Raddocks Horizon (Godyssey Legacy Book 1)

by Duran Cross

  ◆◆◆

  Despite Rennin’s protests, the delivery levellers hauled the remainder of the truck and it’s container inside the compound. A portable Hazmat containment chamber of plastic now encases the ruined vehicle.

  It’s a simple mobile design in relation to the lab’s resources but reliable nonetheless. Caufmann has been in there for nearly an hour with a circle cutter saw. He makes a four-inch incision along the side of the container.

  Caufmann is wearing a full bio-suit. He sees it as a hindrance, rather than a help since the doctor can’t be infected by anything in the known world, but it wouldn’t do to let anyone know such a thing. Appearances must be kept.

  A large gasp of air is drawn into the container.

  So, vacuum sealed. Interesting.

  Caufmann looks to his left but the scanner attached to the side remains blank. No known pathogens. Then again the scanner will only issue an alert to something hazardous. Caufmann puts the saw down, thinking hard.

  The only thing inside the container now is air. He pulls his head cover off, and frowns at the container. What the hell is going on?

  A thought does dawn on him. Whoever it is now knows how to get something undetectable inside the lab complex. This is probably just a test. Perhaps Rennin was right.

  Caufmann steps out of the containment chamber still completely lost in thought, unaware of Jellan Roths’ approach and attempt at communication. Caufmann looks over in time to catch the last piece of whatever drivel she’s speaking, “- you think you’re doing? There could be anything in there and it could be loose now.”

  “There’s nothing in there.”

  Roths grits her teeth, “You think you know everything? Two men dead hauling nothing?”

  Caufmann turns to her, so the soulless red lenses of his glasses reflect her face.

  “I am in charge of this city’s welfare for a reason. September 17 will be the last vaccination shipment. Issue a citywide order that all schools will close after the Gorai Aurelia rally on the 23rd until further notice.”

  “Why?”

  “In April this year an infiltrator Progenitor-class android entered this city. Since then, our best attempts at apprehending it have been useless and inefficient. It’s obviously trying to get into the lab. So next time, let it.”

  “What? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I said allow it.”

  “Why?”

  “When it arrives, and it will, stay in the dormitory sector, it’s the only fully armoured place apart from the test labs,” he instructs, moving past her.

  Roths grabs his arm, “What are you going to do?”

  Caufmann completely ignores her and his momentum, though slow, tears his arm from her grasp as if his weight is solid stone.

  ◆◆◆

  Rennin is at home just after midnight watching the Horizon News. Always the same garbage every night, he doesn’t even know why he lets himself vegetate to it.

  Because you’re shit at everything else.

  “Oh well fuck you.”

  Drawing, writing, singing, dancing, washing the dishes—

  “Fuck you.”

  No fuck you.

  “Fuck you!”

  Rennin turns the volume up.

  His usual choice at this time of night would be a cult classic show: Black Colours, a comedy about a vampire, a zombie, a warlock, a crack head and a clone all living together under one roof getting themselves into all kinds of ridiculous situations.

  In one episode they got drafted into the CryoZaiyon Wars. Rennin didn’t really get the themes generally but the characters really rip into each other, so it keeps him amused. But he’s seen the series hundreds of times.

  Tonight, he is irretrievably drawn into the late night news report repeat from prime time and the striking blue-eyed, dark-haired news anchor, ‘There seems to be a growing number of back problems in the city and they’ve been becoming ever more widespread as the months have progressed.

  Speculation is mounting that there is a virus of the nervous system loose in the city. Some believe it to have originated at the Godyssey Laboratory in Centre-city District but Doctor William Caufmann has issued a statement, again denying viral research being conducted.

  We go now to Godyssey spokesman Michael Gainsford who has agreed to speak with us.’

  She turns to her left, and a hologram of a middle aged devil-may-care character comes into view, ‘Mister Gainsford, thank you for speaking with us tonight.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  ‘The city is quite astir about the truck that was destroyed outside the Godyssey lab earlier today.’

  Gainsford nods, ‘We are regretful about that outcome, however hazardous cargo shipments are often shot down at the docks as a preventative measure, unfortunately this one managed to slip past that net and had to be destroyed in-city. It is an unfortunate incident. The laboratory is a prime target for terrorists.’

  ‘Several months ago there was a small Gorai Aurelia group protesting at the front of the laboratory, when someone opened fire on someone who appeared to be a scientist in the courtyard,’ says the presenter.

  ‘How we handle our staff is our own affair. All documentation is in order, and the technician in question was fully aware of the risk posed by trying to break quarantine. We will not tolerate anyone putting the general public at risk,” says Gainsford calmly.

  “Oh well played!” says Rennin clapping at the TV.

  ‘Yes, Mister Gainsford, but today the guard from the watchtower who is in question about the shooting was also on scene at the truck moments after it was hit. Would this man be Rennin Farrow?’

  Gainsford pauses a moment, ‘Yes.’

  ‘The same Rennin Farrow on duty during the alleged shooting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We have requested an audience with him to ask what happened but he has refused, and since no legal action was taken we’ve been desperately attempting to gain an interview with him. We were hoping to hear from him before we went to air.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Has he given a statement to you, to issue to us?’

