The Omega Project by Steve Alten Read Free Book Online Page A

winked at me as the car accelerated down Columbus Circle.
    “What is it with this country and holographic breasts?”
    Selena distorted, her youthful body morphing into the frail figure of a woman in her eighties. Hunched over the small steering wheel, she turned to me slack jawed, her eyes magnified behind Coke-bottle-thick glasses. “Name’s Greta. Wanna see my holographic boobies?”
    My uncle’s shrill laugh filled the car. “What’s wrong, Robbie? You look pale.”
    “I think I just threw up in my mouth.”
    The image enlarged, the uniform filling into a nondescript black man.
    “Better. Now maybe you can tell me why I’m here?”
    “Not now. Sit back and enjoy the ride, I’ll see you in twenty.”
    The call ended, leaving me alone with the holographic chauffeur and the silence of an electric engine powered by a trunk filled with batteries. The view of the former capital of the United States remained disturbing, eight years of nature unbound, the weeds bursting through the concrete slab like a miniature forest.
    Within minutes, the car had exited the interstate, following North Rotary Road past near-empty overgrown parking lots. An automated checkpoint allowed us access to Heliport Road, which led to the northern Mall entrance of what had once been the hub of the most powerful military in history.
    My uncle exited the Pentagon’s west entrance to greet me. My only surviving blood relative was dressed in his military uniform despite the fact that standing armies no longer existed. General David Schall was sixty-seven and silver haired, with piercing blue-gray eyes that held a glint in the morning light.
    “There he is. Give your uncle a proper greeting.” The West Point graduate bear-hugged me, whispering in my ear. “Vanilla sway.”
    I froze at the mention of my father’s private code word.
    “I’m glad you could stop by, Robbie. There’s about a dozen coworkers in the energy sector who are dying to meet you. Do you mind coming in and saying hello before we head home to see your aunt Aunt Carol? I’m sure she won’t mind.”
    Stop by? “Sure, I’d be happy to say hello.”
    My pulse racing, I followed my uncle into the building, ABE immediately alerting me to the body scan as I passed through a concealed metal detector. “How is Aunt Carol?”
    “Busy trying to turn Georgetown back into a proper college town.” The general paused at a Plexiglas security door, then looked up at a grapefruit-size metal orb poised to the right of the sealed entrance, its core glowing a phosphorescent neon blue.
    To my surprise, my uncle addressed the mechanical eyeball. “I believe you’re acquainted with my nephew. Robert Eisenbraun, say hello to GOLEM.”
    “Greetings, Professor Eisenbraun.”
    Too stunned to reply, I simply stared at the sensory device like a father suddenly confronted by his estranged child.

 
    6
    It takes a great enemy to make a great plane.
    —U.S. Air Force saying
    The deep mechanical voice was male; hollow and metallic—devoid of any human personality.
    A look from my uncle warned me about asking questions.
    “GOLEM, I want to bring my nephew down to the control room to say hello to the vice president. I think an hour’s visitor’s pass should be more than adequate.”
    “Security clearance granted.”
    Uncle David escorted me through the unmanned security checkpoint, then down an antiseptic white corridor to a series of elevators. We took the first one, descended six stories in silence, then exited to a steel door requiring a clearance pass. The general swiped his plastic card, its magnetic strip opening the lock with a click .
    With my curiosity burning, I followed my uncle into the control room, a high school gymnasium-size chamber of reinforced concrete and steel. Rows of computer terminals were occupied by men and women in jeans, shirts, and white lab coats. The entire forward wall was a computerized map of the world. The Space Tracking and Surveillance System, an elaborate