Alex walked over to the bar standing in the back of the ship’s hull. Taking two wineglasses from the cabinet behind him, he asked, “White or red?”
“Red,” Jules responded as he as he sat on a barstool across from him.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Alex reached under the bar and pulled out a wine bottle showing an angelic young female picking grapes on the label. “I’ve been saving this one for just the right time.” Admiring the label, he read aloud, “Nineteen ninety-seven. Harlan Estates Proprietary Red. Cryoprotected to ensure freshness.”
Alex grabbed an old-fashioned corkscrew bottle opener. “I bought this at a vintage wine shop. Although a beer drinker myself, I thought this wine might pique your interest.”
“Good show,” Jules responded.
Handing the cork to Jules, he asked, “Care to do the honors?”
Jules leaned over the bar and took the cork in one hand. With the other he wafted some air up to his nose. “Licorice with a hint of coffee?” he asked after taking another sniff.
Alex nodded in agreement while pouring them each a glass of the deep-hued liquid. Though he acted as if he had not a care in the world, he eagerly awaited to hear The New Reality’s greatest secret and how it might influence their current predicament.
“Let me begin with a story,” Jules said after taking a sip of the wine, “Do you know anything about a man by the name of Mark Houston?”
“He was the original founder of The New Reality,” Alex answered, also taking a seat at the bar. “My parents used to show me old pictures of him with my grandfather.”
“Well. Not only was Mark Houston a brilliant visionary, but he was also a man in search of great relics. Though the ones he sought were certainly not what you would expect.”
“Really?” Alex said. “Maybe that’s what sparked Albert’s interest in the subject.”
“Now you are catching on,” Jules said with a hint of excitement to his voice. “You see, most archeologists are in constant search of ancient historical ruins or buried artifacts. Mark Houston, on the other hand, wished to find the people themselves who made the history and had no interest in what they left behind.”
“What are you trying to say? That he was a modern-day grave robber?”
“Borrower would be more appropriate,” responded Jules. “He wasn’t interested in the actual remains. He just wanted to sample their DNA. No harm done. Nothing desecrated, nothing destroyed.”
Alex made the connection, realizing its implications. “That’s where the New Reality found the so-called greatness gene.”
“Spot on,” Jules applauded. “And then by analyzing these samples of DNA from people who were considered ‘great,’ your old acquaintance Guri Bergmann discovered the exact genetic sequence that made these people rise above the rest of the refuse we call humanity.”
“Who did he dig up?” Alex asked.
“Some were easier to obtain, such as Richard the Lionheart and Napoleon Bonaparte. While others… let’s just say they required a more concerted effort. People like Julius Caesar and Genghis Kahn.”
“Was his goal always to find this greatness gene?” Alex asked, “Or did he have other ambitions for the DNA?”
“That was only an afterthought presented by my dear old uncle,” Jules answered. “You must understand, the goal was initially not to just analyze the DNA, but instead, to reproduce and eventually clone the person from which it came.”
Alex was taken back by the revelation. Never had he imaged The New Reality would take such a project to this extreme. “Where are the ethics behind all of this? Must I remind you about the worldwide pandemic that ensued after The New Reality accidentally released this greatness gene?”
“Must I remind you that the greatest leaders and thinkers did not confine themselves to the rules and regulations of their day? They went beyond the accepted norms.”
“So, was anyone actually cloned?” Alex asked. “I haven’t read any recent reports of Genghis Kahn ravaging the Asian continent nor seen any news flashes about Richard the Lionheart’s current holy crusade for Jerusalem.”
Jules took another sip of wine. “I think there is a parcel of blackberry in this spectacular mix.” He smacked his lips again. “By Jove, there is.”
“Some,” Jules continued after enjoying another taste of the wine. “But it was never that simple. Back when Mark obtained this DNA in the earlier part of the 21st century, genetic cloning was more in its infancy and years away from creating an exact human replica.”
“So,” Alex surmised, always staying a few steps ahead of the conversation, “he must have mixed the DNA.”
Jules gave his colleague across the bar a smile, pleasantly surprised by the man’s intellectual acumen. “Yes. In order to clone the DNA, Mark had to mix it with someone else’s to stabilize the genetic structure prior to reproduction.”