  ‘No he hasn’t commented on it at all.’

  Rennin scoffs.

  The anchor takes a breath after a slight pause. She genuinely seems conflicted about what she’s about to say, rather than pausing for dramatic effect.

  ‘We were informed earlier today that Doctor Caufmann has decreed all schools will close after the Gorai Aurelia rally on the 23rd of this month, until further notice. Is there any reason for it?’

  ‘Doctor Caufmann has decided that since public unrest is increasing over the nervous system sickness that’s been spreading, he has organised flu vaccinations to be distributed to as many as possible since it has been blended with a solution to aid immune response to anything that may attack the nervous system. Closing the schools is a temporary measure to slow the spread of the affliction by limiting contact between students,’ says Gainsford.

  ‘A vaccine won’t do any good for someone who already has the virus.’

  ‘There is nothing to confirm it’s a virus,’ says Gainsford quickly.

  ‘Vaccines are primarily used to prevent viral infections, correct?’

  ‘You must understand that I’m not a scientist, only a spokesperson. The technical information should be heard from Doctor Caufmann.”

  ‘Is there anything available for those who are already sick? As opposed to those that are yet to be infected.’

  ‘Nothing as yet, but we are working around the clock.’

  ‘Mister Gainsford, thank you for your time.’

  “And fuck you,” says Rennin holding up a freshly poured glass of scotch.

  ‘Always a pleasure,’ he says as his hologram fades leaving only the lovely anchoress.

  ‘That is your news for tonight, thank you for watching, I’m Ellie Andress, goodnight.’

  Rennin could remember a time when flu vaccinations were only made available just before
flu season hit, which in Raddocks Horizon used to be about April or May but in a rapidly expanding city with its own weather machine flu season is at any time.

  Rennin likes Ellie Andress a great deal. Though in his opinion Gainsford’s ugly head spoilt the view tonight. Rennin sighs and half an hour later he is unconscious on the couch subliminally listening to infomercials.

  The next day, Rennin is sitting in the communal lunchroom away from the others when Michael Gainsford walks in and scans the room. Upon seeing Rennin he walks briskly up to him, taking brief stock of the watchman spooning food into his mouth.

  “Stand up.”

  Rennin’s face remains deadpan. He looks upwards with what looks to be severe effort. “I’m eating.”

  “We’re going to Caufmann’s office, right now. Get up.”

  Rennin shakes his head. “You’re not my real Dad.”

  Gainsford is a visage of barely contained rage. “Explain this,” he says slamming a newspaper down on the table. Rennin has made the front page. The shot features him, gun in hand, standing next to the destroyed delivery truck.

  “Did you buy a real newspaper just to do that?” asks Rennin with a chuckle.

  “The article says you called the press office and went over last night and gave them all kinds of information!”

  Rennin waves his hand dismissively, “Impossible.”

  “Do you know how this looks, you little shit?”

  “What time was this interview?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me it does. I was home all night. I would like to know how I was interviewed without my knowledge,” says Rennin without blinking.

  Gainsford leans on the table so close that Rennin can smell his breath, “I don’t care for your smart mouth and you don’t intimidate me, Farrow. Stand up.”

  “I’m eating.”

  Gainsford slaps Rennin’s tray off the table onto the floor. All other eyes in the lunchroom look over to them. Rennin catches Jellan Roths’ eye for a moment while she absently scratches at her arm.

  Gainsford is still staring at his eyes.

  “Get up.”

  Not long after, Rennin and Gainsford are in Caufmann’s office. The doctor looks terrible. His clothes are rumpled, his hair is matted despite being quite short, and his eyes are sunken. With the green glow from his eyes he looks quite necrotic.

  Gainsford is just finishing the summary of his accusations against Rennin when Caufmann puts his hand up. “It wasn’t him.”

  The spokesman is surprised at his dismissive tone, “But, William, this article has printed things that they couldn’t have made up.”

  Caufmann’s expression gives nothing away. “Rennin has executed several traitors already, it stands to reason there are more.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Gainsford swallows audibly.

  “I myself have even executed some staff, and will probably have to kill a few more.”

  There is a long intense silence but Gainsford musters the strength to speak again, “Why?”

  Caufmann tilts his head back a little in his chair as if pondering an answer, “Let’s say… espionage.”

  Rennin smirks.

  Gainsford is obviously not convinced, “Spying? For whom?”

  “Does it matter? Employment Contract clearly states that termination is immediately put into effect upon a staff member leaking any sensitive information to outside sources.”

  “Termination does not warrant execution!”

  “You’re a lawyer, Michael, you know how open to interpretation the English language is.”

  “This is not a joke.”

  “Am I laughing?” asks Caufmann.

  “What kind of work is so sensitive that you have to shoot anyone leaving?”

  “This installation is the foremost of its kind. Our experiments involve some of the most dangerous materials and pathogens known to this world. Some of these experiments would reach untold material wealth.”

  Gainsford doesn’t seem convinced. “But—”

  “I can explain it all to you but you’d never be allowed to leave the lower levels of the lab,” interrupts Caufmann.

