The infinity cure, p.1
The Infinity Cure, page 1
THE INFINITY
CURE
T.A. Berkeley
Copyright © 2022 T.A. Berkeley
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-7331407-7-5
Table of Contents
Also By T.A. Berkeley
Reader Praise For Viral
Reader Praise For Devil’s Sanctum
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
ALSO BY T.A. BERKELEY
Eternal Order
The galaxy’s biggest reality star is murdered on the grounds of a secretive religious order. To investigate, rookie police detective Lyndon Bates must leave his body behind and venture onto planet Halcyon as a woman. But the murder is only one of the mysteries lurking within the walls of the deceptively idyllic convent.
Devil’s Sanctum
A perfect date becomes a nightmare when a man's new love disappears. And it seems there was a lot he didn't know about his girlfriend. To find her, he embarks on a twisted adventure where his only friend is someone he isn't sure he can trust.
Viral
In this paranormal polyamorous horror thriller, eight teens go to rural West Virginia for what they think will be a carefree vacation. But it turns nightmarish when one starts to read the others' thoughts—including a dark secret about the real reason they left town. Now the group must grapple with a terrifying virus they've brought with them.
READER Praise for Viral
“Swift and captivating, T.A. Berkeley’s debut novel grabs you from the beginning and doesn’t let go as it pulls you along for an eerie and exciting ride!”
“Delicious horror-mystery with plenty of paranoia and psychological mayhem to breeze right through without putting it down.”
“Such a fun summer read! … The writing is lean and moves quickly.”
“A great, fun thriller (with some saucy bits in there too) that kept me guessing to the end!”
READER Praise for DEVIL’S SANCTUM
“It’s fun to just lose myself in a fast-moving thriller. Sex, mystery, action, and one of my favorite things: regular person finds himself suddenly involved in high-stakes international intrigue. He’s just a gym teacher who thought he was going to have a chill summer. Oh, Brandon. Not this time.”
“Excellent book! I had to force myself to set it down and finish later so I could enjoy it for longer.”
For B.A. and T.N., the reasons I’m able to do what I love
CHAPTER ONE
The sun glared harshly from a cloudless sky as Hiroe stepped from the cool air of the cab onto the scorching pavement.
Eager to escape it, she hurried along a concrete path toward the water, the empty beach on either side of her fenced off from the public and lined with hybrid palm cactus—short spiny trunks supporting spreading leaves, the tops adorned with bright blooms. In the distance, dozens of sunbathers crowded under large ultraviolet and heat protection screens that stretched across the sand.
By the time she neared the water, gray clouds had begun to collect on the horizon. The air cooled and the waves became rougher as the rolling, darkening masses rapidly approached. The beach’s occupants, a handful at first, then all of them, began to gather their belongings and hurry toward bars and cars for shelter.
Hiroe quickened her stride, glancing repeatedly at the gathering storm. Ordinarily she would’ve found it hard to approach a large body of water, but the storm looked like it was going to be a bad one. She tried to ignore the ocean and focus on her destination: a small square building that started on the beach and extended into the shallows.
Crackles of lightning sliced hectically through the charcoal depths of the clouds. Her fingers lightly held the strap on a suitcase that moved faster to match her pace. As she approached, the door slid open and a man inside beckoned her.
The wind was picking up and fat drops of rain had begun hitting the ground around her. The temperature had dropped but the air was still hot, only now it contained a suffocating humidity. Lapping water from the rising tide sucked at her feet as if to pull her in. Shuddering, she jogged the last few steps, feet squelching against her wet sandals, and stepped into the structure with relief.
The door moved silently closed behind her, cutting off the sound of the approaching storm. “Just in time,” she said to the man, his features coming into focus as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. They stood together in a small space devoid of doors or furniture, though art adorned the walls.
He nodded, lips thinning into a small tight smile. He was dressed in a slate gray suit that matched the steely color of his precisely close-cropped hair. He blinked several times rapidly and his eyes scanned her. “Ms. Anno,” he said when he’d retrieved her identification.
“That’s me,” Hiroe said. “Am I the last one?”
He didn’t seem to hear her question. “Right this way.” He turned and the solid-looking wall behind him split in two, revealing another room. Hiroe followed him inside, where a chaise lounge with plump cushions awaited. Lifting a pitcher from a shelf, the man poured a small amount of clear liquid into a tumbler, which he held out to her. “This will help your body with the pressure changes,” he told her. “Are you prone to claustrophobia or anxiety?” With his other hand he held up a tiny vial of greenish-blue gel.
Hiroe accepted the glass but shook her head at the other offer. “No more than usual,” she said, her voice betraying her with a slight tremor.
