Booker was led down a dark side tunnel, deeper into the mountain. Soft yellow light bulbs, connected with exposed wire, lined the rocky ceiling in ten-foot intervals. The tunnel ended in a pair of silver elevator doors that opened and flooded them with harsh white light. It felt blinding after the hurried journey down the tight rocky tunnel.
They descended quickly and silently. The PCs on either side of him had flat expressions on their faces, but firm grips on his shoulders.
“Where’s this temple the captain was talking about?” he said.
Both were silent.
The elevator came to a shuddering stop, and the doors slid open silently to reveal an unmarked white hallway. The hallway had different colored arrows on the ground, presumably leading to different places. They set off down the hallway, occasionally, passing an unmarked metal door. They reached a junction in the hallway where they could continue straight, turn left, or right.
The blue and yellow arrows underfoot veered to the left. Orange, gray, purple and yellow arrows continued straight ahead. Green arrows turned down to the right, and that’s the direction they followed.
They walked for what felt like a long time, nothing but white walls and white lights to see. Eventually, there was a door, and they went through it. They entered a huge, dimly lit space that resembled a warehouse. Exposed pipes, labeled with different codes and colors snaked overhead in all directions. Huge silver silos like the ones from breweries were lined up against the far wall. A series of catwalks overhead provided access to the many pipes, silos, and other equipment spread around the room. Straight ahead were a series of enormous cylindrical water tanks filled to the brim with an eerie green liquid. Inside were dark sacks with electrical wires and needles attached to them.
As Booker was pushed deeper into the room, he got an even clearer look at the murky green water tanks. Lights from above cast shimmering green shadows on the floor, and faint silhouettes of what floated within: Booker realized that it wasn’t just murky sacks floating inside the tubes. The sacks contained what looked like curled up bodies of grown men. Each floated in a tight ball, occasionally twitching, causing bubbles to flutter to the top of their tank.
The two PCs deposited Booker in a chair close by the rows of water tanks. Trying to gain his bearings, he saw that he was sitting at a large desk. There were several computer screens displaying complicated rows of data and charts. He recognized ECG data and was able to determine that each pod had some kind of life support system whose data would be displayed here.
The desk was strewn with handwritten notes and papers addressed to Dr. Evilyn Heart. As he sat there, one of the computer screens started beeping. There were a few warning lights, but before Booker could even begin to figure out what was happening, a thundering mechanical whirring sound erupted from above. He jumped at the sudden hiss of hydraulics and saw a huge metal arm sliding along a track above the water tanks. The track was laid out in a grid so the huge mechanical arm could reach any of the water tanks in any row. Booker heard some mechanical clamping and hissing noises as the arm descended into the sea of tanks then slowly lifted one of the tanks above the rest.
It was slow but powerful, lifting what must have weighed over 1,000 pounds of water and metal. The green water sloshed slightly as it swung overhead. A few droplets landed on Booker’s head, and he quickly wiped it away.
The arm deposited the tank in a slightly lowered space a few yards away from the desk. The flooring around the space was slanted downward and there was a drain in the middle. There were more monitors around a clean metal table at the center of the space. It looked almost like a surgical table with all kinds of medical tools laid out in perfect order around the table.
The tank had been deposited into a bespoke metal holding slot that whirred as clamps secured the tank in place. The green water began to drain from the tank. The sack within was suspended from the top, and the outline of a torso, limbs, and a face showed the sack drained. A similar mechanical arm as the first swung around and lifted the sack out of the drained water tank carefully. The man inside was squirming and shivering in the fleshy sack.
Booker slowly stood to get a better look as the sack was deposited onto the metal table. One of the PC’s pushed him back down. Booker said, “Hey, watch it!”
From behind them, another voice chimed in, speaking in an Alabama drawl, “We got a live one!”
Booker spun in his chair to see Captain Donald Tully approaching through the gloom of the dim room. Booker stood hastily, and the PC’s both moved forward to restrain him, but Donald said, “Stand easy, gentleman.” They stood aside.