  Gainsford leans back almost as if slapped, “The rumours are true, aren’t they? The illegal research, the viruses, it’s all true.”

  Caufmann’s smile makes his strong features look gaunt and nearly diseased, “If I tell you, you’ll become a permanent resident.”

  Gainsford says his brief goodbyes and exits the room leaving Rennin with Caufmann.

  “Sir?”

  Caufmann grunts. “I’ve told you not to call me that, Ren.”

  “Either way, I have a question, Billy.”

  Caufmann arches an eyebrow and sighs, “Sir it is.”

  “There is a Beta HolinMech unit in city.”

  “I know that.”

  “They also want to apprehend the Progenitor-class,” says Rennin unable to stop himself.

  “I know.”

  “I should have mentioned this a while ago. They have a backup objective.”

  Caufmann’s eyes become infinitely more focussed.

  “They’re after someone codenamed: ‘Arbiter’.”

  Caufmann doesn’t move but something in his eyes turns sharp.

  Rennin isn’t sure if he should tell Caufmann anything more, but his mouth just keeps talking without any real permission, “They mentioned you.”

  “Did they?” Caufmann’s tone is becoming cold.

  “Well it might have been in passing,” says Rennin quickly, “only to say that you said Arbiter was the pinnacle of something.”

  Rennin is sure he’s imagining it but Caufmann’s presence seems to be throwing a cold chill into the room.

  “You didn’t think to mention this before?” asks the doctor, boring a hole through Rennin’s eyes.

  The watchman is feeling very anxious now, “Look, sir, I just thought you’d be interested in—”

  “I am. Continue.”

  Rennin takes a slightly shaky breath. This is ridiculous, he’s a war veteran and shouldn’t be so scared of someone he describes as a desk jockey, “That’s about all, really. I’m guessing you didn’t give them the mission.”

  “Not the secondary mission.”

  Rennin decides not to push for any more information since he’s already feeling a little underwater, “I should leave you to it, sir,” he says making a move to stand.

  “Sit.”

  Rennin is back in the chair before he even registers the word.

  Caufmann remains silent for a moment, just taking his time to eye Rennin closely. “I don’t know who gave them their secondary objective but I imagine it was the Progenitor-class posing as me. They have the ability to mimic voices and it’s not difficult to fake a hologram of another person. The only thing I find strange is that if it’s the Progenitor-class unit I think it is, it already knows where the Arbiter-class is.”

  “It’s Forgal Lauros isn’t it?”

  “Yes, he is an Arbiter-class.”

  “What about Saifer Veidan? He was one of the commanders, too,” asks Rennin.

  “Veidan is a different model, he has his own division.”

  “Do all androids have their own class to play in?”

  Caufmann smiles, “Only the early ones. They made a lot of changes from unit to unit during the implementation and test phases. Most of the following units were assigned to the same class.”

  “How do you know all this? You’re a little young.”

  “I’m a geneticist.”

  So what? “Why are you even telling me this stuff? I’m not ending up in the lower levels like those other prisoners.”

  “If you think this is sensitive information, I pity you,” Caufmann pauses and his expression turns distant for a moment, “Or do I envy you?”

  Rennin decides not to answer, “Sir, I think I’ll return to my post,” he says standing up and walking out.

  Caufmann stares at the empty chairs on the other side of his desk for a m
oment, “That Progenitor wants Beta HolinMech to uncover Forgal Lauros. Why? Do you think Beta HolinMech will destroy the remains for you?” he smirks, “Is there any Forgal left?”

  Caufmann buzzes his assistant and summons Doctor Talati Hillon to see him. His assistant is about to protest but Caufmann cuts the line. He does not have time for pointless arguments right now. He has too much to do.

  He muses a while longer before the door to his office flies up into the bulkhead, revealing a haggard looking scientist with blonde hair and blood stains on her coat, “What is it, William? This had better be important,” she says walking over and sitting down.

  “Very well, I shan’t mince words. The experiment is nearly complete but the vaccine has come too late. The Progenitor has already released a contagious disease that gestates a parasite capable of terrible things. There are dozens of bodies in the lowest level of the lab being dissected. Some of them were brought in once the infection turned fatal but others had turned and attacked others.

  “The infection from the original toxin takes a long time to fully complete its incubation cycle. When the infected person then contaminates another person, it implants a strain already adapted to the human body, hastening the process,” says Caufmann.

  “There are dozens of bodies in the lowest level of the lab being dissected. Some of them were brought in once the infection turned fatal but others had turned and attacked others. How widespread is the infection?”

  Caufmann sighs, defeat printed across his face, “Current estimates put contamination at over half of the city total.”

  “How is that possible? It’s not airborne,” says Hillon.

  “It is a synthetic DNA that’s been adjusted to be a contagious mutagen. We still haven’t found a sample of the original pathogen. We only know what it does, not where it comes from,” says Caufmann.

  “The vaccine should work for those who remain uninfected, but there is a chance that it may do nothing or even accelerate the infection in those already exposed,” asks Hillon.

  Caufmann’s jaw visibly clenches. “My organic shipments of test subjects were denied by the Portmaster, I haven’t field tested it. We have no one here to test it on.”