Binary Storm

by Christopher Hinz

Basher and Slag lifted the unconscious tway onto the basement’s only chair, a sturdy wooden contraption with built-in organocuffs. The chair, like everything else in this horror show of a basement, was intended for torture. Electroshock clamps protruded from its headrest.

  Slag touched a button at the back of the chair. The organocuffs came to life, snaked around Blackhair’s wrists, ankles and midsection. The cuffs tightened.

  “Think we can still get any intel out of him?” Basher wondered.

  “Wake him up,” Gillian ordered.

  Slag withdrew a safak from his utility belt, detached the mini needle and stabbed it into the med griddle’s flamer drug. He syringed the tway’s neck, injected the full dose.

  The flamer hit the tway’s central nervous system in three seconds. His eyes sprang open, jerked madly back and forth. Gillian pivoted the chair so that Blackhair faced the dead tway who lay sprawled across the floor.

  At the sight of his slain half, Blackhair dissolved into a fresh volley of screams and tried futilely to escape the cuffs. His head whipped back and forth with such fury that Gillian wondered whether he might be capable of snapping his own neck vertebrae.

  Slag shook his head. “He’s done. Bisectional hemiosis. Total psychotic break.”

  “Want to put him to sleep and haul him back with us?” Basher asked. Even within the helmet, he had to almost shout to be heard above Blackhair’s shrieks. “Maybe Nick or the doc want to try using emotive probes or some other fancy shit.”

  Gillian shook his head. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

  “Then bye-bye, fucker,” Basher said, grabbing a clump of the tway’s hair to stop the head from moving. He switched his thruster to short-range microburst and pressed the barrel against the tway’s forehead. On that setting, Blackhair’s skull would implode and his gray matter fracture into pulp.

  Gillian grabbed Basher’s wrist, yanked the gun off-target before he could fire.

  “No. We let him live.”

  Basher shrugged and holstered his weapon. Gillian sensed Slag regarding him curiously.

  “Alvis Qwee always left a survivor at the end of his nasty little games,” Gillian explained. “I think it’s appropriate that we show him the same consideration.”

  Basher grinned. “Hell yes! Works for me.”

  Slag shrugged and nodded.

  Gillian wasn’t being truthful. His decision to leave the tway alive wasn’t driven by a desire for some form of raw justice. The real reason eluded him. All he could discern of his own motives was that having one tway survive the death of its complete self seemed proper. It was the right thing to do.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered. “As soon as that family makes it to town, this place will be swarming with cops.”

  They headed outside. The van was gone and Stone Face was waiting. Gillian led them back onto the winding trail toward the place where they’d hidden the skyboards. Even a half kilometer away through the dense woods, the faint screams of Alvis Qwee’s surviving tway could still be heard.

  Thirty-Five

  Bel had decided that today was the day she’d finally reveal to E-Tech’s Board of Regents the information she’d been sitting on for far too long. She’d spent nearly a month trying to figure out just how she was going to broach the subject of Thi Maloca and the secret Ash Ock research project disrupted by the attack.

  Details of the EPF raid had been effectively quashed. The public remained in the dark, with only vague rumors having surfaced about a battle deep in the Amazon rainforest. Before the media could descend upon the area and attempt to uncover what had happened, EPF had destroyed all evidence by nuking the entire site. The official military line was to deny any knowledge of a battle and insist that the annihilation itself was the result of “an accidental detonation of a thermonuclear weapons payload by unknown terrorists.”

  Bel’s problem, why she’d held back this long, was that once she gave her report, the regents naturally would wonder how she’d come upon such a wealth of information. The mole, the tway of Codrus, would be particularly keen to know her source.

  She’d finally concluded that such questions couldn’t be helped and that the majority of the board members, at least those who weren’t Paratwa infiltrators, deserved to be apprised of the incident. Her response to any questions would incorporate a careful blend of truth and lies.

