The Enclave

by Karen Hancock

  His interest now, however, centered on the two people standing in silhouette before the window about thirty feet to his right. One was Gen; the other—tall, gawky, with a hook nose and dark, disheveled hair—looked like Nelson Poe.

  “Yes, but at the rate he’s developing, he could come out of it and—” She broke off, having obviously been interrupted.

  “I understand that,” said Gen, irritation sharpening her voice, “but if you’re wrong, he—”

  Again she was cut off, her responses limited to “uh-huh” and “yes, of course.” Cam eased through the door and leftward around one of the potted faux saguaro that dotted the gallery. He settled on a loveseat in the shadows against the wall.

  “Well,” said Gen, “you’ll do as you think best, of course, but I hope you’re right. He’s caused us more than enough trouble already.”

  After another silence she said good-bye and flipped the phone shut with a sigh. “They’ve got him,” she said to Poe. “Tased him and wrapped him in Spiderline.”

  “And the chopper?”

  “No one knows why it crashed. The copilot survived, though. He might be able to tell us.”

  “He’ll only tell us what we already know,” Poe grumbled, sinking onto the chair beside him. “And then Parker will find some way to make it mean what it doesn’t.”

  Gen put a hand on one hip and looked down at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “They’ve got him back in the lab. Lee’s prepping him now for the tests. Parker said his phenotypical transformation has been phenomenal. The crest is almost fully realized, bone and muscle mass have nearly doubled since his escape, his hands and features have coarsened, and get this”—she sat in the chair beside him—“he’s formed an oculus. One that actually seems to function in some way. Parker says it has a glow to it, seems to track targets, and was very hot when they brought him down.”

  “Oh, Lord, help us,” Poe muttered.

  Gen flounced back in the chair. “Well, of course I think we should terminate him, and just do a full autopsy. The results so far have gone beyond our wildest dreams—”

  “More like nightmares,” Poe grumbled.

  She huffed and shook her head. “Why must you always be the voice of doom?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you always go along with him, even when you don’t agree? Even when you know he’s pushing far beyond anything that’s reasonable?”

  “If he didn’t push beyond what’s reasonable, we wouldn’t be here.”

  She leaned toward him again. “Look around us, Nels. Look how far we’ve come since that rickety houseboat with the cockroaches in Costa Rica.”

  “Maybe it would be better had we not come so far.”

  She stared at him silently for a moment. “You’re still upset about D-210, aren’t you?”

  “His name was Andros.”

  “D-210 didn’t have a name. You’ve got to let that go. We did nothing wrong, and the project must move forward.”

  “We killed him.”

  “And we made him in the first place, which gave us every right to terminate him when we deemed the time was right. He was obviously degrading and would’ve only gotten worse. Look at this debacle with A-118. And it looks to me like A-432 is going off, as well. Those earlier lines just aren’t stable, as I’ve said from the start.”

  At first Cam had thought she was referring to Frogeater as the one they’d terminated, even though she’ d said earlier that he wasn’t. The more she talked, though, the more he realized he had no idea what she was talking about. But the mention of subject numbers, termination, and “earlier lines” made his blood grow cold.

  “Listen to yourself, Gen,” Poe said, speaking with more passion than Cam had ever heard from him. “We made him? We terminated him at the proper time? I just—” He fell silent, shaking his head. “This playing God stuff is not right.”

  “We’re not ‘playing God,’ ” she rebuked him. “There is no god.

  We’re just doing what’s best for everyone.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not wrong. How can you argue that this all won’t lead to better things for everyone—ourselves and the whole world?”

  “I meant about God.”

  In the electric silence that followed, Cam could almost feel Gen’s shock. She was probably about to pop.

  “Reinhardt made some good points in that meeting today,” Poe said. “Much of what we believe is based on faith. Including what we believe about where all this”—he gestured vaguely around them—“is going. . . .”

  Another protracted silence followed, and finally Poe said, “You’re not even going to respond to what I said?”

  Gen sighed wearily. “You’re obviously depressed. I’m going to see about getting you some vacation time. Come on. We’ve seen enough here.”

  She stood, and Poe did likewise. As they threaded their way around the couches, loveseats, and faux saguaros, Cam held utterly still, his eyes focused downward lest an errant gleam from them betray his position.

  Thankfully they left without noticing him, and he continued to sit there afterward, mulling over what he’ d heard, trying to put the pieces together, and knowing there were still some crucial parts missing. “We made him . . . and then we terminated him. D-210 was not a person. . . .”

