Incarnate- Essence

by Thomas Harper

  I said nothing.

  “Thought so,” she smirked, “I think I can help with that, too.”

  I stopped walking. She turned around to look at me.

  “Let’s say you’re right,” I said, “why would you want to keep helping a transgenic terrorist cell after you get whatever it is you really want in Wichita?”

  “Can’t a girl offer assistance without her motives being questioned?”

  I started laughing. Christina’s expression twisted into confusion.

  “What’re you laughin’ about?” she asked.

  “I get it,” I said, “I know exactly why you want to help in Atlanta.”

  This time, she said nothing.

  “You want access to the Global Prosperity network,” I said, “the satellite network used by governments and multinational corporations. It’d give the AKs access to just about everything.”

  She gave me a sideways grin. “Is that somethin’ you’re opposed to?”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Hm,” she smirked, “I was afraid you might say that.”

  “And I assume you have a backup plan?”

  “Getting on their network isn’t my top priority.”

  “Then what is it you want out of all this?”

  “You think I’m going to explain it to you?” she parroted my earlier retort.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.

  “Don’t worry, I think we can still help each other out,” she said before turning and walking away.

  I continued on my own way. Heading toward the remaining Bitter Brews of Bengal. It was time to communicate the plan to Kali by way of Bita.

  I might actually be able to pull this off without Akira.

  Chapter 28

  The weeks before the Wichita mission felt about as long as expected. Colonel Reynolds took some volunteers from LoC Security with him – Major Riviera, Ellen, and Darren – and stayed for two weeks, posing as private contractors. Updates came slow, but they were able to plant enough nodes to cover our area of operations. Most importantly, though, was that Tory Goodwin got transferred to Wichita with Colonel Reynolds’ fake firm hired to help guard him.

  Independence Day festivities commenced, as did planned protests and counter-protests. Volatility only further grew as Mitchell’s plans to annex Kansas gained more attention. The old United State’s Independence Day celebration took on a new meaning in Kansas – remaining independent of the CSA.

  For our purposes it made it easy for Reynolds’ people to get work as contractors. It also resulted in hostile confrontations between anti-CSA radicals and the hired mercenaries. Reynolds reported being pelted with soda cans on two separate occasions and a bag of dog shit once, but said this helped initiate his crew as trustworthy to CSA forces.

  The CSA was holding five other people along with Tory Goodwin, all of them alleged anti-CSA radicals. Colonel Reynolds identified one of them as a PRA agent provocateur that had been involved in terrorist acts in Fort Collins several years earlier.

  “Would it be possible to extract him as well?” I had asked.

  “I’ve talked with Goodwin,” Reynolds had said, “he’s on board with the operation. Dunno how this other fella will respond, though. Might expose us for a pat on the head by the CSA.”

  “Okay,” I said, “no problem. Not a priority.”

  “If the opportunity arises,” Reynolds said, “I’ll see if we can snag ‘em, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  International pressure, primarily from Kali’s people in India, served to increase tension with the CSA. Especially when import tariffs on all U.S. goods were imposed ahead of GPFTA talks in Atlanta. Director Mitchell, ever the shrewd politician, put an Asian pivot into his reelection platform. His rhetoric at home was essentially that he would use the GPFTA to take Asia for everything they’re worth, all to the CSA’s benefit.

  During the lead up, the situation between Laura and me became awkward. The weirdest part was that she seemed not to care about my dismissal of her feelings toward me. She still drank like a fish. We still made art together. We’d talk while I strummed on the sitar. We visited Deidre and John’s house a couple times to see the ever-dwindling number of children still there, the others having found parents to adopt them.

  Regina stayed with the Waters’ along with three of the other older girls who were given the anti-aging and anti-puberty genes – Tanya, Tea, and Carmen – essentially becoming the adopted daughters of the Waters’.

  “Not many kids to take care of anymore, are there?” I had asked on a visit five days before July fourth.

  “Deidre is still paying me,” Regina said, “Tanya has a job doing hair. Tea and Carmen went back to school.” Regina shrugged, “I’ll probably look for a job after Wichita.”

  Regina struck me as a bit different than the other three in temperament. I wasn’t sure if it was her rise to spokesperson or if it was her personality. The other three coped with what they’d been through by trying to act normal, which was abnormal for people in their condition – somewhat of a mix of acting their true age and acting the age they appeared. Tea and Carmen sometimes played with dolls together in their room. Tanya was more outspoken, and I even found her getting a ride home from work once by a boy, yet she would sit in her room and watch children’s movies about princesses and fairy tales.

  But Regina completely embraced her true age. The clothes she wore were sometimes revealing enough that it would start arguments with Deidre. She cut her hair to neck length and dyed it blonde, putting makeup on her face and getting several piercings in her ears, a diamond stud on the right side of her nose.

  “But Liana will probably be sticking around?” I asked.

  “She’s stayed around as a homemaker,” Regina said, “but I think she’s also found a man.”

  “Is that something you still worry about?” I asked.

  She shrugged again, the motion a strange mixture of childlike and grownup, “not as much for myself as for the others. I know at least six kids from our house are paired up.”

  “So, you’re not interested then?”