  As it turned out, she needn’t have bothered stressing over the issue. No sooner had Bel entered the conference room at headquarters and taken her seat than board president Suzanna Al-Harthi launched into a full report on the raid. It was not something listed on today’s agenda.

  Al-Harthi began by praising the EPF for its bold initiative and expressing remorse for the loss of so many of its soldiers.

  “In any case, the Royal Caste has been dealt another severe blow. First Aristotle’s death and now this, the loss of a major Ash Ock facility, along with the confirmed death of Empedocles. Although it remains critical that E-Tech continues to publicly adopt a neutral stance when it comes to the Paratwa assassins, these events may prove to have certain long-term benefits to our organization.”

  “Not to mention to the rest of humanity,” R Jobs Headly chimed in.

  Bel looked over to where Doctor Emanuel normally sat, curious about his absence. He’d attended every one of these meetings since she’d assumed the director’s post.

  Al-Harthi turned to her. “Director Bakana, perhaps we can use this information in a way that furthers E-Tech’s goals while maintaining our neutrality in the conflict. Any ideas come to mind?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of the raid,” Bel lied. “May I ask where your information came from?”

  “A high-ranking source in the EPF. I’m not at liberty to say more than that.”

  “Of course. I’ll need some time to analyze the full report.”

  “The classified EPF account of the mission and other details are being distributed to you and your appropriate departments as we speak. For now, however, I’d like us to review the nature of the Ash Ock’s secret research initiative. Lois Perlman has a report.”

  The science adviser to the Mideast Coalition panned her gaze across the room as she spoke. “Their project was quite unprecedented. Its success could have tipped the scales steeply in favor of the Paratwa.

  “In simple terms, they were attempting to transcend one of the greatest limitations of binary existence, that Paratwa cannot reproduce themselves outside of a lab. No matter how a female tway becomes pregnant, whether impregnated by a human or another binary, or even by the female’s own tway in the case of a mélange, the resulting child is always human.

  “A Paratwa can only come into being when the fetuses of two normal humans are injected with the McQuade Unity under strict laboratory conditions. And even then, a majority of the interlinked fetuses fail to reach full term or perish in early infancy due to severe physiological and neurological disorders.

  “The project at Thi Maloca was an attempt by the best geneticists in the world, many of them kidnapped and forced to do the Ash Ock’s bidding, to overcome that handicap. They sought to alter the biology of a binary female so that she might become pregnant in a natural way. She would then pass on her own genetic heritage, as well as that of the binary father, by giving birth naturally to interlinked tways.”

  Bel noted murmurs of surprise from the majority of the regents. Apparently Al-Harthi and Perlman hadn’t yet shared this intel with most of the board.

  “I thought such a thing was considered impossible?” Headly asked.

  “True enough,” Perlman said. “But we must never forget the sheer arrogance and audacity of the Royal Caste. There are few things they consider beyond their reach. And the prize was certainly tantalizing. Imagine a world where binaries could mate and produce Paratwa babies with the same ease that humans procreate. Their numbers would increase at an alarming rate, driven by the same geometric progression that has caused our own overpopulation.”

  Bel nodded. Instead o
f humanity having to deal with tens of thousands of binaries, many of them assassins, after a few generations their numbers would escalate into the millions. That was what had been so unsettling about the Ash Ock’s secret project.

  Perlman went on. “I have a source who tells me the project was initiated by Theophrastus, who by all accounts possesses a rare and dazzling intellect. This source claims that the research involved a line of inquiry previously overlooked by other geneticists.”

  Bel hid her excitement. That Theophrastus was behind the project was not part of the intel that the doomed molecular geneticist had secretly passed on to Director Witherstone. Nor was it something Bel and Nick had learned by way of Ektor Fang.

  Such information had to have come directly from one of the Ash Ock or from their top lieutenant, Meridian.

  Perhaps the Royals, as part of their convoluted and sinister machinations, had instructed Codrus to leak that tidbit about Theophrastus to Lois Perlman, and thus to the regents. Or maybe Codrus had leaked it on his own for some other reason. Whatever the case, Bel now had a clue to the identity of the Ash Ock mole.

