by David Beers
My job's important. It's as important as any other application, maybe more so, because we're the net below the net.
I went to her parents first, before I reported it. I liked her parents. I wasn't as close to them as Allie, but they were good people. They loved their daughter.
"Please," her mother said. Tears rolled down her cheeks in long, full drops. Her breath didn't hitch up and down; she just cried silently, finally realizing her worst fear stood at her doorstep. They knew. They had to. They saw what Allie was going through. They saw the cutting Allie did on her stomach, doing it there so that no one else could see it. They knew why I was here and they couldn't send me away. I'd seen too much and it would be too obvious. "Don't do this. Let her be. She doesn't have to put her DNA into the pool. She can hide. We'll leave. We'll do whatever you tell us to, just don't report her."
I can't cry, but if I could, I would have then. I would have wept with her mother. Her father stared out the window, not saying anything, not crying. They wouldn't get another child ever. This was their one chance and I told them that chance was over. I told them their daughter was gone. I was taking her from them.
And that's what I did, Caesar. I sent my knowledge into The Genesis and applications came and took her away. They liquidated her and, years later, her parents died childless.
I had three other people before I got to you. All of them were fine. All of them met specifications and were wonderful human beings. I liked every single one of them. I enjoyed my time with them.
I loved Allie, though. I've never forgiven myself for what I did. I've never forgotten what her mother looked like, what her father looked like, or what she looked like being taken from the house. Her head facing the floor, her hair hanging around her face, finally knowing how dirty she actually was. Too dirty to live.
I hoped I never met someone like her again. I hoped everyone I served fell within specifications because I didn't know what I would do if the situation presented itself again. I didn't know if I'd be able to do my duty. And then you came along, Caesar. You in all your wonderful glory. Your parents know, even if you don't think they do. Them and I, we've never spoken of it, but they have to know. Leon doesn't, I don't think, but that's because you hide yourself from him in most ways. The same as you hide yourself from the sync, slowing your brain down in whatever way you probably figured out from the books you read. You're a miracle, Caesar, and I knew that on day two.
You were ten years old and you created your first fish. Do you remember it? A goldfish. It swam around your room and you watched it for maybe thirty minutes, and then realized it needed friends. It needed a world to live in, and you got to work again. I've been with five people, Caesar, and not one of them could ever consider creating what you did, knowing the programming language to do it—let alone at ten. And then you said that wasn't enough; you needed to build more.
At some point, look up the history of a man named Matthew Brand. The same line of DNA that ran through him runs through you, Caesar.
On day two I knew that I had to report you, that you had to be liquidated, that your genes could never be allowed in the pool. I made the decision as soon as you sat down and started working on the coral. I wouldn't have another Allie. I wouldn't remember your parent's faces the way I remember hers. I would tie myself to you and if you died, I died.
So here we are now, and for some reason, you're saying things that shouldn't be said and doing things that shouldn't be done. You seem intent on turning yourself in. That's all that will happen, Caesar. I don't want you to think differently. You're not going to 'wake' anyone up, and even if you could, it wouldn't matter. You would all be publicly liquidated and everything would go on as it had before you. You're going to get yourself killed and even calling this woman could add to the chances that it happens. I can't stop you and I won't turn you in, which I probably could. I'd say you recently started acting this way and I didn't know why. I'd do my best to hide what I know. I won't turn you in, though. If you do this, we're both dead. They'll delete me and they'll liquidate you. I just want you to know that. I've tied myself to you; your fate is mine, now.
* * *
Caesar didn't cry. He sat down on his couch and looked at the entertainment center in front of him, staring at it but seeing nothing.
"What do you want from me, Grace?"
"I want to live. I want you to live."
"And these thoughts, these feelings, what do I do with them?" He asked.
"You don't say anything about them. You don't do anything with them. You shove them down and you go on with your life the way that you have for the past thirty-three years."
"What kind of life is that? What kind of life would it be to do this for another hundred years?"
"It would be life and that's enough," she said. "Because what you're doing now leads to death."
Caesar stood up from the couch but didn't move. She was right. He knew it. If he kept going this way, he might last a month. Grace might keep quiet, but no one else would. He would be a pariah and The Genesis would know and then everything would end. Grace would die. He would die.
And so what?
Did he make her tie herself to him?
Did he ask her to do any of this? And now she was asking him to give up his life? To go on and on with this insane revolving door of to work to home to work to home, all of it until he grew too old for even The Genesis' medical inventions, and then he died. All the while sitting here thinking these thoughts. Looking at his brother turn into another Leon. Watching crop after crop grow up under him. He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to live like this anymore. He was tired of it, exhausted. He nearly stepped into death this morning, ready to embrace it, so why stop now? Why not find this woman and talk to her? Why not let her report him if she wanted, and if she didn't, why not get dinner with her?
"I'm going to call her, Grace. I'll shut up with the talk for now, but I'm going to call her."
Grace sighed and then went silent.