If he noticed, the man didn’t question it. He tapped a circular patch on the wall next to the chaise and soft, slow flute music began to play. “You can change it if you like,” he told her. “Be sure to finish your drink, please. This door will open when it’s time to go.” He pointed at the wall opposite the one they’d come through, which also gave no indication of having a doorway in it. Then he left the way he’d come in. The door closed and again appeared to be a solid seamless wall.
Hiroe perched on the edge of the chaise. The cushion sank comfortingly, but her posture remained stiff. It was an odd feeling, being in a room with no visible openings, and knowing it was partly underwater increased the feeling of being trapped. She took a couple deep gulps of air, filling her lungs to reassure them there was plenty of oxygen. Tapping the circle on the wall restlessly, she cycled through various somnolent songs and noises.
A channel of ocean sounds popped up. Hiroe switched quickly to one with classical acoustic guitar music and left it there. She remembered the drink and downed half of it in a gulp, barely tasting the liquid, which was subtly sweet with a hint of citrus and carbonation. She stood and paced the small room, drinking the remainder in small frequent sips as she looked inattentively at the blandly pleasant art adorning the walls.
The other door slid open without warning, and she set her empty glass down, taking up the leash attached to her suitcase. It followed her down a short hallway to a capsule-like vessel that stood open, hovering several inches above the floor.
She entered gingerly, waiting for it to wobble when she stepped onto it, but the craft stayed stable. The door closed as soon as her suitcase cleared it. Hiroe settled into a seat that automatically strapped her in. There were no visible controls. A light hum arose, barely audible, and the vessel began to move smoothly forward and down into a sloping tunnel.
It touched on the surface of gently lapping water and skimmed along for a second before dipping lower. Hiroe’s breath caught in her throat as the water line rose on the windshield. For a few moments, as the capsule submerged completely and continued to sink, it became dark outside the vessel and she saw nothing but her reflected image in front of her, her mouth downturned, her face ashen under her bangs. She ran her fingers through her salt-and-pepper (still mostly pepper at this point) hair, instinctively fluffing and smoothing her pageboy cut as she attempted to rearrange her features into a more stoic expression.
Then her vehicle burst out of the tunnel into the ocean—the motion was seamless but the sudden appearance of light nearly made her jump. Now she was gliding through blue-green water lit from some unknown source—surely they were too far down for it to be the sun, and even if they weren’t, the storm on the surface was probably raging at full force by now.
As the expanse of water opened around her, Hiroe was temporarily distracted from her anxiety. Her vessel floated past reefs of brightly colored coral. Fish and other marine life of impossibly varied shapes and colors flitted through the clear water on either sid
She had no names for the species she saw. A creature with an eel-like shape and iridescent scales snaked its way past her windshield. An orange sphere with pulsing blue organs showing through its skin rotated slowly, buoyed by the currents her capsule created. A school of small, triangular zebra-striped fish with oversize eyes on either side of their heads seemed to stare at her as they undulated in formation, turning as a single body this way and that. Hiroe had never seen so much sea life in one place—not for over forty years, anyway.
Not that she’d sought it out. In fact she’d strenuously objected to this particular assignment. Incredulity had been her initial reaction. “You know I won’t do that,” she told her editor with a hint of irritation. “Find someone else.”
He’d sighed and avoided her eyes at first. “We want our best reporter on it, and that’s you,” he said. “But, and I hate to have to say this, you’re not exactly in a position to pick and choose assignments. It’s been decided. You’re the best I have, but Hiroe, you’re still expendable. There are hundreds, thousands of younger people who would kill for a secure position and a decent salary.”
Answered by stony silence, he’d continued. “This isn’t any ordinary little society function. It’s practically a U.N. summit, yet it was announced and apparently organized in the space of a couple weeks. We need someone who’s going to be able to get the whole story.” He’d sighed. “I’ll go to my second best if I have to, but if you turn down this assignment, he’s going to become my top reporter after that, because you’ll be gone and there’ll be nothing I can do to help you.”
The words still stung as Hiroe remembered them. She supposed she’d suspected she was losing clout in the organization as she got older, but no one had ever said it to her in quite that way before. She’d never felt forced to do an assignment.
Of course, she’d never been very picky—in fact, sometimes less-interesting assignments intrigued her more because finding the story in it would be a challenge. So she had no idea if she’d have gotten this kind of pushback had she tried to refuse a job in the past. All she knew was she didn’t want to chance finding a position at another organization and in the current job market at her age.
Even knowing all this, she’d found a dozen reasons to delay her departure, drawing out her preparations and turning back for forgotten items, and now she was in danger of missing the opening ceremonies altogether. But she was on her way at last.
