Wine of the Gods 1: Outcasts and Gods

by Pam Uphoff

  "Yes! That's great. Where did you get them? How long have you been able to escape?"

  "Stole them this morning. I can't escape yet, they'd just run me down in the countryside. I need to figure our how to get into the office building and get online without monitoring. At least an untraced, untapped phone. I may need to break out, talk to Dad then break back in and wait till he can set things up for me." He'd been working on the top of her grill, while hanging on it. Now he jumped down and worked on the bottom. "Grab the grill and hold on, one of the top bolts is out and the other is loose enough that the whole thing can pivot on it."

  In a few minutes she was able to pivot it to the side and slip out, and pin it back into place with a short stick through one of the lower holes.

  "I'll figure out how to file the bolts down so it looks secure." Wolfgang said. "I can't get around to Jason's window, the lights are too bright on that side, and there's no shrubbery."

  "Aren't you guys on the second floor?"

  "Yeah, but these grills make it easy to climb, and there's a scrawny tree just out from mine that gives me some cover." He lifted his head suddenly. "Come on."

  She followed him from shadow to shadow, and then under the hedge behind the headquarters building. The lights were on inside, and lots of voices and confusion.

  The back door opened suddenly and Mercy and AK were escorted out. Mercy was sobbing and the two guards looked stiff and grim.

  "What was that stuff they gave us?" AK sounded angry.

  "None of your business, cupcake. And you ought to be glad we're getting you away from the scene of the crime."

  "Crime? Oh, you mean rape? The rest of it was hardly a crime. Good grief, dirty old men with bad hearts shouldn't try to rape minors." Yep, definitely angry.

  Mercy just cried harder. "I didn't mean to kill him!"

  The guard just shoved her along. "Keep going, they want you out of here before the ambulance arrives."

  "Can't sully the Corporate reputation with pedophilia, now can we?" AK stopped and braced herself against a shove. "Actually I think we should talk to the police, let them know you've kidnapped a bunch of children and are treating them like your private harem." She staggered and swayed.

  "About time those drugs kicked in." One of the guards growled.

  "Yeah, we don't want them spouting off where they'll be heard."

  The girls were shoved around the corner and out of their sight.

  "Good God." Wolfgang breathed. "Who died? Surely Mercy didn't manage to kill someone?"

  "AK said old men with bad hearts. Can I hope Forstein or Winston has had a heart attack and died?"

  Wolfgang chuckled. "Wouldn't that be lovely? Or maybe Murchison?"

  "Harry's not bad!"

  "He's one of the slave masters, Rebeccah. Don't lose sight of that, just because he makes our cage as fun as possible."

  Rebeccah frowned. "He speaks up for us." She doodled unhappily at the edge of the sidewalk.

  "He refused to contact my parents and let them know I was all right. He's part of the problem, not part of the solution."

  She sighed, but reluctantly nodded. "I really wouldn't have thought Dr. Winston would do that."

  Wolfgang hesitated visibly. "AK was trying out some sort of, well, love spell, for lack of a scientific term. It may have been too strong."

  "Blame the victim . . . except, yeah, Mercy's been talking about mental and emotional effects and how ideas can be implanted. Oh God. What a horrible possibility." Rebeccah heard sirens from the far side of the building, and flashes of red and blue light shown through the central hallway.

  "I'm going to try and look all the way through, see how many people they take away." He eased away, amazingly quiet.

  Rebeccah backed out of the hedge enough to look toward the dorms. All was quiet, the central patio brightly lit, no one in sight.

  Should she head back now? Wait for Wolfgang?

  She waited for twenty minutes, by her watch, before the flashing lights cut off and engine noises departed. She had a patch of sidewalk covered with a noir pattern of squares before movement behind her caught her eye. The guards were steering Mercy and AK towards the front door of their building. The girls were both staggering and sagging. Sedated? Was that why it had taken the guards so long to get them back? With a sick twist to her stomach, she knew that wasn't the reason. She froze at more movement, but it was only Wolfgang returning.

