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MIRA-CAL Technologies

Research & Development Complex

San Leandro, CA.

Dr. Marko Marmilic, pronounced Marmi-litch, was deep in thought as he studied the set of schematics laid flat on his large glass work table.

In his luxurious office of glass, leather, polished wood and indoor trees on the 12^th floor of his corporate office, he juxtaposed the dimensions and designs of several blueprints for the last two hours. Also on the table was a laptop connected to a massive flat screen where he would occasionally check several sets of algorithms and physics calculations.

He reached for his cup of expresso and brought it to his lips. Marmilic was a genius in the field of physics and materials design, the essential confluence by which aerodynamic engineering is dependent.

Described by the media as an eclectic amalgamation of Elon Musk, Michelangelo and Nikola Tesla, he was a celebrated and respected member of the upper crust of international aeronautical engineers, and was offered the job of Director of NASA Design twice in his 47 years.

Marmilic, a Croatian by birth, was already a famous architect in his home country and throughout Europe before moving to the San Francisco Bay Area to create his own firm. He made his early fortune designing seafront promenades for several Croatian, Italian and Spanish resorts. He designed office buildings, hospitals, hotels, art galleries and skyscrapers in over a dozen EU and Asian capitals. As his reputation grew in popularity, so did the demand for his sophisticated, futuristic, but elegant designs.

He stole the hearts of his fellow Croatians when he designed an ultra-modern campus for the new University of Zagreb and didn’t charge the city a single kuna. He paid for the project and its materials out of his own pocket.

His next project for his people would see the design and construction of Croatia’s first high-speed rail system from Zagreb to Dubrovnik, 600 kilometers, with bullet-trains running at over 340 kph. It was called the ‘Croatian Rocket Line.’ The Croatian Rockets were so innovative, so fast and so energy efficient that Slovenia and the Czech Republic paid tens of millions of Euros for the design concepts.

But designing gorgeous buildings wasn’t Marmilic’s deepest interest. He built his architectural empire to fund an industry that had incubated within him since he was a small boy. The field of his dreams was Bio-Technology, specifically, in the esoteric but emerging science of physical regeneration, Bionic reconstruction and Elemental resistance.

Marmilic was dedicated to the pursuit of developing scientific ways to heal victims of horrible physical tragedies such as burns, severed limbs, catastrophic flesh wounds, broken bones, organ failure, even paralysis.

By the age of 37, he bought Novo-Tech, a leading California bio-engineering corporation which manufactured experimental prosthetics and space exploration materials. Novo-Tech had contracts with NASA, rehabilitation hospitals, kinesiology labs and the Pentagon.

It was through Pentagon ties that Marmilic met Dr. Dale Turnbull, director of the notorious secret vigilante society PIPER’S, Inc. Turnbull, a huge fan of his work, commissioned Marmilic to design the shadow society’s main training and organizational campus at a hidden forest location in Northern California.

When the work was completed, Turnbull paid Marmilic three times the price the architect had originally charged. This did two things: First, it allowed the architect to purchase TRI-CORE, a special synthetics and textile manufacturing firm so that he could design and patent his own materials for his experiments; and second, foster a strong personal relationship with PIPER’S, Inc. This kept Marmilic in Turnbull’s service for any future tasking or favor, as well as under the organization’s coveted protection.

Two years later, Marmilic merged Novo-Tech and TRI-CORE, and moved both firms to a newly-constructed and beautiful San Leandro industrial park. Much like the GOOGLE, APPLE or Microsoft campuses, his was equipped with technical warehouses, design and fabrication facilities, R&D labs, testing rooms, parts and materials storage rooms, finishing rooms, and showrooms – all, within first-class office buildings.

It was here that Marmilic’s dream began, a small private and gated ‘city’ where his visions could be realized. It was here where MIRA-CAL Technologies was born.

* * * * *

Marko was looking over the latest testing results on his massive flat screen monitors in his office. A fifth simulated successful run of the Sonic One had just been completed by Goran Bakarčić, using adjustments made by Irena Pezelj. With much of the pressure finally lifting off his shoulders, Marko was once again able to concentrate on the goal. His only glaring problem was time; not so much about the time the vehicle would be ready, but for the man who would be riding it.

A soft therapeutic but electronic chime sounded behind him, the doorbell.

“Come in,” he called back. The glass doors automatically slid open with a whisper of air. Entering the room was a familiar member of his team. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was; the scent of Chloé Love gave it away immediately.

“Good morning, Martina!” he greeted with a warm smile.