Booker wasn’t sure what he should do, and Donald put an arm around his shoulder before he could decide. He was steered around to the lowered surgical space and the two of them stepped down to get a better look at the sack laying on the metal table. The man within continued twitching. When they reached the table, Donald grabbed the handle of a directional light above them and shone it down on the sack. The harsh light made the sack glow and revealed the silhouette of the man curled up in the fetal position within.
“You know what that is, son?” said Donald. Booker couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure within. Donald said, “That’s fresh meat. Want to take a closer look?”
Donald didn’t even wait for a response. He grabbed a shiny scalpel from a silver tray beside the table, and with one quick swipe, sliced open the sack. Thick, gooey liquid spewed out, all over Booker’s feet. He jumped back in alarm, almost slipping in the slimy substance drenching the floor.
The sack deflated around the man inside, causing him to struggle. His arms flailed aimlessly, and his legs shot out, stretching the membrane of the sack. Laughing, Donald began tearing away the sack so the man inside could slide out onto the table.
Booker looked on in horror as the stark white, pruney, and boney body of a man was revealed. He was hairless and sickly looking with sunken eyes that seemed cemented shut. The mouth was opening and closing as the body convulsed. It wasn’t breathing.
“Come on, you stupid boy, breathe!” said Donald, slapping the man’s face repeatedly. Then he stuck two fingers down the man’s throat causing him to gag even harder. When he removed his fingers, the man vomited a stream of the same slimy liquid that filled the sack all over the side of the table. Then he took a huge, shuddering breath. “Good boy,” said Donald, laughing and patting the man’s face again.
Booker was unconsciously backing away from the sickly-looking man in disgust, and it caused Donald to look up. “Not so fast there, Mr. Dunn. You don’t want to get to know my friend here?”
Ignoring this, Booker said, “You call this place ‘the temple?’”
Donald grinned and pointed at him with the scalpel and said, “You listen well. That’s not a good quality at Groom Lake, young man. Prickly ears pick up secrets, and we don’t like it when people pick up our secrets. Yes, this place is called the Temple. This is where Dr. Heart likes to play God.”
“The progressive cloning project,” said Booker.
Donald shook his head in apparent astonishment. “Very prickly ears. You might be too smart for your own good, you know that?”
“If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here at all.”
Donald laughed and beckoned him closer. Booker slowly approached and Donald grabbed the clone by the face and turned his head forward so Booker could get a good look. “He look familiar to you?”
Booker shook his head.
“Look closer,” said Donald, shaking the clone's face.
“I guess, he looks like the others,” said Booker, but as he looked at the face structure, the sharp cheeks, pointed nose, and flat forehead he realized what else they looked like. Looking at Donald, he said, “He looks like you! They are all cloned from you!”
Donald grinned and let go of the clone’s face, leaving him to squirm on the cold metal table. “Not me. This right here, is my daddy; Colonel Alexander Bartholomew Tully. The first guinea pig to donate his bits and parts to what became Groom Lakes Progressive Cloning Project. He was a sick man, my father. He was behind some particularly gruesome projects at Groom Lake, all for the betterment of mankind.” He flicked the clone’s ear, and the clone grimaced and squirmed on the table.
“But he was well respected. Just like your daddy. Us sons of well-respected men have it rough, don’t you think. It’s always, ‘stand up taller, boy!’ or ‘Be more like your father!’ But all they see is the decorated military man in his shiny dress uniform with the button and badges. They see the smiles and they hear the jokes. They see a man leading our nation into the new world of medicine, and science. But it’s what they don’t see, am I right? It’s my mom’s black eyes, and my own broken arm, twisted right out of the socket! It’s the spit flying from his bottom lip when he yells, or the way his eyes get all bloodshot when he’s finished a bottle of Jack!”
Donald brandished the scalpel as he advanced slowly on him and shouted, “‘Stand up straight, boy!’ ‘Fix that tie, boy!’” His voice rang through the quiet warehouse, and Booker backed away quickly as the scalpel got dangerously close to his face. “‘You’re filth!’ ‘You’re a waste!’ ‘You’re nothing!’”
