Read Online The Lucifer Code by Michael Cordy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Cordy
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Death, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Suspense fiction, Good and Evil, Neurologists
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guarantee Rob would get better, his mother had smiled bravely and said that God and she weren't giving up on him just yet. 'God will guide him.'
Like when Rob had had the accident, Miles had thought but not said.
It never occurred to his mother that Rob might blame God for what had happened.
For a guilty second Fleming envied Amber. At least she had the solace of knowing that her sister was beyond suffering. His brother's plight had only strengthened Fleming's conviction that there was no God and no afterlife. It had never been clearer to him that the only choice for any man was to make the best of this life with its suffering before oblivion took over for ever - and for ever was a long time. Fleming had one simple aim for his brother: to help him in the here and now. He needed to show him how Jake had been helped, and in turn convince him that one day he, too, could be whole and happy again.
Almost there, Rob,' he said, wheeling the bed down the corridor towards the physiotherapy room.
As they approached the swing doors, the surprise leapt out. Jake was hopping up and down as nimble and agile as if the accident had never happened. 'Dad! Dad! Look at my legs!' He ran to the bed and bounded up to kiss his father's cheek.
Pam Fleming had followed her grandson through the swing doors. 'He was too excited,' she said, with a beatific smile. 'He couldn't wait to show them off'
Fleming turned to his brother and saw that even his good eye had failed him. Tears were leaking from it and he couldn't use it to choose his words on the screen. 'Save your words for tomorrow, Rob,' he said. 'You'll be able to say whatever you want then.'
*
The Think Tank
As Amber Grant closed her eyes, the video camera and Brian were watching over her. The Neuro-Translator never slept. As it scanned Amber's brainwaves it correlated them with the exercises she had done, comparing her thought patterns to its battery of data, seeking out new patterns that would indicate significant aberrations. All the time it was learning about her brain, mapping the electrical architecture of her mind. Using the Lucifer optical processor that powered its own brain, it performed all these analyses at the speed of light.
While Amber Grant was awake the Neuro-Translator discovered nothing unusual. Nor did it detect anything as she lost consciousness and descended rapidly through the first two stages of sleep. As Amber lingered in the third stage and her body twitched erratically, Brian still registered little outside its normal range. Even as Amber entered the fourth stage of sleep, and perspiration beaded her forehead, the humming mind-reader remained untroubled.
It was only when she entered the state characterized by rapid eye movement, REM, that Brian registered something unusual in the still uncharted unconscious governed by dreams.
She was sweating. Her forehead was covered with perspiration and her nightdress was saturated. Her lips moved and she mumbled, her words gradually becoming more coherent until she was calling her own name in a child's plaintive voice: Amber, Amber, where are you, Amber?'
As she fell into the dream state random movements of her eyeballs were visible beneath the lids. Her body shook as if in distress. Then it became still and her eyes opened.
Memories flashed before her like the jumbled shards of a broken mirror: Father Peter Riga in his Jesuit robes sweeping up Ariel and her in his arms; her father's proud smile when she graduated with top honours from Stanford; Bradley Soames on campus at Cal Tech wearing his tinted mask and protective clothing; her mother stroking her hair and kissing her cheek as she fell asleep; her sister squeezing her hand and whispering goodbye before the surgeon put them both to sleep.
She felt the blade cut into her head. Through white-hot pain she heard herself screaming, her voice mingling with Ariel's, both trying to hold on to the other as they were torn apart. Even now as her mind left her body Amber
Like when Rob had had the accident, Miles had thought but not said.
It never occurred to his mother that Rob might blame God for what had happened.
For a guilty second Fleming envied Amber. At least she had the solace of knowing that her sister was beyond suffering. His brother's plight had only strengthened Fleming's conviction that there was no God and no afterlife. It had never been clearer to him that the only choice for any man was to make the best of this life with its suffering before oblivion took over for ever - and for ever was a long time. Fleming had one simple aim for his brother: to help him in the here and now. He needed to show him how Jake had been helped, and in turn convince him that one day he, too, could be whole and happy again.
Almost there, Rob,' he said, wheeling the bed down the corridor towards the physiotherapy room.
As they approached the swing doors, the surprise leapt out. Jake was hopping up and down as nimble and agile as if the accident had never happened. 'Dad! Dad! Look at my legs!' He ran to the bed and bounded up to kiss his father's cheek.
Pam Fleming had followed her grandson through the swing doors. 'He was too excited,' she said, with a beatific smile. 'He couldn't wait to show them off'
Fleming turned to his brother and saw that even his good eye had failed him. Tears were leaking from it and he couldn't use it to choose his words on the screen. 'Save your words for tomorrow, Rob,' he said. 'You'll be able to say whatever you want then.'
*
The Think Tank
As Amber Grant closed her eyes, the video camera and Brian were watching over her. The Neuro-Translator never slept. As it scanned Amber's brainwaves it correlated them with the exercises she had done, comparing her thought patterns to its battery of data, seeking out new patterns that would indicate significant aberrations. All the time it was learning about her brain, mapping the electrical architecture of her mind. Using the Lucifer optical processor that powered its own brain, it performed all these analyses at the speed of light.
While Amber Grant was awake the Neuro-Translator discovered nothing unusual. Nor did it detect anything as she lost consciousness and descended rapidly through the first two stages of sleep. As Amber lingered in the third stage and her body twitched erratically, Brian still registered little outside its normal range. Even as Amber entered the fourth stage of sleep, and perspiration beaded her forehead, the humming mind-reader remained untroubled.
It was only when she entered the state characterized by rapid eye movement, REM, that Brian registered something unusual in the still uncharted unconscious governed by dreams.
She was sweating. Her forehead was covered with perspiration and her nightdress was saturated. Her lips moved and she mumbled, her words gradually becoming more coherent until she was calling her own name in a child's plaintive voice: Amber, Amber, where are you, Amber?'
As she fell into the dream state random movements of her eyeballs were visible beneath the lids. Her body shook as if in distress. Then it became still and her eyes opened.
Memories flashed before her like the jumbled shards of a broken mirror: Father Peter Riga in his Jesuit robes sweeping up Ariel and her in his arms; her father's proud smile when she graduated with top honours from Stanford; Bradley Soames on campus at Cal Tech wearing his tinted mask and protective clothing; her mother stroking her hair and kissing her cheek as she fell asleep; her sister squeezing her hand and whispering goodbye before the surgeon put them both to sleep.
She felt the blade cut into her head. Through white-hot pain she heard herself screaming, her voice mingling with Ariel's, both trying to hold on to the other as they were torn apart. Even now as her mind left her body Amber
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