  “I’d rather help you guys,” she said, the subtle coyness in her expression a mixture of wanting to gauge my reaction and just being the way a child’s face looks.

  “You want to be a forty-eight,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement that I didn’t shoot her down right away, “with whatever I can do. I can be a spy. People won’t pay any attention to me because I look like a little kid. I could even learn to use a gun…I mean, if that’s what you need. But I’ve been going on the computer a lot. Maybe I could be a hacker like Akira.”

  “You don’t look that much like a little kid,” I said, signaling to a fresh tattoo on her ankle.

  “I can cover that up,” she said defensively, “and take out all my piercings and wash off the makeup. I still have some of the little kid clothes, too.”

  I smiled, “you’ve already helped a lot. What you and Masaru have done for the other kids is probably more important than anything the rest of us have done.”

  “But I don’t want to just talk,” she said, “I want to do something more…”

  “Exciting?”

  “Yeah…” she said, “I’ve spent so much time cooped up, not doing anything. And then they did this to me,” she looked down at herself, “and people treat me like how I look. Like a little baby. But I’m not a fucking baby.”

  I nodded, “I understand.” More than you know. “This upcoming fourth of July mission will put you close to the action. You’ll be speaking in front of a crowd. Most people will be cheering you on. Some will probably boo. There might even be things thrown at you. Could be frightening.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Good,” I said, “Because your job is very important. You’re providing our cover. I want the protesters out of their free speech zones, marching in the streets. That’s our cover. We’ll hide i
n the crowds. The police will be busy with the unrest.”

  Regina nodded, “I can do that. I won’t let you down.”

  I smiled, “I don’t imagine you will.”

  We still hadn’t heard from Doctor Taylor since the incident with my brain procedure. I’d asked Deidre about her, but she said her mom seemed fine, despite having gotten in an argument with Teagan the day after the quinceañera, which might be why she was in a sour mood during my brain scan.

  Aveena had bioluminescence vessels in her arms modified to make them glow in the shape of the access codes when certain colors were stimulated. Salia helped out with the science, but Aveena didn’t tell her what it was for.

  The teenager started off fine, if a little apprehensive, but as July fourth approached, her anxiety grew. She would come over to the house andp ace around, airing doubts about whether this would work or going over ways it wouldn’t. Laura and I tried comforting her. She would leave looking more relaxed, but then come back a day later rehashing the same doubts again.

  I only became nervous when on July first news broke that Catherine Landon was wanted by the CSA for her involvement in the trafficking ring. Both the Wichita police and the CSA agents were looking for her, but she had apparently fled. Gabriel Mitchell went online and accused Kansas governor Larry Kent of hiding Landon due to NexBioGen helping finance the anti-annexation movement. I couldn’t find evidence of Landon ever making any political contributions.

  Using the LAN turtles installed in the homes of NexBioGen’s senior officials, I was able to access their e-mails. Van der Meer e-mailed Governor Kent’s people a lot. Unlike Landon, he was an avid anti-annexation contributor. Nothing struck me as evidence for his involvement in the trafficking ring. Most interesting with him, though, was that he hadn’t sent any e-mails in a little over a month. As Landon said, he just vanished.

  Landon, for her part, also looked innocent of the trafficking ring. She carried on affairs with several younger men working for her, but all of them were willing partners in their early twenties.

  Dewitt continued sending daily memos via e-mail. They were mostly mundane, day-to-day issues. None mentioned anything about the trafficking ring. They were up-to-date with other current events, so it wasn’t some pre-set program. She conducted business as if nothing else was happening. From her own e-mail I found that she handled a lot of money that didn’t have anything to do with NexBioGen business. Always coming in from random accounts and going out to other businesses. It wasn’t a smoking gun, but it only furthered my suspicion that she was involved in the human trafficking ring.

  As I suspected, I wasn’t able to find anything in their e-mails about the reincarnation molecule or the receptor put into the children’s genome. That meant going ahead with the hack at their headquarters. Akira was able to get us in contact with someone planning to bail on NexBioGen with all the allegations coming out.

  Unfortunately, he insisted Laura be there.

  “It’s because I radiate personality,” Laura had said when I told her. She was on her shift in the lab running a chromosome conformation capture test on our newest batch. An open bottle of vodka sat on the bench beside her.

  “It’s got to be some kind of trap,” I said.

  “Maybe word of the great handjob I gave that fatass trying to buy me got around the child sex circles,” she said.

  “You don’t want to go, do you?”

  “Sounds like something that could get me shot or blown up,” she said, “on the other hand, not going would mean having to do all the lab work while you’re gone.”

  “So, you’ll go?”

  She shrugged, “if you need me, of course I will.”

  And so, on the second of July, Laura and I made our way into Kansas. My face was temporarily modified with the degradable polymer. Laura had laughed at my disguise, saying I looked like a fat person with a skinny body. She was not well known, but our buyer requested her personally, so we had to leave her unmodified.

  There wasn’t too much trouble getting into the state with the police so busy overseeing the planned celebrations and protests. The checkpoints were either completely automated or manned by third party help, who liked to hassle us, but had no intel on who they were supposed to keep out. Dodge City had its power back on, but none of the mesh networks were up.

