Winds of Time - Bruce Alan Humphrey (hardest books to read TXT) 📗

Winds of Time


Except for the sound of Tarl Cray’s heels on the concrete floor, the corridor is devoid of life. Only the occasional gray steel door breaks the monotonous sterile white walls. One of them is his destination. Bright lights overhead illuminate the corridor to the point where he has to squint slightly until his eyes adjust. Smells of antiseptics thicken the air to the point of choking off the oxygen. His impatience to conclude the journey make the walk seem twice as long. Briefed at length about the mission he volunteered for, Tarl thought about the drugs introduced into his body over the last several weeks along with their inevitable result. The thought of being able to change his physical appearance at a moment’s notice attacks his psyche with both fascination and apprehension.
A door, number 223, comes into view on the left side of the hall. A rectangular opening in the wall adjacent to the door housed a small white screen. Laying his hand on it palm down, he watches a thin line of blue-white light slowly pass beneath his palm. Because of the massive ultra sophisticated computer located in another room of the complex the transition between placing his palm on the screen and confirmation of his identity was instantaneous. The door slides open with a nearly imperceptible sound. Tarl enters a room as sterile as the corridor. The cool fresh air in the room is a relief and he takes a deep breath. In front of him is a long brown conference table where three men in white lab coats sit. A fourth man at the head of the table wears a tailored brown business suit. Standing, he smiles, and extends a hand in welcome. The other three stand as well.
“Welcome back, Tarl,” the man says with an enthusiastic tone.
Tarl steps forward to the table and shakes his hand, "Thank you sir.”
Tarl greets the others in the same cordial manner, but he already knows them extensively, all geniuses in their respective field of studies.
The first, Dr. Ruer, a pioneer in the effect of artificial toxins in the human body was the first to find a cure for cancer. However, his monumental discovery had disastrous overtones. The break-up of the nation twenty-five years before allowed him to do his research unhindered. Governmental agencies set up to protect the populace disappeared allowing skeptical practices to escalate. Several thousand people were seriously sickened during experiments, adding to their misery. For an unfortunate or fortunate few, death was the only outlet. Although, throughout his experiments he somehow retained his ethics toward people, it was not surprising that he met any gratitude with indifference.
The second, Dr. Schillar, a Professor of Anatomical research created the ultimate prosthetic. It was also common knowledge in the complex about the motives of his pursuit. Schillar lost both of his arms when his office collapsed around him during an earthquake while visiting the west on a fact-finding mission. The man worked for years afterward using only his mind and his assistant’s hands to assemble his dream. What he and his assistants succeeded in creating was more than just metal framework, cables, and plastic. Schillar discovered a method of regenerating human flesh and bone. Moreover, he was able to coax it into the proper parameters for replacing not only his crushed limbs but other vital organs as well, mostly for the upper class of society.
The third gentleman, Dr. Matis, an expert in cardiology and like the others; his claim to fame centered around the first fully functional artificial heart. In fact, Tarl knew the Matis' heart would go on beating even after the remainder of the body had ceased to live. This had great advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, it extended life and its quality. The reverse was it would not cease. Brain dead people or those with bodies rendered useless had to endure the pain of living for a very long time. Due to a childhood accident, Tarl had one of the hearts beating in his chest.
The man in the suit at the head of the table is Jonathan Fitzhugh, a late middle-aged man with thick graying hair and rough hands. His suit fit him well covering a moderately large frame and causing it to stretch when he reached out his hand. Taller than Tarl by about three inches he looked down slightly over a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His voice was deep a bore the tone of command. Fitzhugh trained Tarl and given the project by the council.