Caesar walked over to the sync and put his hand inside. He carefully chose the pieces of information he uploaded, showing the woman's face and nothing more.
Paige Hedrick.
"Call," he said, pulling his hand out of the sync, and the entertainment center to his left boomed to life.
He listened as it dialed, wondering what he would say, wondering what she would say back to him.
"Hello?" A woman answered.
"Is this Paige Hedrick?"
"Yes, do I know you?" He knew that she could see his name and picture on her end, did she not recognize him at all? Had she completely forgotten about this afternoon?
"You pulled me back from the lane today; I wasn't thinking and was just walking forward. You made sure I didn't get hit. Do you remember?"
"Oh, yeah, I remember. You thanked me by cursing. That's you right?" Levity sprang from her slight jab.
"That would be me. I feel bad about that, especially since you saved my life, basically, and so I'm calling to see if you'll let me buy you coffee or dinner or anything. Even an ice-cream cone. I'll buy you an ice-cream cone if you'll let me."
Paige laughed. "I only eat chocolate."
"That's a good thing, because I only buy chocolate."
She laughed again, high, pretty. "When?"
"How about Tuesday?"
"Tuesday? That's like the weirdest day ever for a date."
"This is a date?" Caesar asked.
"You're calling me and asking to buy me dinner; that's the definition of a date."
"Tuesday too weird?"
"No. It'll do. Meet me at my place around seven and we can go from there," she said.
"Okay. I will."
"Take care, Mr. Wells. See you in a few days."
The entertainment center went black as she ended the connection.
Chapter Twelve
"How's it looking?" The old man asked.
"You were right. If we had waited, things would have spiraled out of control for him."
<
br /> "Is he going to make it through?"
"I don't know. He's not like you. He's not like any of us. His...reasons aren't the same as ours."
The old man nodded. "That's why we need him."
Chapter Thirteen
Caesar looked at the report scrolling across his desk.
The Genesis had processed the first five million scans; ten children needed liquidation. Ten children who were either too smart, too dumb, or too different to continue on in society. This was his job, this was what he'd been chosen for—to murder them, and apparently, feed the next crop with their still living bodies. He did it well. He did it better than anyone else in his quadrant and because of that he was promoted to the highest position possible. He reported to a panel, not to a person, and what could he say to them?
"Hey. Good to see you all. About this new group, not gonna be able to do it. Sorry, just can't keep feeding the living to the living. I think you guys will understand."
They wouldn't understand. At all. They would have him liquidated right along with the children and the next in line would take his spot.
This is your job, he thought. How many times before this have you done the same thing? How many humans have you ordered liquidated? Grace wants you to shut up in your personal life, and maybe you feel froggy talking with Leon and April, but not here. You don't question this. You mention a problem and that's it. You say you don't want to do this and bye-bye, Caesar. Bye-bye, Grace. Maybe some of your genetics will be reborn but you're gone.
Ten children. He'd liquidated hundreds. Ten more were just a couple drops falling into the soup of children he'd made and fed out.
He typed a few words onto his desk and then it was done. Applications were already moving to take the children. Applications were setting up to place them in the glass vats. Applications that wouldn't stop, wouldn't slow down.
Caesar shut his desk off and stared out the window. He did that for most of the day.
Chapter Fourteen
The train stopped at her lobby and Caesar stepped off, then walked inside.
Twenty-four hours had passed since he’d liquidated the children and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop focusing on what he'd done. He went back and looked at the report, digging in to see exactly what was deemed unfit about them. Four were too intelligent, IQ levels reaching up to one twenty five in one of them. Two of them showed tendencies for obsessive compulsiveness. One was a legitimate psychopath and the other three were just marked 'other'. Other. What did that mean? They were 'other' so they couldn't live. How many people declared 'other' had Caesar sent to soup?
He saw Paige walking from across the lobby and he ceased thinking about the murdered children.
He took in what she wore, but at the same time, barely cared. He couldn't stop looking at her smile, which lit up her whole body somehow. She smiled at him like she'd been waiting to meet him her whole life, like everyone else she had ever met were only lead ups to this moment.
"Managed to get here without getting yourself killed, I see?"
"It was a tough navigation," he answered.
"I thought surely you wouldn't show, and at first I'd think you stood me up, but then I'd see on the news that you stepped in front of another train and I'd have to feel really guilty for not meeting you at your place instead."
Caesar's smile widened. "I'm glad I can keep you from feeling guilty. That's my goal here."
"Where are we getting ice-cream?" She asked.
"Haven't really thought about it. Anywhere in mind?"
"We'll figure it out," Paige said, then grabbed his hand and led him outside to the trains.
* * *
"So what do you do?"
A golden beer sat in front of Caesar and a glass that could have been water but was mostly vodka in front of Paige.
"I work in Population Control."
"Oh yeah?" She asked. "What part?"