  "Two bodies, completely covered. No lights or sirens. Damn, I hope they let us talk to Mercy and AK in the morning."

  "I don't think it will do any good," Rebeccah looked at him. "The drugs they mentioned. I'll bet they've been given something with a memory effect."

  "Date rape drug. You're right. They probably won't remember a thing. And . . . they're just now getting to the dorms?"

  "Don't tell them anything, right away." Rebeccah winced. Interrogating my friends. "I'll see if I can get anything at all out of them." She swiped her hand across her symbols and the squares disappeared.

  Wolfgang nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe we shouldn't tell them anything. If they don't act completely ignorant, there's no telling what those people might do."

  Rebeccah shivered and followed him back to the dorm.

  "I'll work over the bolts, in the mean time, if you need to get out, just pull these sticks out." He boosted her through her window and swung the grill back into place.

  Neither Mercy nor AK was at breakfast. When they turned up at lunch they were both half asleep and frowned vaguely when she asked them about dinner with the bosses.

  Chapter Four

  NewGene Experimental Facilities

  Wisconsin, North American Union

  4 September 2111

  "Now, I know eating yeast sounds like eating raw bread dough, but with genetic engineering, yeast can manufacture most common food proteins, all the vitamins, fiber. Anything any plant or animal makes naturally, yeast can be genengineered to make. No need to slaughter animals, we can return enormous stretches of cattle ranches back to natural prairie. We can grow vegetables that are processed and packaged in robotic factories, no more second class stoop labor in the fields."

  Harry wasn't sure how many of his listeners had the faintest interest in anything but contributions to their reelection treasure chests. But he hit all the environmental and class-warfare buttons possible.

  Who would have thought all the enemies I made working for a Social Liberal Senator would come in so handy?

  Harry's contacts had proven valuable enough that he was now spending half his time lobbying for NewGene.

  He gestured with his sandwich. "We could even make square tomato slices, so they'd fit on a slice of bread."

  "But the whole idea is so unnatural." One woman leaned forward. Congress woman from California. Northern California, where they grew lots and lots of tomatoes. And fought to keep their water.

  "Yes, it seems odd now, but who thinks twice about a tofu burger, these days? Traditional agriculture uses a huge amount of water. In some areas this isn't a problem, or wasn't. While population growth has slowed dramatically, immigration to the US means we have a growing population, mostly urban, competing for those water resources. Factory vegetables would take pressure off those resources, while actually increasing our food production."

  Harry fielded a few more questions, picked up the tab (carefully calculated by the restaurant so that one lunch and two drinks stayed under the reportable gifts limits) and thanked the Congresswomen for their time. He took a taxi, giving orders to take him to his hotel as he climbed in, but the driver whipped around a few corners and dived into a parking garage, delivering him to the back door of the DHS headquarters building.

  Harry shook hands with his old college buddy, and they went inside to talk.

  "Civil rights? There's no such thing out there at company headquarters. But what NewGene is up to is hard to say. The kids are learning to use their special abilities rapidly; in fact they're inventing new things to do all the time.
But the managers, the Chou family actually, are most interested in their computer interactions. They really don't seem to care about levitation and telepathy."

  "Computer interactions." Mike kicked back in his chair with a frown. "I really wish we had some concrete idea of what Chou Jaejong did for the Chinese government before he slipped away so cleverly."

  Harry grinned. "Ha! You wish he'd defected like a proper foreigner, and been beholden to you. Not escaped on his own and gone into business for himself with a ton of money from already established family."

  "Yeah, a batch of related Chinese men, marrying American citizens, immigrating one by one, working hard, raising families full of ambitious hard workers. The American Experience. And they've all got some knowledge we're not privy to."

  "Just knowledge, or did they bring experimental material with them. Chou, the elder, is the man who discovered the natural, weak, power gathering gene and engineered it for even more power gathering potential, thirty-five years ago. All the other companies built on his original work, designed their own slightly different versions of that gene. Most companies had troubles with the early models. NewGene, once he'd bought in and taken over the company, had success immediately. As good or better than the early models of the other companies."