MIRA-CAL’s Director of Operations, Martina Ćorić, came in looking absolutely stunning. He couldn’t help but notice the body-hugging, long-sleeved, black Versace half-dress with silver buttons that complimented her Dolce and Gabbana red lipstick. Martina was the Gisele Bundchen of MIRA-CAL, but much better, a supermodel with a Ph.D.

She looked at Marko impatiently like someone who couldn’t wait to deliver some important news.

“All those documents for me so early in the morning?” he asked as the attractive young woman approached and took a seat on one of the leather couches next to the table.

Martina Ćorić, 30, was a former fashion model before earning her business law degree at the Zagreb Academy of Law. Half-Croatian and half-Bosnian from Herzegovina, she represented the perfect confluence of beauty and intelligence. As MIRA-CAL’s D.O.O., she was an astute businesswoman and administrator.

She set Marko’s schedule and oversaw every aspect of the corporation’s movements, creations and interests. She was his ‘right-hand-man’ behind the scenes and on the front lines of the business. Although he was the creative genius of the organization, Martina was the fusion chemical that made everything around him stick and function like a well-oiled machine.

“Marko, he’s awake!” Martina’s large eyes had a sparkling glint to them as she smiled. Marko looked at her not really understanding what she had just said. “Chris Cordell, the bike racer, he’s come out of his coma.” Marko’s eyes immediately lit up in recognition.

“When?”

“My nurse, Rachel, at Kaiser informed me. He’s been awake for two days, but became fully lucid just yesterday, the third day.” Martina’s smile gave off an optimistic glow. Marko nodded and closed his eyes in relief.

“And on the third day He rose again,” he whispered reverently. He turned to her with his own smile. “Has Lana kept up with her classes?” Martina nodded with a confident grin.

“Every day, no miss, since the very first day. Last night was her last time.” Marko was very satisfied with the answer.

“Has his sister been contacted?”

“No, not yet. I will contact her today.”

“Tell her everything she needs to know before we visit him.”

“I will, Marko. I’ve been keeping tabs on her. She’s going through a rough patch right now since his money dried up. He was supporting her.”

“How much?”

“Everything,” she replied. “Rent, college, spending money, transportation. She’s had to work part-time at the mall. It’s so sad, she’s all the family he’s got since their parents died. It’s a tragic story.” Martina dropped her eyes considering what she knew of the Cordell family.

“When you say ‘everything’, you mean to say all his endorsements and savings?”

“Yes. Cordell’s lifestyle mirrored that of an international playboy. He was an extreme partier and big-time spender. Mansion, eight cars, motorcycles, private jet –”

“All of that gone?” Marko asked incredulously. “In two years?”

“Three years ago, he put his finances in a personal trust contract with his agent, Nick Fender, basically a financial and medical Power of Attorney. Cordell was a big kid. Like all youths who have money and power, he thought he was going to live forever. Between his training, promos and circuit races, he didn’t want to deal with his personal accounting.”

“Oh boy, I know where this is going,” Marko huffed.

“Taxes, corporate sponsors, contracts, everything financial – Fender had full authorization to use Cordell’s money to pay his debts, invest in companies, sign endorsement contracts, materials upgrades, you name it. Fender took care of everything behind the scenes while Cordell lived the fast life.”

Marko winced and shook his head.

“Behind the scenes normally means ‘under the table.’ No one should ever sign over their fortune at such a young age,” he said.

“As you would expect, sources say that after the crash, Fender used Cordell’s fortune to pay Kaiser for all the surgeries, treatments, meds and his hospital room. Once he knew Cordell’s condition, he paid for the room for two years in advance.”

“Well, that’s good timing!” Marko said loudly, disliking the story and Nick Fender with every statement.

“He did leave money for Cordell’s sister, but only enough for two years of her university tuition and a small stipend for necessities every month. Not enough for Bay Area life. She’s had to take a bus and then BART to school.”

“Don’t tell me,” interrupted Marko, “he had the rights to all Cordell’s property, too.” Martina nodded and he winced again.

“Fender sold the mansion, the cars, the motorcycles, and the plane.”

“And where did that money go?”

“Sources believe that he pocketed it as payment for his services. He told authorities that Cordell hadn’t paid him in months. Nothing was written down, so it was plausible. But it’s all unverifiable because he normally took cash payments.”

“What about the girl? Did Fender leave her at least one of the cars?”

“Nope,” spat Martina. “Fender was exercising his rights as a diabolical asshole and basically shut her out.”

Marko nodded in understanding, displaying a look of sympathy that Martina clearly read.

“What’s her name?”

“Kayla. Kayla Cordell. A beautiful girl, but she’s had to endure this tragedy mostly by herself. She was in grief therapy for months and relied on friends for handouts. She stays in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment and is behind on rent.”