Booker’s legs hit the step behind him, and he fell back. Above him, Donald leaned over him, a manic glint in his eye shining brighter than the scalpel in his hand. He was breathing heavily, but he spoke in a low voice when he said, “But we know the truth about him, don’t we?”
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“We do?” said Booker.
Donald extended a hand, and Booker allowed himself to be pulled back up. Patting Booker’s shoulder, Donald said, “Do you know what it’s like to see him every day? To watch as they celebrate him. Memorialize him. The great man, Alexander Tully. The leader of a new scientific age. The hero. The blasphemer. Adulterer. Wife beater. Drunk. Vial. Evil. Hated.” He squeezed Booker’s shoulders harder and harder with each word and shook him slightly at the end. A bit of spit spewed from his lower lip as he finished. Then he said, “Do you know what it’s like to see his face every day, everywhere, all the time? For years. And they just keep growing more of him. Everyday. The world gets more of the hero.” He began to laugh. It was a manic laughter that grew and grew, ringing all around them. But just as quickly as the laughter began, Donald collected himself and let Booker go. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The scalpel flashed under the medical lights. “Why do I tell you this?” he said quickly.
Booker didn’t say anything. He just watched as Donald circled back to the clone laying on the table. Someone new was approaching now. Booker could hear the hurried sound of heeled shoes getting close. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Dr. Heart, still in her black gown. Her hair was now down around her shoulders again. When she saw them, she said, “Donald! What the hell are you doing?”
Donald said, “Stop her!”
Dr. Heart was rushing forward, but the two PCs grabbed her by the arms and held her back. “Let go of me now! How dare you stop me. Donald! Make them release me!”
Booker felt Donald’s arm around his shoulder again as he was watching Dr. Heart continue struggling, swearing, and demanding them to let her go. She was growing more desperate by the second. But Donald steered him back to the clone on the table and said again, in a low voice, “Why do I tell you this?”
Standing beside the medical table, Booker looked down at the clone, which seemed to be sleeping now, but also shivering and twitching.
Donald said, “I tell you, so you understand how important it is for me to get that sphere. Too long have I been trapped here. Too long have I lived under his shadow. I deserve to be free of him! And to be free, I need that sphere!” Standing at the head of the table, Donald patted the clone’s face one more time. With one hand, he clamped the clone’s nose shut, then he covered its mouth with the other. The clone began to struggle weakly at first, then violently. It kicked its legs and waved its arms, trying in vain to push Donald’s hands away from his nose and mouth.
“What are you doing!” said Booker. Donald just smiled, sweat beading from his forehead as he suffocated the man on the table. The manic smile stirred such a powerful feeling of hatred in Booker’s stomach that he lashed out. His fist swung right into Donald’s face, but there was no satisfying crunching feeling. Donald had moved just enough for the blow to glance off.
But he had been forced to let go of the man on the table. Booker raised his fists and was about to throw another punch when someone caught him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. It was the second PC who had been holding Dr. Heart back. He struggled, but the PC was strong, and he couldn’t break free.
Donald used his thumb to wipe away a bead of blood running from his nose and laughed. He seemed more amused than anything as he again covered the clone’s mouth and nose.
Behind them, Dr. Heart was screaming. Booker said, “What’s wrong with you!”
“Me? Look around you, boy! This isn’t natural! These are abominations! They’re not real! They are fake! Bad imitations of an even worse man! They should all be burned and buried in the desert. No graves. No medals. No memories!”
The clone was already weakening, having trouble even lifting its arms off the table. But the eyes fluttered open. Booker watched as the eyes rolled around for a moment. They looked at Donald, who laughed his manic laugh again. Then the eyes found Booker. He found he couldn’t look away. Even worse, he felt tears filling his eyes as the clone weakly reached out for him, his finger’s stretching and twitching. Then the arm fell, and the eyes seemed to slowly fade.
