaw for talking when he should have been silent, carried a canvas sack. He had a rock-hard expression on his face, like stone.

  Steve, the other trustee, was a violent man in his early twenties. He had been a model prisoner after being sentenced to fifteen big ones on a second-degree rap. It should have been first, but his lawyer was good.

  They reached the door to the morgue and moved to either side of it. Pausing, they looked at each other and nodded a silent count to three. The trustees rushed inside in a single burst of energy, surprising the two men on duty.

  “Hey! You guys aren’t supposed to be in here...” Carnes said.

  Steve pulled a makeshift plastic gun out of his pants and, without a word, shot Carnes in the face. The gun was silent but effective. As
the Doctor collapsed to the floor, the guard rushed to activate the alarm. Mike intercepted him and they struggled until the guard almost broke free. The trustee grabbed the guard’s head from behind, giving it a quick jerk. The neck broke with a solid crunch and his body went limp. Mike let go and he fell to the ground. The two men looked at each other. Mike grinned.

  “That’s done.” Steve commented.

  “Just like the Good Old Days.” Mike said.

  There was no time to waste. Their surprise had worked so far, but another guard or attendant could show up at any time and ruin the plan. The two men bent over the bodies and quickly got to work. The hearse was probably at the gates already.

  Five minutes later a finger pushed the button on the outside door to the prison morgue. The hearse from Forest Rest had come as arranged. The bell rang inside, but only once. The door opened to reveal Mike, who was now dressed in the doctor’s coat. He smiled in a friendly manner.

  “Good-morning.” he said. The driver nodded his head and checked his clipboard.

  “I’m from Forest Rest,” he explained, “I’m supposed to pick up a J. Morrison.”

  Mike smiled again. “Of course. Come on in!”

  Less than a minute later, the driver lay dead in a cold storage drawer, which Steve was closing. Now the morgue held three. Mike put on the driver’s clothes and struggled with the collar button.

  “I wish they’d sent a bigger guy!” he exclaimed. Steve opened the loading door and they placed the bagged body of Morrison in the back of the hearse. He crawled in under the bag and Mike closed the tailgate and loading doors.

  He got in the driver seat and started the car. With an airy whoosh the Tesla engine purred softly.

  “We’re ready,” he whispered to Steve, “Don’t move a muscle.”

  *****

  As Richard Johannson left for work, he did not expect a busy day at the mortuary. Run by his family for six generations, the days of elaborate funerals and high profits had become a thing of the past since his grandfather’s time. Family sentiment and wealth had gone, along with the passing of the baby boomers in the last century.

  When things went terribly wrong with the weather, forcing people to flee their homes and uprooting families, the old traditions went with them.

  Death itself, and people’s perception of it, was forever altered, as billions of unnamed people succumbed to the forces of nature that changed the world. When people die in such numbers there are no coffins or funerals; only abandoned lands and unburied bodies “returning to nature”, as they used to say in those dark days. In America alone, it is estimated that as many as eighty million went unrecovered and unburied.

  In the highlands of China that remained above water, children played with unburied human bones as toys. In Africa, they were in such abundance that people used them as fuel. When six billion people die in such a short time the footprint of death is everywhere, until it is no longer seen as strange or disturbing. At the end of the twenty-first century, Earth had become a vast charnel house.

  Now a new perception was added as Phoenix removed even the finality of death. What was once a very lucrative profession was now becoming a cold storage operation; a weigh station to something that Johannson saw as unnatural. When he arrived at the mortuary that morning it was quiet as always, with nothing to do but pass the time until the transports came and went.

  Bill, his morning attendant, was already on duty, and seated at a small screen watching video. More out of habit than anything else, Johannson entered the room and slipped off his coat. The attendant switched off the TV.

  “Good morning, Bill,” he said, “Anything new today?”

  “No,” Bill replied, “Just Dr. Holt in three. Phoenix is going to pick him up in an hour or so.” Johannson hung up his coat and shook his head in disgust.

  “Another goddamn spook!” he hissed. “Those ghouls at Phoenix give me the creeps. It’s getting so nobody wants a decent burial anymore!”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Bill sighed.

  “The worst part is that they’re messing around with something that should be left alone,” Johannson said, “No good will come of it!”

  It surprised Bill to hear his boss talk that way. “I didn’t know you were religious.” he quipped. Johannson wrinkled his nose and frowned.

  “I’m not.”

  The conversation was quickly interrupted as a fire bell went off.

  “What the hell…?” Bill shouted and jumped up. “That’s the fire alarm!” Smoke began to pour in from the crack under the door to the next room. Johannson moved toward it and opened the door a little. A huge billow of smoke burst through and he quickly closed it, coughing and choking. He gasped for breath and seized Bill by the arm, leading him outside.