Alex responded, “So the first clones were hybrids.”
“More of a chimera of sorts,” Jules agreed. “However, most of the original clones turned out to be miserable failures, dying even before delivery. Not stymied by his original failure, Mark Houston trudged on until he finally created the first successful hybrid clone.”
“Who?”
“Now this is where the story gets juicy,” Jules responded. “You see the DNA used for this original clone came from not only Julius Caesar but also from one other willing participant.”
Alex sipped his wine with great expectation.
“A Mr. Thomas Pella,” Jules said with a sadistic smile. He then watched Alex, hoping to elicit a gut-wrenching reaction.
“My grandfather?” Alex responded poker-faced, not wanting to convey his sense of abject surprise.
“Yes,” Jules responded eagerly. Knowing the greater shock was to come, he made a dramatic pause and then said, “And the first clone was a man by the name of Albert Rosenberg.”
Alex attempted his best not to fall off his seat in pure astonishment with the recent revelation.
“This is unbelievable,” Alex finally admitted, mildly flabbergasted. He felt the goosebumps rise across his back and couldn’t suppress a shiver.
“Yes,” Jules explained, exhilarated by recounting the story. Knowing that that this revelation was only the tip of the iceberg, he continued, “Mark Houston’s first protégé was none other than Albert Rosenberg. Though other clones were created, Albert was the greatest among them.”
“This is archeology taken to another level,” Alex said. “So I assume Mark Houston studied Albert carefully.”
“I think you might’ve gotten the wrong impression,” Jules rebutted. “Mark was not that type of a person. Instead of studied, the better term would be learned from. He never made any contrived circumstances for Albert’s existence. He simply watched him like a caring uncle as he grew. Intrigued along the way by how he overcame challenges, negotiated through problems, and solved difficult situations, Mark gained an understanding of the original Julius Caeser’s personality and learned from Albert’s continued success.”
“Amazing!”
“However,” Jules continued, “my dear old uncle Albert took this cloning project to the next level after Mark Houston’s death.”
Alex suspected what was to come.
“As you know,” Jules said, “genetic cloning became much more sophisticated, and within 30 years, exact replicas of human beings could be successfully engineered. And that’s when my uncle stepped up the project.”
“So where are these clones now?” Alex asked.
“They were never meant for this world,” Jules said. “A whole New Reality virtual world was created specifically for each clone to live and flourish. They were placed in their natural historical setting. Whether it be in ancient Rome or along the Asian plateau, their world was catered specifically to their historical context.”
“Unlike Mark Houston,” Alex concluded, “who let the clones live a natural life, Albert decided to place them in this virtual world in order to study them like caged animals and learn from their thoughts and actions—sort of a macabre neuropsychological approach to exploring the past.”
“Exactly!”
“But aren’t The New Reality’s virtual worlds only able to accommodate adults?” Alex asked.
“Now you’re thinking! The New Reality suits we utilize do come with that limitation. And that’s why the Training Grounds were created. Albert used them until the clones came of age.”
“Let me guess—” interrupted Alex. “Albert used The New Reality virtual reality equipment in order to create a virtual, yet natural environment for these clones to live in until they were old enough to be allowed to enter an actual, uniquely designed New Reality virtual world.”
Jules lifted up his wine glass in cheers. “I knew I wouldn’t have to explain everything to you.”
“But where are these Training Grounds? And how do you manage to keep them such a secret?”
“It’s an extremely difficult task,” Jules said, “whose duties were bestowed on me upon the death of my uncle. In fact, only a handful of select people in The New Reality even know of the project.”
“How about Myra Keres?” Alex asked.
“God, no. I’ve tried my best to keep this completely out of her sphere of influence. Lord knows what she would do if she ever obtained the truth.”
“Alex,” William said over the intercom, “the ship’s not letting me fly to those coordinates Jules gave me. Somehow it’s being diverted.”
“Maybe it’s your flying skills,” Alex joked, hoping to rev up his friend.
“Maybe I should push the eject button,” William quipped.