  Mike grinned. "Actually I wish you were a later model, and one of the experimental subjects, instead of a trainer."

  "Well, once I figure out what they're up too, I'll have to get myself tested. If I can do it, then you'll have me as a guinea pig."

  Mike winced. "Harry, maybe you shouldn't volunteer. The bosses I ultimately report to are political appointees. At some point you need to think about self-preservation. You've got a fingernail grip on personhood. Don't lose it."

  Harry nodded, shrugged. "I've got over four hundred kids in what I can only consider a dangerous situation. It's a tossup, who's the worst custodian, the company or the government. Since no one seems to be at all interested in letting them be responsible adults."

  "Most of them aren't adults."

  "They're aged twenty-three to thirteen. In less than five years every single one of them will be grown. I'm especially worried about the kids that grew up institutionalized. The kids who were farmed out to families know all about the big beautiful world out here. They grew up thinking of themselves as Americans. We've got one kid who was accepted at West Point. The company won't let him go. Won't even let him know he was accepted."

  "Just as well. All we'd need is someone to accuse us of training super soldiers, like the Russians."

  Harry shook his head in frustration, but transferred files over to Mike's computer. "Maybe you can figure out why the computer effects are so important."

  Rebeccah Abrams' father was camped out in front of his hotel room. Harry winced. "We can't talk anywhere I'm expected to be, and most likely you're monitored as well. Let's at least take the precaution of walking somewhere else. Wait out here." He walked into his room. Used the bathroom, turned on the TV, closed the curtains. Noisily popped the tab of a soda can. Changed clothes and walked back out.

  Abrams followed out the side entrance. "I want my daughter back."

  Harry sighed. "You're a lawyer. You've read the contract. It wasn't even a foster parent agreement, let alone assignment of guardianship or adoption. For a nominal one dollar, they paid you to 'act as a small sub-licensed residential, experimental educational establishment.' At the time, with everyone in an uproar over the sudden appearance of genetically engineered children, it seemed like a good idea. To not push the courts, with adoption. With legal acknowledgment of the children's humanity, further research would be ended. And if they lost in court, how would that affect the rights of thousands of children with minor genengineering? And don't bother with humanitarian arguments. The company doesn't care. To them the kids are unique and valuable bits of property. They have plans, and they won't release their death grip on the kids."

  "She was so beautiful. So perfect. We fell in love with her as soon as we set eyes on her. We have no other children." Abrams shoved his hands into his expensive suit's pockets. "You can help us."

  "Mr. Abrams, every emancipated adult with multiple power genes received an offer of employment from NewGene. Three of us accepted, the others declined. At least two of them suffered fatal accidents within a month. The others . . . I have been unable to contact. Mr. Abrams, these people are not playing by the same rules we grew up with. I'm tiptoeing a line, doing my damnedest to keep those kids—and there are four hundred and twenty four of them—valuable enough that there are no more accidents."

  "Say that to any judge . . ."

  "No. I won't imperil their lives. And that is exactly what I would be doing. Think, for god's sake. And pick your time to hit next, when the political winds are blowing your way."

  "You are talking about years. And I'm not impressed with alarmist bullshit."

  "Mr. Abrams, I'm not alarmed. I'm terrified."

  Chapter Five

  NewGene Experimental Facilities

  Wisconsin, North American Union

  21 September 2111

  The mini bus drove them two hours to the college for the finals. Wolfgang dropped two notes and left graffiti in three bathrooms. He wasn't at all sure whether any of it would work or not, but his morning runs started including a diversion to the outer fence at the south west corner on dates divisible by three.

  One month later his father met him there.

  "For a good time call Karen and tell her Wolfgang sent them? I should beat you for that, boy!"

  Wolfgang felt like his face was breaking he was grinning so hard. "Hey, it worked!"