Caesar took a sip of his beer to hold off on telling her. He didn't want to say. He didn't want to talk about it because of what he did yesterday, even though this woman wouldn't understand. He didn't want to tell someone that he took orders to kill children, even though he was probably the only person on the planet who cared. The world believed the reason underlying it, believed the necessity of it. Only he alone hated it.
"What do you do?" He asked.
She smiled. "You don't want to tell me?"
He shook his head. "It's not that; I'm just more curious about you than I am about me."
"I'm in fashion."
Caesar raised an eyebrow. "I've never met anyone in fashion before. I didn't even know we had a department like that."
"Of course we do! You think The Genesis creates the styles you're wearing? The Genesis is all intelligent, but it needs some human input to keep us all looking pretty."
"Never even considered it," he said.
"It shows," Paige answered, smiling. "If this works out between us, we'll have to get you some new clothes."
Caesar laughed and leaned back in his chair.
"Do you like it?" He asked.
"I do. I was made for it."
"Aren't we all made to do what we're doing?" Caesar said.
Paige cocked her head slightly to the left, but didn't say anything.
"I just mean, every one of us was chosen for our job because of our attributes, so aren't we all in perfect positions?"
"No, no, I get what you meant by the comment, I'm just trying to understand what you meant in relation to my comment."
"Nice," Grace whispered. "Excellent. Liquidation in thirty minutes."
Caesar swallowed, glancing over to the table next to him. "I guess I mean, shouldn't everyone feel the same about their jobs?" He looked back to her.
"I don't know if everyone should or shouldn't. I just know I do. What about you? Were you made to do what you do?"
"I suppose I was," Caesar said, nodding. "The Genesis picked me for it out of everyone else, so it's where I need to be."
"That's not what I meant."
Caesar's eyes narrowed some. He wanted to hold a poker face, especially given the thoughts plaguing him the past week. He didn't want this woman thinking he was insane, was Unnecessary, but her comments...well, they weren't the comments April would make. They were sharp. They had an edge to them.
"What did you mean?"
"What do you do?" Paige responded.
"I'm in charge of the crops—sorry, the children—in Quadrant Four."
Paige laughed. "You call them crops? That's awful!"
"It's an inside thing. We probably shouldn't."
She took a sip of her drink and waited until she sat it back on the table before speaking again. "So, do you love what you do? That's what I meant about fashion. I love what I do. I love waking up every day and working towards something."
"What are you working towards?" He asked.
"You like changing the subject, don't you?"
Except he wasn't, not really. Working towards something? What did that even mean? Leon, April, Grace, Cato, none of them ever spoke of working towards something. There was nothing to work towards. The Genesis worked towards things. What did you work for when The Genesis gave everyone everything they needed? What was there to work towards?
"No, I'll answer yours, but what are you working towards?"
"It's hard to change the mind of people about what's in fashion. It's hard to convince them they need to wear this over that. That's what I'm working towards, convincing the public that the new shirt is better than their current shirt."
Caesar nodded and sipped the beer absently. "No. I don't love it like you love your job."
"Even though it's so important? I'm just trying to change what people wear. You're making sure the next generation doesn't turn into what we used to be. That might be the most important job in the world, really," Paige said.
"Yeah." Caesar smirked. "You're right, but—"
"Go ahead. Get us killed," Grace whispered.
&
nbsp; "—I guess I'd rather be in fashion."
Paige laughed. "You'd be fired in a week if your current selection of clothes has any bearing on what you think people should wear."
Silence fell over the table. They both were smiling, looking at each other.
"Seriously though," Paige said after a few seconds, "you have an important job. Without you, the world goes back to chaos."
"I have to liquidate children," he said. He hadn't known it was coming; it was a reaction, nothing else. His subconscious rejecting the thousand years of nonsense that had been heaped on humanity's brain. His brain's hatred of what he did yesterday, of him sending ten children to die, which wouldn't actually happen until they reached the digestive tract of those still living.
"Yeah, but they need to be liquidated, right? If they're not liquidated, then eventually, we'll all be pointing nuclear missiles at each other again and killing off the polar bears. A few can die so that the rest of us can live."
Caesar nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Without a doubt, you're right."
Chapter Fifteen
The Life of Caesar Wells
By Leon Bastille
The Genesis decided fairly quickly where humanity was heading. It made the calculations within a week of achieving consciousness. I think the official number eventually published was 99.8% certainty that humanity would destroy itself. Accompanying that was a probability of 32.1% that we would destroy the world as well.
It mapped out our entire future with the surety of a ship's captain charting a course across the ocean. The Genesis was humanity's Captain. What could we say? No thanks? That wasn't an option. The Genesis wasn't going anywhere. Even if humanity decided to kill itself and all the wildlife with it, The Genesis would probably still survive. As long as electrons passed through the atmosphere, then The Genesis would live. Its biggest decision rested on how to deal with humanity.
It's a funny thought, isn't it? We created The Genesis and then it decided whether or not we died. It made the choice of whether or not we were worthy of this world. One intelligence deciding everything for billions of intelligences. If we had become God, then The Genesis surpassed God.