“From a mansion to a one-bedroom; from eight cars and superbikes, to riding the BART train.” Marko’s expression was now grim and building in anger. “Does she visit her brother?”

“The nurse says that she barely visits him anymore. She lives in Pleasant Hill, but she’s only come once this year.”

“Pleasant Hill?” Marko said. “That’s only three and a half miles from Walnut Creek, and she still doesn’t visit him. Poor girl must be utterly devastated.”

“The nurse told me she once asked her advice about disconnecting his life support system because she could no longer bear seeing him like that. That was the last time she visited.”

“We have to move on this now,” Marko said. “You take care of the girl, I’ll take care of Fender.”

“Sounds good,” answered Martina.

“There’s always a higher plan, Martina,” he said pensively.

“I was thinking the exact same thing,” she responded somewhat more optimistically.

“Very well,” Marko said raising his head and taking a breath, “contact Kayla, we will visit him the day after tomorrow.”

“I so love this office!” she said as she walked to one of the glass panels looking at the forest side of the campus. Marko laughed.

“Martina, you have the same glass office one floor down with the same number of windows!”

“Yes, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“Tell me, Martina, what shall we call this project?” She strolled up to one of the glass walls of the office and looked out over the vast expanse of the campus, taking in the panoramic view from one corner of the massive glass office to the other. She turned back around to him with a look of enlightenment.

“LAZARUS,” she answered. “Project LAZARUS.”

He approached the same glass wall and joined her. He loved the Bay Area, and he loved this town of San Leandro. He never got tired of admiring the MIRA-CAL campus which blended seamlessly with the quiet suburban city less than 20 miles from San Francisco Bay, and from this height, he could see the Bay Bridge, Oakland and San Francisco in the distance. He contemplated her answer deeply.

“LAZARUS. A dead man rises from the grave,” he commented with a smile. “I like it.”

“Either that, or Project Phoenix, a great bird is reborn from the ashes.” He considered her second choice.

“I like LAZARUS,” he said finally, “because it connects Christ with this famous miracle.”

“Are you saying that you are equating yourself with Jesus?” Martina smirked knowing that he would have a philosophical response, and he did not disappoint.

“Not at all. Jesus was a man, a human being who could create miracles during impossible situations. Are we not doing this through our work?” He turned to her and looked into her eyes warmly with a glint of pride. “Isn’t that who we are? MIRA-CAL?”

* * * * *

But two years before this technologic Utopia came into existence, Marko’s life was shrouded in darkness, doubt and much grief. The pressure was unbearable. He had a lot of money and investors, but none larger than the Department of Defense which offered him a great challenge; a challenge that he later felt he should have never accepted.

They commissioned him for a Top-Secret project and basically gave him a blank check to make it happen. He would eventually satisfy the DoD, but he paid a heavy price for it in his life, his spirit and his soul. The project had reached its final stage of completion.

For all its magnificence and significances, this accomplishment was always overshadowed by the passive and active pressure he felt during those months when the Pentagon would demand results and signs of progress.

Unlike his other accomplishments and quests, he did not control the timeline, the government did. And what was worse, the project itself was too advanced, even for him. He knew he had made a terrible mistake accepting the commission.

He slept little trying to solve a problem that even his best staff engineers couldn’t even fathom. Nevertheless, the government kept hounding him, pushing him, then threatening him. He struggled with what he had to do, what he was paid to do, and the actually ‘doing’ of it. What the Pentagon wanted did not make sense scientifically. His schematics didn’t work. Although fascinated by speed, the math didn’t equate to the two types of speed he was required to deliver. The demand was ominous.

He had to create a human-operated hypersonic vehicle that could move faster than any flying object, but not fly. It had to break the sound barrier by more than ten times, but make no sound. It had to have the power of a rocket, but emit no heat exhaust, and have no way of being detected or tracked by radars or satellites.

There was nothing man-made like this on the Earth. And the only reason it was considered for construction was because it was reported that China was experimenting with their own similar vehicle.

The other speed problem facing Marmilic was when his machine would have to be completed.

It would take years just for the basic design, infrastructures and schematics, to think nothing of testing and tweaking. The person handling that vehicle had to be able to withstand the temperatures of the Sun itself and the biologic shock of traveling at speeds never before reached by any animal in history.

No pressure. The government gave him one year. One. And the materials had to be flawless, the engines, parts and gears all had to be designed in their lightest yet strongest forms.

Many nights, sometimes all night, Marmilic considered and calculated in silence. Despite having some of the best scientists and engineers in the world, he couldn’t yet assemble the craft to satisfy the requirements. It was impossible, he finally resolved. It couldn’t be done; and even if it could be done, it would only come from a miracle.