  He pulled out his constantly carried sheet of names and contact numbers. "These are the other kids that were snatched. So far we're mostly okay, but they are very clear that there's never going to be an emancipation."

  "I probably know all their parents by now. We're all suing everyone and everything possible." Dad's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Can you get away now?"

  Wolfgang shook his head. "I'll be missed within an hour. It's going to have to be in the evening, preferably a Friday, as everyone sleeps in on Saturdays, and I've made a habit of occasionally missing breakfast. It's going to be staying free that will be the main problem."

  Dad nodded. "My recommendation is stay until you're eighteen, unless things get bad. In which case, what do you need?"

  "Bolt cutters, a metal file and fake ID. Can you get ID for a bunch of people? There are over four hundred of us total, but most have been raised right here, they don't have anyone out there to help them. Some bad things have already happened . . . but nothing life threatening at the moment."

  The best dad in the world shucked his backpack and tossed it over the fence. "Bolt cutters and more, three complete sets of ID."

  "Dad, you are awesome!"

  "Boy, cut and run if you need to. I'll be back in, umm, make it ten days. Get me a list, with as detailed a description of those other four hundred as possible. I'll see about getting at least basic IDs for all of them."

  "If you can, get ID soon for Annakarina Walton and Mercy Green. They’re the only two that could be in danger right now. And Rebeccah Abrams and Jason Rombeau. Have you met . . . "

  "Oh yes. The Abrams are ready for insurrection, and Jason's sister flies up for meetings when she can. I don’t know the Waltons as well. The Greens . . . are lawyers, and very by the book."

  "I don't like the idea of leaving any of them behind." Wolfgang hefted the pack. "I'd better get this hidden quick. I'll see you in ten days and hug Mom and the brats for me, okay?"

  "Will do. They'll be glad to know how good you look."

  "Yeah, well, they believe in keeping their lab animals in good shape. I'm taking college courses, online. Finals for the next batch will be December twenty-fourth. Newman's Hall in Eau Clair. Tell that to the other parents. They may be able to see their kids, once they start taking classes, by showing up on campus on the right day."

  "And that's how you go
t out to write the graffiti?"

  "Right." He listened carefully to sounds beyond the trees. "Go Dad. There's someone coming."

  Wolfgang bolted for the running path, stopping only to bury the pack in leaves. Then he started walking, limping, up the path. The security guards gave him a ride to the clinic. Dr. Heath took an X-ray and told him to take it easy for a few days, even though there was no sign of damage. Over the next few days he hid the various tools and documents all over the place.

  The IDs added one, four and five years to his age. He wasn't sure he could manage to pass for twenty-two, but 'proof' that one was eighteen was excellent.

  The next trip, his father brought IDs for all the Healthy Kid group, and Wolfgang passed him the descriptions of the others. He'd been as detailed as possible, about facial details, the shapes of the eyes. the ears, the nose, the eyebrows . . .

  "If you walk three miles to the southwest, there's a road. In ten days we'll have a cavalcade of cars there. Bring everyone you can, without risking yourself."

  Wolfgang nodded. "Right. We'll walk out Friday night."

  "Go now, no point in risking getting caught." His father backed off and Wolfgang ran back to the path, and pushed the pace back to the dorms. Showered and walked down to breakfast. He didn't say anything until they were done, and walking out toward the practice court, talking about basketball.

  "So. Who's up for an actual prison break?" He looked around at the group and his heart sank. They were all such nice children.

  Annakarina shifted uncertainly. "Wolf, they're putting me through college."

  Jason scowled. "I'm game."

  Rebeccah nodded, wide eyed.

  Mercy sniffed. "You think you're such hot stuff. Do you really think you can run and fight your way out of here?"

  "Well, I was thinking about trying. I mean, it's only five miles to the freeway. We can hitchhike home, and then 'possession is nine-tenths of the law' works in our parent's favor." Wolfgang wasn't about to give details.