  She recalled Olinda Shining’s words. Track the leaks. Narrow down the potential suspects. Set a trap.

  Lois Perlman might well be the key to doing that. Either she was the mole or someone had fed her the information. If Bel could follow that leak to its source…

  R Jobs Headly forced her concentration back to the meeting.

  “How do we know the Ash Ock have abandoned this line of research?” the financier wondered. “Perhaps they’ve simply relocated it to another facility.”

  “Possible,” Al-Harthi admitted. “But unlikely, according to the details we’ve unearthed. My EPF source indicates that, for once, the Royals apparently attempted to reach beyond what was feasible. The data seized during the raid shows that the research had not produced any naturally born Paratwa babies and that the entire project was on the verge of being abandoned.”

  Perlman nodded. “Theophrastus himself was considering terminating it. We believe the raid rendered such a decision irrelevant.”

  “But how can you know that for certain?” Headly asked.

  How indeed? Bel wondered.

  Perlman shrugged. “I trust my source. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  For once, Headly didn’t have a comeback. Looking thoughtful, he turned to gaze out the window wall at the far end of the room.

  Is the financier equally suspicious about Lois Perlman’s mysterious source? If so, does that rule him out as the mole?

  Bel wasn’t sure. Codrus may have decided that an excellent way to disguise himself among the regents was to assume the identity of the one board member who was most openly critical of the Paratwa.

  She followed Headly’s gaze. Outside, a torrent of brown and gray flakes were coming down, the first snowfall of the fast-approaching winter. Bel remembered back to her childhood, back to when Philadelphia still received pristine white snowfalls throughout the season. But like many cities today, the relentless environmental degradation often produced frozen precipitation in the most dismal of hues. And a fair portion of it was mildly radioactive because of worldwide nuclear detonations over the past several decades. Shitsnow, the apocalyptic environmentalists dubbed it. The Earth’s backlash against the human species for having treated their world like a toilet.

  The regents continued discussing the Thi Maloca raid and the Ash Ock’s failed project. Al-Harthi finally called a halt to the conversation and brought up another subject.

  “I’m being bombarded by inquiries about this team of so-called soldier-hunters, as I’m sure the rest of you are as well. I’ve dodged the questions thus far. But after the incident a few nights ago in Kuala Lumpur, the questions are bound to become more intense. E-Tech needs to adopt a formal and consistent position on the matter.”

  “Humanity’s Avenger,” a regent muttered. “That’s what the media is calling them.”

  “I say we give these soldier-hunters a medal,” Headly said, his smile brighter than ever.

  Al-Harthi scowled. “This is a serious matter. The death of that sadist Alvis Qwee was certainly cause for celebration from all quarters. I suspect that even some of the assassins may have been pleased by his elimination. But now this team has struck again and killed another Paratwa assassin. And the witnesses weren’t just a terrified family spared from a horrible fate. This time there was a street battle in the midst of a major city in Malaysia, a battle witnessed and recorded by hundreds.”

  Headly shrugged. “Your point?”

  “My point is that the ongoing conflict between humans and Paratwa is bad enough as it is. These soldier-hunters, no matter how much the media and the public might be cheering them on, are serving to throw fuel on an already raging fire.”

  A strange way of looking at it, Bel thought. The sort of perspective a tway of Codrus might have.

  “It’s vital that we learn more about this team,” Vok Shen said, turning to Bel. “Have your people had any luck in identifying them?”

  “They’re masked. No one has seen their faces.”

  “There are other means of identification. One of the four is apparently quite skilled with the Cohe wand. I don’t believe that the number of humans with that unique ability is overly large.”

  “Indeed it isn’t. We’re making every effort to uncover the identity of this presumed team leader.”