  When we arrived in Wichita, Laura and I found the safehouse Mikasi told me about – a young entrepreneur couple sympathetic to our mission, or at least to keeping the CSA out of Kansas. We told the neighbors we were there for the fourth of July celebration. Their eye rolls and sarcasm indicated they thought we were around for anti-CSA protests, so I stuck with that cover story afterwards.

  Once Aveena got into Kansas on July third, along with Regina, Tea, Carmen, and Tanya, we reopened communication with them and Colonel Reynolds’ people using the encrypted mesh network they had setup in Wichita. They all checked in, saying things were set for our plan to go off.

  Aveena, however, sounded as nervous as ever.

  “I’ve been taken out and searched at like every checkpoint,” her voice came over my earpiece at almost midnight on July third, “they know I’m transgenic. A couple of those handsy mercenaries even know I have a cock! They’re going to report me! The police will totally know I’m up to something when I get arrested!”

  “They’re going to be too busy with all of the protests to even pay that much attention,” I said, “especially once Regina riles everyone up.”

  “They’ll take me to the wrong precinct,” she said, “I know it. I just know it! The facial recognition software will, like, recognize me and stuff and they’ll take me to a high security prison!”

  “No, they won’t,” I said, “you didn’t do anything wrong on the way here. They were just being assholes because you’re transgenic.”

  “They’ll put me in a male prison,” she said, “Oh, God…do you know what they’ll do to me in a male prison?”

  “We’ve been over this before,” I said, “you’re only going to be taken in for the minor crime of protesting outside a free speech zone. Once Regina gets the crowds stirred up, there’ll be hundreds of people getting arrested for the same thing.”

  She paused for some time. I could just about picture her pacing around her own safehouse, trying to think of something else to fret about.

  “If you want out,” I said in an assuring voice, “we can all head back and I’ll think of something else.”

  “No,” she said, “no…no. I’m gonna do this. You’re totally right. Everything’ll be totally fine. Yeah…I mean, yeah. I’m fine. I’m good. Thank you. I need…”

  “You need to get some sleep,” I said.

  “Yeah. Sleep. Sorry…thank you.”

  “Of course,” I said, “good night, Aveena.”

  “Good night,” she said.

  I laid back into the guest bed, turning my head to see Laura in the other one, staring listlessly up at the ceiling.

  “Feeling sufficiently distracted?” Laura asked without looking to me.

  I turned to face up at the ceiling too, “I guess you could say that.”

  She turned to face me, “what happens if all this goes wrong?”

  I looked to her again, “I don’t know what’ll happen to everyone. Jail time. Death. I suppose it matters how badly things screw up.”

  “I mean for you,” she said, “you’ll die at some point and move on, forgetting all of us.”

  “Not forgetting,” I said, “living with it.”

  “I hope you know that I do understand why you don’t feel the same way about me that I do about you,” she said, causing butterflies in my stomach, “at least I think I do. It’s like when a kid loves a goldfish they won at the festival. It’ll die in a week and that kid will live on for another eighty years.”

  I turned to look at the ceiling again, saying nothing. I heard Laura turn her head, too.

  Both of us sat in the silence for some time, staring upward. The images of my hallucination start
ed creeping back into my mind as I lay there, letting me know I was falling asleep. When I snapped myself back to wakefulness, I looked over again. The clock now said it was a little after two in the morning. Laura was still lying there, unmoving.

  “It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you,” I said, “It’s that…”

  Her head turned, eyes glazed over in drowsiness. She stared at me for some time, as if waiting for me to continue, but I didn’t know how. Finally, Laura opened her mouth. Out of it came a familiar buzzing that startled me. My head shot up. Her mouth opened wider, the sound oscillating between high and low pitch.

  The same buzzing I’d heard in my hallucination.

  Laura suddenly began unfolding before me, the way the hospital room had. I shouted, my voice tinny as her body rose convulsing into the air. Her arms and legs thrashed violently about, eyes wide, head snapping back and forth, the buzzing growing shrill. Painful. Laura’s bones ripped from her flesh with a wet tearing sound, projecting outward into impossible shapes, blood pouring like torrents from the wounds in every direction onto the bed, walls and ceiling. I scrambled to my feet, reaching out, my arms made of disassociated particles. Through my own flesh I could see the clock, the numbers moving, but not forward or backward in time. They were moving into something else. I opened my mouth to scream and-

  -and then I awoke, Laura standing over the bed, shaking me. I was panting, pillow drenched in sweat.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, looking down at me as I tried to catch my breath.

  I sat up, looking at her. “Christ…it-it was…”

  “Must have been one hell of a dream,” she said, “you probably woke all the neighbors with your screaming.”

  I shook my head, wiping sweat from my brow, “it was…similar to the hallucinations. The ones I had when Doctor Taylor…” I looked to the clock. Eight in the morning. “Holy shit. Did I really sleep that long?”

  “You slept peacefully most of the night,” she said, “I don’t think you tossed or turned once until you started screaming a few minutes ago. I thought it was a split-brain episode. Sometimes you mutter in your sleep thrash around when you have them. You never screamed before.”