Pulse Rate 2095

Science Fiction Novel by Nicholas Sinclair Schrage (NS Schrage)

In the future the government controls everything--even people's heartbeats.

Baron Stamos, time auditor and reporter, has to uncover the truth before society is destroyed.

In 2095, freedom is gone and everyone has biometric implants. Local government is now in control under the New World Order. Money no longer has value and everyone serves the government in one form or fashion.

Baron Stamos works for the Agency: a powerful arm of the government. His boss just dropped a hot one into his hands: A couple has been convicted under the Pulse Rate Amendment and are scheduled for execution using the Eradication Removal Process for altering their pulse rates—a process that removes the existence of a person, and the government is passing laws to hold complete control over society. The key to this madness is the Black Market Broker, the inventor of the implant chip, who can't be found.

Baron has to help the Agency put the pieces together to overturn voracious laws and return society to its previous chaotic state. Once the pieces are in place, the Agency can turn everything against the highest levels of the government and return the natural order of society.

However, there’s a problem: The government is after him. Now he’s on the run—there isn't any place safe or time he can escape to.

Pulse Rate 2095 (click link to purchase book)

     Also available online from: Barnes & Noble, Amazon.com, and other sites.

Format: Hardback & Paperback

Price: $32.95 and $22.95

Size: 6" x 9"

Pages: 416

ISBN: 978-1-4502-3586-0 (Hardcover  978-1-4502-3589-1)

Copyright: © 2007 NS Schrage, © 2010 Nicholas Sinclair Schrage

Published: July 2010

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Sample Excerpt (copyrighted material):

CHAPTER TWO

John Thanford squinted when he opened his eyes. He looked around; disturbed by the intensity of the bright lights that seemed powerful enough to give him a migraine. Luckily he wasn’t prone to them.

He blinked and tried to clear his head, but it was difficult. The lights and sounds created a smooth mass of confinement that were overwhelming his senses, and now he felt trapped in a vaporous haze. Because of this, he found it hard to tell where the sides of the room began or ended. This was his reality: translucent light panels hidden in the walls, ceiling, and floor, creating an omnipresent blend of white, combined with the subduing tone of electrical energy playing a subversive melody that blended with the obscure light—as designed, it produced an elusive condition in his brain that lulled him into an almost hypnotic state. In his mind, he was floating inside of the smooth, misty confines of a cloudy chamber from which he could not escape. Just like the rest of the world, which seemed to have gotten lost somewhere along the way, humanity had been reduced to a more manageable number and the government was in charge; the reason he was sitting here: Convicted.

John’s dark hair lay matted against his skull; his sweating had finally subsided, but still trickled down the creases of his face, while the mental gymnastics in his brain made his insides feel like they were crawling outside though his pores. His hair was tangled, hard and rough, in straw-like strands. He tried to brush away the hairs sticking to his forehead, but stopped and shuddered when the restraints bit his wrists with a painful snap, like a rattlesnake had just pierced him, sinking long and sharp fangs into his arms. He was instantly reminded of his confinement. The metal cuffs had cut him this time, obvious by the small trickles of blood on his arms, and the red creases burned!

There was an unusually clean scent in the cell, but the hard surface of the bench added to his distressed feelings. He was filled with fear and exhaustion, coupled with growing paranoia. The cold shapeless void around him quickened his pulse, filling him with an emptiness that he had never felt before. Silent surrender. He had no fight left. When he looked at his restraints, he watched curiously as the blood soaking into the wrists of his sleeves vanished in front of him, as if his white jumpsuit had been designed to soak up body fluids like a sponge. That figured. Everything else had been designed that way. To fit in with society. For those that tried something different, they were quashed, ending up like he was—but what now?

John had difficulty holding a single thought. So many things seemed to melt, transferring from his mind to the mist around him, melting from color to blank, as if something was sucking the visions in his mind right out of his head. Each thought melted like ice on a hot pavement, changing from vivid and brilliant colors, to pale shades, running off the canvas of his mind in flowing white drops. He had tried to maintain composure and control, but beads of anxious sweat continued, reflecting how he felt inside—his fearful nerves were on fire, making his heart bang away, increasing the painful throbbing from the shackles holding him tight. The blood coursing through his body seemed to stop at his wrists and ankles, pounding away as the sharp pains seemed to subside, remaining as a dull throb.

He looked at his wife, Peggy, who was dressed as he was, in plain white slip-on loafers and a clingy unimaginative white jumper, zipped in the front up to her throat. Even though she was restrained, he was grateful the callous gorillas had put her there beside him. The large men could have been mean and shackled her on the other side of the room.

When John looked at her face, he knew she felt the same as he did. It was good to have her close to him, but to him, that wasn’t nearly close enough—he wanted her curled up in his lap, and he knew that would never happen. He could tell by the tears straining from her eyes that she was as close to breaking down as he was, and he wanted to remain strong for her; as long as they were together, that gave him at least some measure of comfort. He had been strong for her when she nuzzled her small frame against his six-foot quasi-athletic body, but now, he couldn’t get as close as he wanted. As he watched the tears fall down the cheeks of his pretty blonde-haired wife, he realized the situation was taking its toll on her. She seemed so different—feminine and distressed. Normally, she was feisty, but this was not the time to be strong or stubborn.

John glanced at the entrance to the cell. They had been told not to speak, but nothing had been said about touching or comforting each other. The guard was standing right outside the corner of the room and John didn’t want to test his limitations; from their reputation, the guards would probably rush him, and make him watch while they did awful things to Peggy. The arm of the large man shifted from side-to-side, which reminded John how capable they were at doing their jobs. They enjoyed it way too much. They were the law.

The law: what did that mean now? Law Enforcement struck fear in everyone. The guards outside the cell were perfect specimens: Pulse Rate Vampires. Black-clad morons with more muscles than brains. Callous and heartless automatons assigned by the government. These were the lackeys who pushed people around, following instructions fed electronically into their minds. But it was hard to tell what they might be thinking, because these guys wore shades over their eyes. Maybe these guys didn’t have feelings at all. He guessed the eye shades were so criminals couldn’t see the hate in their eyes. It made him wonder if they were still human.

John tried turning his thoughts back to Peggy, and what happened to put them where they were—locked in this cell. There had to be consequences for what they did, and now it was clear they would be paying the price for their crime: exercising personal freedom. They had taken control of their own bodies. They wanted to escape the watchful eye that controls the government, and the rest of the world. Now it was clear it had been a dreadful mistake.

They still had some time left, but he didn’t know how long. That would be determined by the black cloaked judge who ordered them locked up to await their fate. John winced when he remembered the loud smack of the gavel. The ringing in his head still made him shudder when he tried to contemplate what their sentence might be. There were two options, but none of them were palatable: the black hand of controlled freedom or execution. He felt like an animal in a cage, about to perform his finale.

John took a deep breath as Peggy nudged closer and leaned against his chest. She tried to put her arms around his waist, but the sharp clank and snap of the thin metal chain was an audible reminder that she couldn’t. He closed his eyes again.

“I’ve got to keep out the light…” but the thoughts were already swimming in his head. “How did things get so bad?”