Alex then turned to Jules. “I assume we’re approaching the Training Ground air space?”
“More importantly,” he responded, “we are approaching the lock.” He then walked into the cockpit as Alex followed behind him.
William turned to meet his guests, “You see. The wheel keeps on turning, and every time I punch in the coordinate, it puts me on a divert course.”
“Now that’s a nice bit of technology,” Alex commented.
“And it’s that bit of technology that will ensure our safety,” Jules responded. He then placed his hand on the navigation control panel and again typed in the coordinates above it. Remotely, his hand was scanned to authenticate his security clearance.
“Hey,” William responded. “We’re back on course.”
The wheel started to turn on its own, and the stratoskimmer suddenly seemed as if it were controlled by someone else. William futilely attempted to move the steering wheel, but the ship landed on its own accord. Upon touchdown, the stairs from the hull of the stratoskimmer glided to the ground.
William looked out into the landscape and was amazed by what he saw.
Alex, too, seemed mesmerized by the sight.
“William,” Jules said, “if you could just wait here for us while we go exploring.” He looked at William’s outfit, “And maybe you could change into something less egregious on the eyes or at least find yourself a bar of soap. My business here is with Alex and not with you.”
William stood up, and glowered at Jules. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a jackass? Maybe I should have left you back there in that lava pit.”
“I certainly would’ve made sure that I took that God-awful hat of yours with me to the grave.”
If this weren’t Alex’s guest, William would have thrown him back into the ship’s hull.
Alex interceded. “We don’t have time for this.” He then looked at Jules. “He’s coming with us.”
“Suit yourself then.” Jules then walked back into the ship’s hull. Not wanting to put up a fight, he decided that William might be of some future use to him.
As Alex and William began to descend the steps, Jules held out his hand to stop them. “Alex, before we exit I must inform you that the scene out there is completely computer-generated by one of our high-powered New Reality systems. There is one person, however, who is authentic.”
Alex and William followed Jules down the stairs and stepped into hell itself. Gasping at the wide-ranging scene of carnage surrounding him, Alex gazed in horror at all the bloodied bodies, dead horses, and scattered limbs littering the landscape. Even the slow-moving stream next to him was filled with bodies, which clumped together, impeding the flow of water.
At the bottom of the stairs a fallen soldier lay at their feet. The man seemed to have met his demise by a blunt blow to the head. Blood caked the soldier’s face, and his skull was deformed by the injury.
“Late fourth century BC Greek?” Alex said aloud, recognizing the shields, helmets, and metal breastplates known as cuirasses on the ground. As a connoisseur of ancient Greek and Roman antiquity, he easily made the connection.
“You know your history,” Jules applauded
There were, however, other soldiers wearing brilliantly colored orange and purple tunics with silken headdresses covering their faces. The flamboyant nature of their military uniforms looked more decorative than functional. William made note of their unusual uniforms, “How about these other soldiers dressed for Halloween? They certainly don’t look Greek.”
“Persian,” Jules quipped, annoyed by the question. “Follow me, you two. I didn’t bring you here to gawk at the scenery.”
“Pleasant guy,” William grumbled.
Jules walked behind the ship and made his way into a large encampment of tents. There must have been a thousand of them scattered along the horizon. Each was similarly constructed from what appeared to be brown animal hides and supported by strings and sticks.
One tent was larger than the rest, and that was where Jules was headed. With Alex and William behind, the three walked up to its entrance.
“As I’ve said,” Jules commented with a sly smile upon his face, “there’s one thing completely authentic here in this computer-generated reality.”
Jules parted the draped animal-skin covering the tent’s entrance.
A single soldier was inside lying prone atop a few large orange-colored pillows. Fresh from battle, his white cape was soiled red while blood and dirt covered his uniform.
Jules bent down and placed his hands on the soldier’s shoulder. After a deep breath, he slowly pushed the man on his back to reveal his face.
“You see” Jules snidely remarked, “My uncle didn’t create all the clones to enter The New Reality virtual world.”
Chills ran up Alex’s spine, and he fell to his knees. His heart began to pound as he leaned forward to get a better look. It can’t be.