Donald finally let go and he rolled the body of the dead clone off the table onto the slimy floor at Booker’s feet. He still couldn’t look away, and it took him a moment to realize the PC wasn’t even holding him back anymore.
“Jesus, let her go!” said Donald.
Booker became aware that somewhere behind him, Dr. Heart was crying hysterically. He turned and watched as the PC let her go and she fell to her hands and needs, choking on her sobs. She slowly stumbled forward, pushing Booker aside and fell to the ground beside the dead clone. She picked him up and cradled him close to her, her own tears dripping on his face.
Donald sidled up beside him, whipping his hands with a rag and said, “Nothing like a mother’s love.” Then he spat on the ground.
Dr. Heart glared up at him, her makeup smeared down her cheeks. “How could you?” she said in a broken voice. Donald just chuckled and she said, “You’re a monster!”
“No, Dr. Heart. It’s you who is the monster,” he said.
Another voice thundered through the room from nearby. “What’s the meaning of all this!”
Booker turned and saw his father, Robert Booker standing above them, bowtie gone, and the first buttons of his shirt undone.
“Dad!” said Booker.
Robert was rolling up his sleeves, and he held up a hand as Booker neared him. He was looking over Booker’s head. “Donald! What is the meaning of all this? What is he doing here? How did this happen?”
“Dad, I can explain-”
“Silence!” said Robert, looking at him for the first time. “Be quiet! Let me handle this.” He pointed Booker to a chair at Dr. Heart’s desk and rounded on Donald again. “Well? What have you done, Donald?”
“What? This part was her idea!” he said, gesturing to Dr. Heart on the ground.
Dr. Heart gave him a look of utter fury, and said, “I want them to be free! I would never lay a finger on them! Any of them! You’re a pig, Donald! How could you?” Her sobs renewed as she huddled closer to the dead man in her arms and Robert moved forward to comfort her.
Donald flipped his arms in apparent disgust and approached Booker, as Robert knelt and slowly peeled Dr. Heart away from the body and helped her to her feet. She continued to sob, burying her face in his neck, and he wrapped her arms around her tightly.
Booker felt an icy feeling in his stomach as he watched them together. Her sobbing and him speaking soft words of comfort.
“Oh, but this is precious,” said Donald in a low voice, approaching Booker. Booker tore his eyes away from his father and Dr. Heart as he said, “You didn’t know about the good doctor and your daddy?”
Robert glared at Donald over Evilyn’s head but didn’t look at Booker. Donald, for his part, filled the silence that had fallen between them all as he circled Booker as a lion would its prey. “They only see the buttons and badges, ain’t that right? But us sons of great men know the truth about our daddy’s. Wicked. Cruel. Liars. Adulterers. Abandoners.”
“Enough!” shouted Robert, finally letting go of Dr. Heart. “What is he doing here?”
Booker began to speak, but Donald put a firm hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly, saying, “I got this, boy. Mr. Dunn is here because he set off our trap early. He was nosing around your office and messing with the special toys you left lying around.”
“Jesus,” said Robert, covering his face with one hand and shaking his head.
“Our lord and savior has nothing to do with this, I can assure you. He’s got no sense of humor!” said Donald. “This is your fault, Robert! And it gets worse! The CIA has our sphere!”
“How is that possible?” said Robert.
“You tell me! The woman upstairs is your neighbor! You said you were being discreet, but you have the CIA right next door keeping tabs on you?”
“What do you mean, my neighbor is CIA?”
Booker burst in, saying, “He’s talking about Joanna!” Robert finally looked at him again, his brow furrowing. “She said you were in trouble, after the crash. She said we could help you. I can explain everything if you just listen to me for one second!”
Robert said, “Oh, I’m in trouble all right. Thanks to you!” Then to Donald, he said, “Why did she bring him here?”
“A distraction is my best guess,” said Donald. “Turns out, the CIA has been looking for a way to infiltrate the base for a while. That’s why they were keeping tabs on you - they must know you’ve been selling information to Hummel. And after the crash, they must have offered up your boy and the sphere to secure an invite. Which means, the CIA has our sphere!”
