A NON-DESCRIPTIVE BUIDLING IN THE MIDDLE OF A LARGE CITY; SOME WHERE IN THE USA
The elevator shaft went deep, very deep, underground. A lone man rode down the shaft in inside the scruffy elevator car. But where the elevator car was heading was not scruffy at all.
The man's name was Narrenson; or at least that's what people called him. His real name was a mystery, which is how he lived his life. The post he commanded predated the old J. Edgar Hoover days of American secret government agencies, meaning; it was far more secretive. The agency was so secret it wasn't even kept on the list of agencies that were kept off the list. The agency drew from resources that went all the way back to J.P. Morgan, the famed American Banker of the 1800s. The name of the agency was only known to a very select few; and even they did not speak of it to others. The agency was called "Eight".
Narrenson was in his mid-fifties and was the director of Eight, having assumed the directorship of the agency when he was thirty-four years old. He would retire his post on the day turned sixty, as was policy. His successor would be selected by a secret quorum. And on that day, Narrenson would be given a sedative, and another injection that would bring his life to a quiet and dignified end. It was a fate he accepted when he took on the role of director.
The elevator finally came to a stop and the door opened. Narrenson stepped out and he then he walked down a long dark hallway that led to a door that slid opened, and he stepped through it.
The room was dark with a myriad of computer posts arrayed in small cubicles. The different posts were manned by men and women who, upon selection of service, served for twelve consecutive years with absolutely no contact with the real world. There were no televisions, no internet, absolutely no contact at all in any form, with the outside world. This, too, had been policy from the beginning of the agency.
Once their twelve year commitment was over, the service member underwent nine months of mind programming to change their memories so as to minimize the knowledge of the agency to reach the world.
All communications in the facility were exchanged through emails, or other instant messaging protocols that were all contained in house. No verbal communication was aloud at any time. Violation of that simple rule meant being removed from the service. There was only one secured line that could reach the outside world, and it was kept under severe security measures. Only Narrenson had access to it.
Kept in a very secure room was the most important component of Eight. It was simply called the Server. The first version of The Server was built and operational, in this very building, in 1923 using technologies and theories from scientist as diverse as Einstein and Tesla. The current version of the Server was the sixth of the line, and the most complex.
Despite what the masses had been led to believe, no alien craft had ever crashed at Roswell. There have been no alien abductions, no string of alien lights flying over the Arizona desert in front of High-school football game crowds. But what there was, was, the Server. And it was a very special device with a very special purpose.
Narrenson walked over to the security door that led to the Server. He was scanned by a purple light. The door to the Server opened, and Narrenson stepped through. The door slid shut behind him. He was in another elevator car. Suddenly in traveled down several floors and came to a sudden stop. The door slid opened and Narrenson stepped out. The elevator shut behind him.
Narrenson walked toward the center of the room; and there it was; The Server.
The Server had one simple purpose, and one simple purpose only; to protect Earth. Narrenson walked over to the sleek looking Server. It was nearly seven feet tall, six inches wide, and totally black. It made absolutely no sound. Narrenson reached out and touched the Server. Instantly a virtual keyboard and monitor were projected from the Server for Narrenson to use. He used the keyboard to key in a simple command.
Suddenly a strange object was projected next to the Server. It was, for lack of better words, a ball of energy. But in the center of the ball of energy was something that Narrenson recognized instantly. It was the USS ENTERPRISE. The ball of energy was surrounding the Enterprise, and deflected light. Narrenson smiled at the force field around the ship. It was, just as he guessed, a Cloaking Device. Though it was intended to shroud the ship with invisibility, the Server could see right through it.
And the Server had also detected signals coming from the famed fictional ship earlier. The signals scanned a particular area on the planet below. Narrenson keyed in more commands and the Server zoomed in the coordinates that Enterprise's scanners had zeroed in on. It was a simple home in San Diego California. The faces of the family were displayed one at a time from youngest to oldest. The last image displayed was that of a man named; Frank Grayson.
THRYSON-CLEMENTS HOSPITAL, DENVER COLORADO
Ryana Jackson could only sit in the observation room and watch as her seven year old daughter, Shyawna, was being prepared for her monthly CAT scan. Nearly four months earlier the young girl had been diagnosed with a rare brain disorder that slowly, but surely, would cause her brain to degenerate. Her death was certain; there was no treatment.
Being so rare that Shyawna's condition was Ryana, and her husband, Lt. Leonard Jackson, had volunteered to let their daughter's condition be studied so that through the doctor's efforts, a better understanding could be attained, and maybe, someday, a cure could be found. Stem-cell research looked promising, but legislature regulating this new medical technology would not be worked out for years to come. By then Shyawna would be dead, but others could possibly be treated. Maybe their daughter's short life could help others.
"Your daughter is very brave. " Dr. William Hunt said as he joined her in the observation area. He sat down and held Ryana's hand in his. "The scan is already showing the signs of neuron degradation." He said to her.
As he spoke, Nurse Donna Willis came in from the room and the CAT scan techs prepared for more tests.
"What does that mean?" Ryana asked, as a tear came down from her left eyes.
Doctor Hunt put a hand on her shoulder. "I believe she will start showing more signs very soon."
"How long does she have to live?" Ryana asked softly.
"Maybe three months, maybe a little more," Dr. Hunt said with sorrow.
Ryana bowed her head down. Giving birth to Ryana was not easy. After the complications of childbirth it was determined that Ryana would never be able to have children again. It was a secret she did not share with her husband Leonard.
Nurse Willis came over and sat next to Ryana and held her other hand. It was not a moment that any Doctor or Nurse ever cherished; telling a parent their child was going to die.
"Just enjoy what time you have." Nurse Willis said. "I lost my child when she was at a very young age as well. You're not alone in this."
Ryana nodded her head as she sobbed. She held their hands tight. "I will still pray for a miracle." Ryana said, in a determined way.
Then she looked up and through the window at her daughter, as the CAT scan moved around her small body. Ryana stood up and walked over to the window and waved at her little girl, who waved back. Then Ryana looked back to Doctor Hunt and Nurse Willis.
"I believe in Miracles." Ryana said with a smile.
Inside a top secret Chinese government medical research centers, scientists and nurses hurried about from one project to another. Liu Fong's message had been received.
Perhaps there is a God, perhaps there isn't. But the cure to Shyawna's condition would soon be in the hands of Liu Fong. Fong would use the young girl and her dire condition as a tool. Shyawna was a like pawn that would either survive the game; or die. It would be up to Liu Fong to decide.