  Bel found herself recalling her most recent encounter with Gillian. She’d made a clandestine visit to Nick’s training facility yesterday as the team prepped to take on its next target, a Fleetwood Phaeton who’d emigrated from Pennsylvania to Japan.

  Following the team’s workout, as Nick discussed something with the soldiers, she’d had a brief one-on-one with Gillian. He’d displayed the same arrogance as he had at their first meeting at the clinic, praising her beauty on one hand while criticizing her choices in attire and again suggesting she start wearing dresses. Worse, he’d violated her personal space, leaning to within centimeters of her body in what seemed to be an attempt to sniff at her face.

  She’d quickly pulled away and stomped out of the gym, not only creeped out by the experience but as infuriated by him as she’d been at their initial encounter. It didn’t help that the aggressive PR campaign Gillian had outlined for convincing people that hatred of the Paratwa should produce a corresponding increase of support for E-Tech was actually working. She’d grudgingly adopted it after consultation with Rory Connors and the approval of her other associate directors.

  Vok Shen scowled at Bel. “That’s it? You don’t have so much as a clue as to who this team’s ringleader might be?”

  Bel had practiced responses to such inquiries, knowing the discussion inevitably would arise. “Pablo Dominguez has assigned his top people to unearthing everything about the team and its leader. We think the four of them are male, although at this point even that isn’t certain.”

  Vok Shen shook his head. “They couldn’t have just come out of nowhere. Some organization must be financing and training them.”

  “The most obvious suspect would be the EPF,” Headly offered, grinning at Al-Harthi. “Perhaps your source could shed further light on the topic.”

  The two regents glared at one another. Bel jumped into the stony silence.

  “E-Tech Intelligence has reached a preliminary conclusion about the origin of the soldier-hunters. Most likely they’re a shadow operation, either within the EPF or one of the world’s other major intelligence or military entities. Pablo Dominguez has some of his best people looking into the matter. He also has our programmers running sims to determine if the soldier-hunters’ methods can be emulated.”

  “Emulated?” barked Vok Shen, angrier than Bel had ever seen him. “The last thing we need is to have more groups of these soldier-hunters wreaking havoc!”

  Words that a Paratwa might utter. Was Vok Shen the mole?

  “The sims are for internal use only,” Bel answered calmly. “However, yo
u can be sure that by this team’s having killed two Paratwa assassins in a manner that was once thought to be impossible, many organizations, military and otherwise, will be keenly studying their methods.”

  Al-Harthi nodded grimly. “Nothing to be done about that, I suppose. But Director Bakana, please give the identification of this team your highest priority.”

  “Of course. And if we do ID them, what does the board believe should be E-Tech’s best use of that information?”

  “We use it to stop them!” Vok Shen barked. “If their exploits continue, it could drive the Royals and their legions toward open war with us!”

  We’re already at war, she wanted to snap back. But there was no upside to escalating the argument.

  R Jobs Headly rolled his eyes at the industrialist’s outburst. Lois Perlman maintained a neutral expression.

  “I believe our formal position on the matter should be this,” Al-Harthi proposed, reading from her pad. “‘E-Tech always regrets the escalation of violence. We urge these soldier-hunters, whoever they might be, to desist from further provocative mayhem.’”

  “Neutral enough not to offend anyone other than the most hardcore Paratwa haters,” Lois Perlman agreed. “And that group is unlikely to be swayed by any statement we issue.”

  Headly looked ready to speak but apparently thought better of it. No one else commented. The financier probably realized he’d lose if he called for a formal vote of opposition to Al-Harthi’s proposal.

  “I’ll have Rory Connors put out a statement along those lines immediately,” Bel promised. As always, she would be getting together with the Media Relations head and her other associate directors at the conclusion of the regents’ meeting.

  “Make sure it’s as widely distributed as possible,” Al-Harthi said. “The world needs to be clear that our agenda is to promote peace between humans and binaries.”

  “Of course.”

  Bel panned her gaze across the fifteen faces, as always wondering which one of them served a far different agenda.