Booker said, “You’re not a part of this, are you?” Robert was rubbing his forehead again, thinking. “Why would you do this?” said Booker.
“Quiet!” said Robert, glaring at him and leaving Evilyn in the lowered medical bay so he could tower over Booker. “I’m tired of cleaning up after you, Booker! You think I was in trouble yesterday? You’ve only made things worse coming here!”
“I was just trying to help,” said Booker.
“You should have just done what I told you!” said Robert.
“Why are you doing this?” shouted Booker.
“You heard them! Didn’t you?” he said, pointing in the direction of High Point Hall. “The very stars are in my grasp! The furthest reaches of the cosmos, the ability to bend space and matter at my will! And all they can ask me is about missiles, guns, and war. They don’t see what’s possible. They’re narrow minded. They’re insufferable. They’re ignorant! I can change the world with this technology. Hummel Labs will let me do that! I need to leave this place, and I’m not leaving without taking my work with me!”
He rounded on Dr. Heart, standing silently behind them, looking disheveled and pale. “She holds the cradle of life in her hands! Immortality is within her grasp! And yet, they only think of soldiers! They think of slaves. They can’t see anything beyond what a taxpayer will say. They’re afraid to take the necessary risks. To take the leap! But we’re not afraid! Dr. Heart can change the world, but they won’t let her! Can you see the importance of her work? Of my work? We can’t be caged here any longer! I refuse. And if that means taking my sphere, so be it. We will cripple this place before we leave.” He gestured to the lab and all the green tanks holding more of the PCs. “All of this will be destroyed! They’ll never be able to get it running again without her.”
In a small voice, Dr. Heart said, “We’re going to set them free.” A single tear ran down her cheek.
“I’ve already done what’s needed to cripple the antigravity program here. I just need the sphere so I can continue my work. This is my destiny. My true destiny!” He seemed lost in his own words, but as he looked down at Booker again, he seemed to come back to Earth. “You’re just getting in the way.”
Booker felt a burning fury in his stomach. He was shaking, his fists balled at his sides. He glared at his father in disbelief and Robert said, “I am destined for great things. Don’t get in my way again.” Then he looked at Donald and said, “We’re all leaving. Now. I have what I need to secure another sphere.”
“The Colonel will know it’s us,” said Donald. “He’ll send armies after us. The whole nation will be after us.”
“There is no avoiding it now,” he said, again looking down at Booker. He moved away, leaving Booker standing alone, shaking and fighting back tears. Behind him, his father said, “I can protect us. With the sphere, no one can touch us. Once we’re clear of this god forsaken place, we’re free. Evilyn, it’s time.”
Booker saw Dr. Heart look up and then she quickly moved toward the desk where Booker was standing. Donald pulled him out of the way as Dr. Heart began punching commands into the console with violently shaking fingers. She kept having to delete her work and start fresh. At one point, she backed away from the console, fresh tears streaming down her face as she covered her mouth with one hand. Robert put his hands on her shoulders and said, in a low voice, “You’re setting them free. They’ll be free of this place, just like us! It’s the right thing to do!”
She nodded, taking a deep shaky breath and straightening up to her full height. Robert backed away from her and she punched the final command into the console. Immediately, there was a chorus of mechanical hissing sounds, hydraulics, and bubbling noises. Red lights began flashing overhead and each of the green water tanks began to drain, and the clones within each began to struggle uncontrollably. The sound of their limbs hitting the glass repeatedly filled their ears and Dr. Heart almost collapsed. Robert caught her and steered her away so she couldn’t look.
“It’s done,” he said. The two of them walked together toward the exit, red lights flashing all around them casting eerie shadows around them. Booker sank into the chair at the desk, watching them go. Then he felt a hand on his head. Donald grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him up.
Booker shoved him off, and Donald laughed as he leered at him. “They might be in this for the greater good. But I’m just in this for the money. Come on, boy. Sounds like your daddy is going to bail you out so he can have his date with destiny. We don’t want to miss that.”