White Space Season 2

for his plight to listen. A risky gamble, sure. That move, played wrong, would only weaken him further.
    “Father, I’m begging. Think back to when we started this project. You were excited, watching our teams make one new breakthrough after another. It was our advances in neural science that helped Project Phoenix more than anything else. This isn’t about creating killing machines, Father. Of course that’s why DOD wants the tech, but this is about so much more — about creating everlasting peace through our military’s power. The government can use this tech to control the enemy, heads of state, rogue nations. We can singlehandedly end war, Father. Forever. Why can’t you see we’re working toward the same goal, with two separate projects of equal importance?”
    Equal wasn’t gone from his mouth a second before Warren knew he’d gone too far. Comparing their projects was clearly an insult.
    “Equal importance?” Blake shouted, his face reddening as he inched closer to Warren, the scent of Nat Shermans fogging his body. “I allowed you to work on your project so you kept busy, out of my hair, and away from the important work my team was doing. Tell me, Warren, what happens during the next phase of our evolution? How can you expect to control a brain infinitely more advanced than your own?”
    Blake waited as if expecting an answer, but cut his son’s reply before Warren opened his mouth.
    “You haven’t the slightest idea what you’re doing, boy . You can barely contain your subjects, and couldn’t prevent a mass shooting. You can barely manipulate primitive brains, everything advanced is out of your reach. No, Warren, the time for coddling is over. Your project is dead, end of discussion.”
    Blake refilled his Glenfiddich with one hand and pointed toward the door with his other. Warren opened his mouth to protest, but Father’s glare said he’d gone too far. He turned and sat at his desk, shifting attention to his tablet and shutting Warren out.
    Warren stormed from the bar, then opened the garage door and climbed inside his Bentley. He gunned the engine and tore from The Gardens, trying his best not to cry.
    His best wasn’t good enough. As Warren looked at his red eyes in the rearview mirror, he hated himself for being so damned weak.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 5 — Sarah Hughes

    Sarah opened her eyes to black sky.
    The seas of stars were hard to see clearly through her swimming, swirling consciousness.
    Everything seemed so … familiar.
    Déjà vu but worse.
    Doors were missing, so were walls. The floor was barely there. Just a thin dust beneath her feet, there to hold her steady, and keep her from picturing herself floating up into the sky.
    Time, space, and a million lights bled her of thought and bleached logic like cotton. Minus the déjà vu, Sarah might have gone crazy; frozen, and staring into stars and space wherever she looked. Odd as it was, the empty all around her, pressing her like petals between pages seemed as familiar as a second sneeze.
    Something is coming.
    A ball of light shot through the sky, dragging a plume of lavender behind it. After shrinking to a speck, the light expanded then detonated into a billion pieces, raining sudden splendor in cascades at her feet.
    No …
    The room shifted like always and the déjà vu sent Sarah’s heart into a gallop. Her knees went liquid as space spun around her. Stars glowed brighter, spitting their brilliance until one brushed another, then spread toward the others like water through a paper towel, until all were touching and the room was bathed in nothing but white.
    The walls returned, sand-colored and straight, surrounding Sarah like a fence. Her memory was broken. Time meant nothing.
    Perception was bubbling mud. Everything a bog.
    Part of Sarah felt like she had been wherever she was — space? — for days. Some of her was certain she had been there most of her life.
    With déjà vu burning like alcohol in her throat, anything was impossible. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight to force her memory, desperate to know what happened last time.
    So many things had shifted, too many times.
    Something stood at the edge of her memory. Barely there. Last time, Sarah was somehow sure, the room had turned from empty space into living nightmare. After she screamed someone entered the room to tell her all was OK.
    “Hold on,” he had said.
    Sarah swallowed, waiting, knowing it was coming.
    Then it did.
    On the floor, about midway