The Projection Room

CHAPTER 1 In the remote big sky country of Wyoming, away from the prying eyes and minds of conspiracy theorists everywhere, sat a mid-sized research lab nestled between the remote hills. Only a few knew or suspected its presence, but they'd have to know it was there to find it. To stumble upon it accidentally was even less likely. Seemingly, the roads leading to it were enough to doom even the cleverest Grecian youth trying to evade a hungry Minotaur; however, the caravan of black-tinted windowed SUVs and trucks moved along purposefully on the intentionally unpaved roads. The lead vehicle's driver knew exactly where to go with their grim deliveries. Behind the tinted windows, which filtered out the mid-day sun, the driver was solemn and gravely silent. It was clear he was growing annoyed with the other soldier. He wondered to himself if he was as irritating when he was that young, but he dismissed the question. It was a long day, and saying something would likely make it even longer. He only answered any query with 'yes' or 'no' clipped answers, even to himself these days. "What do you think they want with these bodies?" "Don't know. Don't want to know; don't care," answered the driver. The younger soldier riding shotgun continued, ignoring the driver's clipped comments. He continued in a hushed tone, "I'm just saying that the military shipping cryogenic containers without going through proper channels is ...." "Ours is not to question why, ours is just to do or die. Just be grateful they are sealed cryogenically because the smell would be wretched." He hoped that last comment would should him up. It did. The driver continued, "And I'm going to give you this advice just once. Don't discuss this with anyone--ever." He looked over to the man driving shotgun with an expression as serious as a heart attack. "From what I understand, the bodies will be delivered to their family, but not before ...." "Before?" "Before they do what they're going to do with them. That's all I know." He paused and looked at the other man intently. He whispered, "Listen, I mean it. I know you were briefed about this. We were given only the information you need to know, but you need to shut up, and never mention this if you know what's good for you. That can't be stressed enough. Got it?" The other soldier was startled. Those were the most words strung together in a row the driver had uttered to him since they met, and they conveyed an ominous nature and tone. The other man finally heeded the warning. "I got it," he shook his head affirmatively, and didn't say another word the rest of the way. As they rounded the last incline, the horizon revealed their destination in the distance. It was a isolated military/science installation. They passed through the gates and after driving a while longer, finally stopped around the back end of the buildings to a loading dock. The other man got out; grateful to be able to stretch his legs. The cool, dry open air was a welcome change. Men came out of the installation, as if on cue, and assisted in opening up the SUV and trucks in the caravan. Men, some in uniforms, and others in lab coats, came out of the building. There was hushed bustling about, and then a silence as they waited for some further order. A lanky and gray-haired older man in a lab coat came out, and wordlessly signaled, and said. "Let's go." The other soldiers took their cues from him. The two in the SUV followed in the procession, got out and helped with the unloading of the other trucks that had followed in solemn procession behind them as well. The cryogenic caskets were quietly rolled into the lab of the complex as a rare hot late summer wind blasted past them. They delivered the frozen payload into a large cavernous hall with connecting hallways. Most of the soldiers then filed out of the building, but not before they walked past the large domed room seated on top of a platform. Upon a second and closer inspection of the dome, one could see the gray, interlocking hexagonal tiles of it's surface. It looked deceptively fragile, as if the strong hot wind from outside could make it fall like a delicately constructed house of cards. A crew of lab technicians joined the older man in charge, Dr. Casper Layton, as he looked over the container with a thinly veiled enthusiasm. He hoped this would be the start, the threshold to the next step of man's evolution, and he would be in the forefront of it all. While he was a striking man, one would be hard-pressed to call him handsome. Casper could only be described as an angular, long, distinguished looking man with a thick shock of gray hair. He allowed himself to smile broadly with his thin lips when the last soldier was finally out the door. Upon his signal, his technicians and assistants opened the first casket, and then the next. The frigid air and mist cascaded out before dispersing into the air. When it cleared, the caskets revealed the frozen and preserved bodies of numerous troops who had fallen in battle. Standing next to Layton was Dr. Walter Abbott. Both men watched in silence as the technicians gathered their tools so they could start to harvest the genetic material from the bodies. Sometimes, Walter Abbott had the countenance and manner of a tenacious little bulldog. But when he put on his thick, black-rimmed glasses, they tended to give him the look of a startled owl. Both impressions fit him depending on the circumstances. He looked a few years older than Layton, and about average height, but his thick build tended to make him seem shorter. He had short graying hair and a widow’s peak with a pronounced cowlick to top it off. It was obvious as he gazed at the opened caskets, a deep internal conflict caused him to furrow his brow. Dr. Layton looked over at him, more curious than concerned. Some of the emotions and impulses of others were beyond his comprehension and experience. They both fascinated and frustrated him at times. What Walter Abbott seemed to be feeling was beyond him. He was more curious than concerned about the emotions his colleague seemed to be experiencing at the moment. However, he realized voicing concern would be expected of him. "What seems to be the problem, Walter?" Dr. Abbott turned his head in Layton's direction, but didn't meet his gaze. "It seems wrong, Casper. They died for their country. They should be laid to rest." "And they will be, Walter, after this one last service to science, and their nation, and their species." "It seems wrong, as if we are desecrating these boys further," Abbott muttered to himself. Casper Layton was no longer curious, but now found himself impatient with what he considered Abbott's blatant emotionalism. "Walter, you have this aptitude for sentimentality, that if I was a woman, I'd almost find endearing. They are dead, and what we have here is the inanimate materials that once housed their consciousness, nothing more." Walter Abbott looked over to Layton momentarily, but quickly looked back at the bodies. Layton moved closer to him, speaking quietly. "What we're doing here has such large scale implications. We simply can't indulge these ideas and feelings ... Or any other antiquated notions from getting in the way of progress." "I suppose you're right." Dr. Abbott reluctantly nodded approval to the waiting lab assistants, but they were really waiting for Dr. Layton's specific directions. "We'll need the skulls opened up." He looked up at the ceiling, and spoke to no one but himself now, "Let's see what these men had under the hood." Walter Abbott walked away. Casper Layton found himself staring at the waiting dome, the latest incarnation of the projection room in the distance. He contemplated all the possibilities it possessed.