Taras Ramses: Guardian of Earth

Chapter 3: Paradise and Uncle F.

Dawn in the mountains has a beauty of its own. It's quiet, almost holy. The sunrise breaks over the peaks like an overture to the day. You look different at dawn after a sleepless night in the cold. You sit there, quiet and alert, letting the silence work on you.

I sat on a hillside, staring down at an abandoned Soviet amusement park below. The place was dead, long forgotten. Rusted carousels and silent swings looked like ghosts. PARADISE was spelled out in broken letters over the park gates. But there was nothing of paradise here—just eerie quiet. Somewhere below, in the depths of a cryogenic chamber, my mentor, the Navigator, lay waiting for my return.

I remembered our last meeting. It was on the eve of my "Rainbow-2" star flight.

"By the time you come back, son, neither I nor anyone else you know will be among the living," the Navigator had told me.

I wanted to tell him I knew that already, but I kept quiet. I tilted my head instead, thoughtful. He was behind his desk, a cluttered mass of papers, folders, scribbled drafts. The place looked like a medieval alchemist's den. Cigarette butts overflowed from an ashtray, and a bottle of cognac stood open beside a half-eaten cheeseburger.

Maybe there's truth to that old saying—the more brilliant a person, the bigger the mess on his desk. I thought of that famous picture of Einstein's desk on the day he died. This was the same kind of mess, but with cognac in place of the ink stains.

"Yes," the Navigator muttered, swirling his glass of brandy as if he didn't know where it had come from. He downed it in one motion. His hand was steady. "Yes," he repeated, looking at me, sharp-eyed and stern. "At best, I'll lie frozen like a block of ice in a cryogenic chamber. But I'll wait for you, son. And do you know why?"

I nodded, half understanding. His voice dropped low, almost a whisper.

"Your mission—the Rainbow-2—serves two projects. Officially, it's about energy transmission. That's the cover, known as Wave. But to you and me, that's just a front. The real goal, the hidden one, is the Phoenix Project."

I asked, unsure, "What is this Phoenix?"

He laughed, the kind of laugh you don't hear often, more a silent shake of the shoulders. "Only the two of us know about Phoenix, son. No one else. And if you value your life, you'll keep it that way. Especially from Uncle F."

He handed me a small metal pyramid, a brass-colored relic, heavier than it looked. "Hide this well. Never lose it. Someday it'll all make sense."

I took it, baffled but determined. "And Phoenix, sir. What's the goal?"

The Navigator leaned close and whispered a single word in my ear. "Immortality."

The memory lingered as I walked down the hill toward the deserted amusement park.

**********

Uncle F. leaned on the side of an endless pool, his bulk casting a shadow over the water. "Do you feel empathy, my lady?" he asked, peering at the young woman standing by him. "And by the way, what's your name?"

"My name is Rachel," she replied, not daring to look at him.

Uncle F. was a sadist, a public murderer, but with a job title that glossed over the crimes. He ran the "Black Committee," a government unit shrouded in secrecy. His face was ugly, twisted; his body hard and muscled.

Rachel wore a linen sundress, the color of Ancient Realm white, clinging close to her figure. Uncle F. seemed to approve, letting his gaze wander up and down her form.

"No, I can't empathize," Rachel said. "I can't feel melancholy, envy, or love. But I can experience the physical aspects." She added defiantly, "I may have an artificial brain, but I have a human body."

Uncle F. tilted his head, amused. "I ask these questions for a reason, my girl. I'm a busy man. You let that so-called border guard escape. Now, was it a conspiracy? Or plain stupidity?"

"Neither," Rachel said. "He escaped on his own, using wave resonance. He simply vanished. I followed all your orders exactly."

For a moment, she couldn't resist and looked into Uncle F.'s face. His face was not angelic, but cruel and twisted, the mark of his sadism etched deeply. Her synthetic brain scanned his expression: charm, egocentrism, a hunger for control. A creature with a taste for suffering.

Uncle F. studied Rachel with an unblinking stare. He stayed in the pool, as if he never meant to leave. He hummed, pleased, as he took her in—tall, slender, with almond-shaped eyes and a straight, defiant face.

"How could you let him get away, my dear lady?" he repeated, his tone a bit softer. Rachel remembered the game. When he called her "my girl," danger was near. When he said "my dear lady," she knew she was safe. For now.

"The Earth is large," Rachel replied. "Where do I start?"

Uncle F. leaned closer, his stale breath just inches from her face. "Tomorrow the border guard will be..."

Only she could hear the final words.

**********

After sending Rachel on her way, Uncle F. held another meeting in his private chamber. Three men stood before him, watching him as he relaxed, hanging from his invisible chair like a grotesque toad.

"So, where was I?" he mused, eyes narrowed at the ceiling. One of the men, an "Auditor," replied, "Sacrifice and blood, sir."

Uncle F. smiled thinly. "That's right. No culture went without sacrifice. Bloodletting, especially. Ever wonder why, gentlemen?"

One of the Auditors replied, "Only you know, sir."

Uncle F.'s voice turned sly. "The gods needed blood, back then. They left Earth, but they're returning. And when they do, blood will be essential. Our first offering? That border guard. Once he steps foot on the pyramid, he's ours."

Uncle F. turned to one of the Auditors, eyes half-lidded with weary satisfaction. With a slight nod, the other two seized their companion, binding him in place.

Without a word, Uncle F. pulled out a crooked knife, his face alight with dark pleasure as he brought it down in a deliberate arc, knowing it would be the first of many sacrifices.