  “Hold your breath!” he shouted. “The fumes from the chemicals are toxic!”

  They left, closing the door behind them. A moment later the other door opened, and Steve emerged with a wet towel over his mouth. Seeing that the coast was clear he gestured for Mike to enter, still holding a smudge pot in his hand. He quickly took a rag and covered the top to drown the billowing smoke that was coming out of it. Steve moved to the outer door and opened it. He scowled at Mike and coughed.

  “Get rid of that fuckin’ thing!”

  Mike tossed it outside and Steve began to check the drawers. He opened number three and located the body of Holt. “Give me a hand before the Fire Department gets here!” Mike joined him and they removed the body from the drawer.

  *****

  That afternoon the shuttle from Phoenix waited at the shipping dock for final loading. As the last cardboard container marked “HUMAN REMAINS” was moving up the conveyor, Knott, the shuttle pilot, was studying his manifest. He waved at the dock captain, a burly man with too much work and the ulcers to show for it. The captain moved toward him in no hurry at all.

  “Well, that’s the last one,” Knott said, “Holt, Arnold.”

  “Holt. Yeah,” the captain replied, “Wasn’t he the famous Doctor who just kicked off a couple of days ago?”

  “Yeah, some big climate researcher or some shit like that.” Knott answered.

  “So they’re gonna make him a spook, huh?”

  “Ecto-being!” Knott corrected. “They never call them “spooks” up there. I think they got him down for an extended term job.”

  The door to the shuttle closed and the conveyor rolled away. Knott turned back to the captain and smiled.

  “Gotta fly.”

  Chapter Four: Resurrection

  One who has never been in space truly knows the solitude of it. On the outbound journey the vista before the space traveler is an endless sea of stars against eternal blackness. Brilliant, but cold. Beautiful, but lifeless. Most people are not cut out for that kind of loneliness, even for short periods of time.

  On its outward journey the Phoenix shuttle is little more than a mortuary in space, quiet and cold as its passengers. Knott avoided going back into the holds on the outbound if he could. There was nothing to see or do back there and the cargo gave him the creeps. He wasn’t afraid of the dead; they just gave him the creeps.

  For the sake of economy and payload the ship only required one pilot, and he kept himself company with recorded music to pass the hours. At first he listened to popular songs, but lately his taste had changed to the reassuring sound of the classics. It made him feel warm inside for the long part of the journey facing darkness and cold stars.

  Just as a Brandenburg Concerto was beginning, he saw the faint, orange glow of man-made lights rotating in the distance. The Phoenix Asteroid was just ahead. He radioed in for vector approach and permission to dock.

  The thrusters kicked in and the ship began to decelerate. The steel port at the center of the great rotating rock began to open. The huge expanse of the asteroid grew larger in his window, revealing the complex of structures and buildings cut into the ancient rock of Phoenix. Within a few more minutes he set the shuttle down on the trundle tha
t would guide his ship inside. Now there was nothing more to do but enjoy the music, as the automated system glided his ship down the long tunnel to the interior.

  The port closed to space and he watched his readings, as the vacuum outside began to fill with air around the ship. The great steel supports passed by overhead, like the giant ribcage of a colossal snake that went on for half a mile. Finally, the pressure readout changed to green and the inner port opened to the bay at the heart of Phoenix, filling the cockpit with a welcoming glow.

  *****

  The Ecto-Conversion Center was the biggest computer complex in the solar system. The enormous banks of data processors dwarfed the operators and the chemical works in front of them. The mortuary team placed the body of Morrison on the conversion table. The Ecto-Tech punched up the data screens.

  The Holt file displayed with Morrison’s photograph. The Tech moved to the table and visually examined the body upon it. After completing his inspection he lowered the safety visor over his eyes and stepped back.

  “Scan.” he ordered.

  The electronic relays activated and a laser beam moved over the body. On the screen the word “MATCH” appeared.

  “ID positive,” he said into the recorders, “Engage I.G.I.R.”

  A series of metal rings rose from the edge of the table until they girded the body completely. The display read:

  “READY”

  The Tech moved to the control panel and pushed several buttons. The display changed to:

  “INITIATE SEQUENCE?”

  The Tech scanned his displays to make sure everything registered as nominal.

  “Proceed.”

  The machinery began to emit a brilliant light. A low sound was heard rising in volume and pitch. The body on the table began to glow softly. The display screen read:

  “INFUSION SEQUENCE ACTIVATED.

  ESTIMATED I.E.C. DURATION: 40 MINUTES”.

  There has never been a literary treatise on what happens to the human soul during an ecto-infusion process. Maybe it was because the soul cannot remember the spiritual trauma of being sucked back among the living. Or maybe it was because the process was so unique and completely personal that nobody ever had the courage to bare themselves as utterly as the process itself does.