The 34th Degree

PRESENT DAY

S am Deker’s body convulsed in the metal chair in the DARPA labs beneath the VA Hospital in Los Angeles. General Packard and Wanda Randolph looked on as a helpless Dr. Prestwick stopped the light-wave bombardment to Deker’s brain and the photosynthetic algae drip to his artery.

“I don’t understand,” Dr. Prestwick said. “I’m not doing anything now.”

Packard said, “The 34th Degree program, Doctor. Shut it down.”

“It is down!” Dr. Prestwick said. “Deker is doing this all by himself.”

Deker’s body arched in pain and then slumped in the chair, his head rolling back, lifeless.

“Dear God,” Randolph whispered. “You killed him.”

Dr. Prestwick said, “No, his vitals are fine. Look at the monitors. This is something else.”

“You mean a coma?” Randolph said, and started slapping Deker. “Wake up, Deker! Wake up! You gotta come back. Come back!”

Nothing seemed to work for the next two hours, and then they gave up trying.

“Now what, Doc?” Packard asked.

Dr. Prestwick said, “The monitors will automatically tell us when there is a change in Deker’s condition. We post a couple of nurses and wait for him to eventually wake up.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Randolph asked. “You’re not cutting up that poor boy’s brain.”

Dr. Prestwick looked at Packard, who looked at Deker. “If he’s so lost inside that he goes six months, we’ll reconvene to discuss next steps. But knowing Deker, he’ll find a way. He always does.”