Hiroe’s craft moved fast and the ocean teemed with activity around her, but inside it was calm and stable-feeling, with no physical sensation of motion. The dissonance was unsettling and her stomach flipped as her body struggled to reconcile what she felt with what her eyes were taking in. She took slow shallow breaths until her nausea gradually dissipated.
Just as she was becoming acclimated to the experience, the vessel shot out over a sudden drop-off and began to descend again. Hiroe gasped at the vista that appeared.
CHAPTER TWO
A compound of buildings came into view below her, connected by tunnel-like structures. Her craft approached the largest, an ornate mansion shimmering through the water.
It looked as though it had been plucked from one of the nearby historic Colonial America sites on land and dropped onto the floor of the ocean, though much larger than the homes of the founding fathers she’d visited on school trips as a child.
The compound was surrounded by an aquatic version of stately gardens that stretched farther than Hiroe could see. Groves of seaweed waved with the currents. Coral grew in the shape of statues and abstract sculpture. A netted area contained dozens of translucent purple jellyfish. The estate seemed endless. And it was all lit in the same unidentifiable way as the first stretch of open ocean she’d entered.
Her capsule slid up to and inside a transparent bubble attached to the front of the building. With a rush, the water emptied from the bubble; leftover droplets were chased from the surface by air jets and sucked through grates. When the interior of the bubble was nearly dry, the vessel opened and Hiroe stepped out.
On cue, the massive and intricately decorated front door—which appeared to be made of a carved wood, something like mahogany, though she knew it couldn’t be—swung inward. Hiroe was ushered in by an attendant who could’ve been a twin of the man who had greeted her on the surface.
She stood in an expansive foyer. Unlike the historical appearance of the home’s exterior, in here were gleaming modern surfaces and abstract art. As she turned in a circle, taking it all in, Hiroe noticed large windows—entire sections of the wall, in fact—displaying the colorful ocean life surrounding the home.
She knew there hadn’t appeared to be windows of this size from the outside. The building’s exterior had looked like solid brick.
The attendant had patiently waited for her to finish looking around. Now he took her suitcase and led her to another ornate door. “The guests are gathering in here before the program begins,” he told her. “Please feel free to join them; I’ll have your luggage taken to your room in the guest suite. First though, madam, I apologize for the intrusion, but I’m required to make sure you don’t have any recording devices on you.”
He blinked rapidly and looked her up and down. “Thank you,” he said after several seconds. “Your hostess understands the unusual nature of this request and thanks you for your cooperation.”
Hiroe shrugged off his thanks, but he was right. It was an almost unprecedented request, in fact, and had caused quite a stir at her organization. Her colleagues were simultaneously outraged and fascinated.
The thought of not having any recordings—visual, audio, or otherwise—of the event was nearly inconceivable. Not being able to broadcast it in real time—having to wait until the reporters returned to the surface—made the whole affair seem like a historical oddity. But the consensus was that the delay due to secrecy might actually end up making the story more intriguing to audiences.
Hiroe’s editor had told her they’d probably end up doing virtual recreations through computer animation for the entire story—but that made her ability to capture and retain the details of the event even more crucial. The other news agencies would likely do something similar, so it was important to her service that she be as accurate and reliable a source as possible. If their accounts varied, Global Media had to be confident in hers.
Before she left, she had to have her in-body camera, microphone, navigator and phone all surgically removed. It was a painless procedure that took mere minutes—no different than when she went in for repairs or upgrades—but without the technology she’d lived with for years, she felt at first like she’d had part of her brain cut out, so basic were they to her everyday existence.
She hadn’t even realized how much she leaned on them to get her through tasks until she had to function without them for a day or two. Her vision seemed less vivid, her memory less sharp when she could no longer instant-replay anything that interested her or when she wanted to recall an exact conversation or incident.
She’d obtained an antique watch so she could at least be aware of time now that her internal clock had been taken away from her. She found herself checking it frequently, each time with a feeling of disappointment that it only had that one piece of information to impart to her.
With a little digging she’d managed to find a foldable tablet, a piece of long-obsolete technology that would help her at least take notes, but her tech team had to remove the camera, take out the microphone and other recording apps and sensors, and wipe it of all connectivity functions. It wouldn’t be able to transcribe her thoughts or observations; she couldn’t even dictate into it. Now it would only let her type, or write or draw with her finger or a stylus.
She put her hand in her pocket to make sure the device was there, and glanced at her watch to make sure it seemed to be working. Then she squared her shoulders and smiled at the attendant.
The man opened the door; it looked heavy but swung open smoothly with barely a touch from him, in a way that suggested machinery was built into it, and that it too was made of some other material than what it appeared to be.