Tarl greeted each man with a handshake and smile before sitting in the chair opposite the three. Mr. Fitzhugh brought them together to give them a final briefing on the project. He begins by saying, "Thank you for coming gentlemen,” he continued to talk without pause, “It is time to tell you why your talents have been needed. Our nation is about to be invaded.”
The attentive look on each doctor’s face as well as Tarl’s abruptly changed to shock. Never before in the history of the country had a foreign aggressor violated its shores.
“I can see by the look on your faces that you are a bit surprised. Well, I can assure you when I first read the report from our over seas agent I was just as shocked. It seems one of our rival governments has decided to take advantage of our countries breakup.”
Dr. Matis asks quickly, “Why? What's the reason?”
Fitzhugh answers him directly, “Same reason as a lot of invasions down through history. Power. Greed. Survival.”
“Survival!” Doctor Ruer interjects, “Exactly what kind of survival are we talking about Mr. Fitzhugh?”
“Survival of their government or their way of life.”
“Our agent says that it is most definitely the later.”
Fitzhugh tells him, “The four year drought and famine in that part of the world coupled with its bad relations with its neighbors has sent it down a road of desperation. It chose the most vulnerable in its line of vision. And since it is a world power it has focused on us.”
“Why just us?” An agitated Matis blurts out, “Why not those neighboring countries you spoke of?"
Fitzhugh answers him quietly trying to calm the doctor, “Probably because if the neighbors knew our new enemy conquered us they would suddenly become friendly which in turn would strengthen our enemies’ position in the world order.”
The doctor sat back in his seat with a worried look on his face. He now realized that this new aggressor has nothing to lose and everything to gain.
Fitzhugh continued his briefing, “Chiefly, they are after our vast resources in agriculture which would alone give them immense power, which it did for us at one point in time.”
“I also need to remind you of what has happened to the nations military after our demise. Our region has less than a quarter of our nation’s original fighting force. Which against the forces our enemies have amassed will last about as long as it takes them to open fire.”
“They are coming from the east aren't they sir,” Tarl asks.
“Yes Tarl, I'm afraid they are,” Fitzhugh replies.
Fitzhugh's briefing told them why and where they are coming from, now the only question is when.
Without a heartbeat in between questions Tarl asks, "How long before they attack?”
“Our agent suspects from the build up in forces at their air and naval bases, possibly two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Tarl shouts. “And just what is my mission!”
With the calmness of a well-schooled diplomat, Fitzhugh answers Tarl, “Simple, reorganize the other sectors by replacing their leaders or convince them the threat is genuine.”
Raising his voice to almost a shout Tarl sarcastically says, "Oh is that all! And just how am I supposed to do that? You know that a couple of those regions have turned into hell on Earth! The Far Western section is probably the worst with its totalitarian government. I've seen reports of people whipped into herds like animals in communal settlements, kept alive only to service the upper class. The northern and central regions are relatively calm except for some sporadic pockets that flair up now and then, but they are mostly in the outer fringes, away from the central government.”
Fitzhugh takes a deep breath and with the tonal drone of a cold professional he says, “You are to infiltrate the command structure of each region and with the use of your new talent and judgment either convince or dispose of the ruler and assume the position. If you have to replace the ruler you will inform your peoples of the impending invasion.”
Tarl was dumbfounded upon learning of his mission.
“You expect me to do all that in two weeks?”
“No not exactly,” Fitzhugh tells him, “you probably have a little more time than you think. The region to our north is relatively peaceful, largely due to the low population. You will concentrate your efforts there first. If you can get them to help that will give you time to work on the worse areas.”
“One thing,” Tarl says, "how can I leave the leadership without it reverting back to the way it was?”
Fitzhugh answers him in a straightforward manner,
“You haven't been informed of this for reasons which will be obvious when I tell you. The most violent and the more strict provinces have deputy commanders. They are your colleagues among others. We sent them in four months ago when we first learned of our enemies' intentions. Since then, they have completed their objectives exactly as you must. In addition, through subversion, they have gained the confidence of the populace.”
Tarl interjects quickly,” Well, why can't they assume leadership?”
“Their initial mission was to learn all they could about the deputy commander, eliminate him, and then assume his position. If they just tried to move in they would be recognized and killed instantly by the security forces.”
Tarl sat back in his chair and smiled, “Okay you've given me all the information I need. It won't be easy but I’ll take care of it.”
Fitzhugh finishes the initial briefing saying, “I must reiterate the importance of using the people against the leader in the bad province. Our men report it will take only the slightest nudge to turn them against their ruler, at least in the more violent sector.” Fitzhugh's last orders calm Tarl. However, the prospect of infiltrating the worst dominion on the planet did not fill him with confidence. Tarl ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his head, thinking. A wave of skepticism swept through his mind. He knew his skill, as an agent was good but this good.
Fitzhugh spoke, “Tarl I can see that you're a little troubled with this assignment, why don't you try out your special ability. I know you've used it in the testing program but I would like to see it out of the controlled conditions of the lab.”
Tarl thought to himself for second. Why not? He liked the feeling