  But there was a special lab somewhere. And, apparently, additional frog eaters, as well . . .

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  New Eden

  Zowan expected to meet up with Parthos in the lozenge-shaped mall in the commons Friday night, but it was Terra who sought him out. Freed of her charges for the evening, she came up beside him toward the end of the group walk-around—a nightly mall ritual. Not everyone walked every night, but everyone walked at least once a week. The Enclave’s community organizers piped in music or Enclave news, changed the lighting, staged art shows, and held occasional contests to keep things interesting for the walkers.

  Tonight, though, they just walked, strolling along the mall’s long central island of trees and plantings, past its pools of fat, glowing orange fish under their lily pads and luscious white flowers, past its stream and waterfall and the big cage of brightly colored birds, then around and through the Tangle Grid that stood at its far end, the maze of lighted blue and purple bars. And all the while, Gaias watched them from the post he had taken up near Father’s statue at the base of the Sanctuary’s ramped entrance.

  “Did you hear Father toured the crèche after lunch today?” she asked him.

  “Yes.”

  “And that there was a Winnowing?”

  He frowned down at her. When one of the children sickened or displayed some anomaly or weakness, they were winnowed from the crèche—for treatment, the other children were told. It was only last year that Zowan learned they were being killed. “Terminated” was the official word. Or perhaps they were being sent to that experimental lab Neos had mentioned.

  “It was Fyver,” she said softly. Fyver was a five-year-old boy with whom Terra had bonded the first day she’ d worked in the crèche.

  He found her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry.” Mindful of Gaias’s gaze, he released her immediately.

  “We’re not supposed to care, I know,” she said, brushing away her tears. “But it’s hard. There was nothing wrong with him,” she said as they approached the lighted Tangle Grid at the far end of the island.

  “He was just an active little boy who had trouble settling down. He reminded me a lot of you at that age.”

  “How could you remember me at that age?”

  “You used to pull my pigtails. And you always made me laugh when I was supposed to be listening to the story. That’s how Fyver was. Smart, active, always getting into mischief, yes. But his heart was good. He wasn’t mean. Just curious and fun loving.”

  None of which were qualities Enclave Elders valued, Zowan observed. “Smart,” “curious,” and “active” were not traits that in
clined one to the docile, unquestioning submission they clearly preferred.

  “Father was so sweet to him today,” Terra went on. “Called him over, invited him up onto his lap, gave him a honey drop, told him what a good boy he’d been . . . then sent him off to be put down.” Her voice cracked, and she shuddered. “How could he be that cold? How could he lie so easily? And then that charade with you this morning! All that talk of your promotion to New Babel, when we all know it’s no promotion. Babel is the poorest of all the enclaves. The place where everything always goes wrong and people die. Oh, but you’re going to turn it all around.” Her voice took on a tone of bitter sarcasm and choked off. She drew a deep, almost groaning, breath. “I hate it that we have to live like this!”

  They walked on, entering the archway that bisected the Tangle Grid. Halfway through it, she looked up at him and grated between clenched teeth, “Zowan, if you know the way out, take it before he sends you away!”

  He gaped at her in alarm. “Why would you think I—”

  “I was sitting in your lap after the blackout Monday night, remember? So I felt it when you were jerked out from under me. I felt the draft of the panel opening and smelled that awful stench. Parthos smelled it, too. It was how we realized our first suspicion—that Gaias had taken you—was wrong. I only know one person who smells like that: Neos.”

  They came out of the Tangle Grid and headed back around the island in the opposite direction, Gaias now directly ahead of them.Horrified she was talking about this right here in the mall, he looked around to see who might have heard them and hissed, “Neos is dead, Terra!”

  “You know he is not,” she said firmly. “As do I. And don’t worry— they don’t watch us nearly as much as we’ve been told that they do.”

  “Gaias has been staring at us since we got here. And I was in the spaces around the Star Garden,” Zowan began. “I know—”

  “Which is why we’re talking out here in the open,” she cut in grimly. “And don’t worry about Gaias. He can’t hear us. He’s only trying to intimidate us.”

  “Can’t hear us? What about the oculus?”

  “Neos says they don’t work nearly as well as we’ve been told. In fact, he doesn’t think they work at all.”

  Zowan frowned at her. “How would he know that?”

  “He’s been evading Enforcers for the last six months.”

  “You’ve talked to him?!”

  She nodded.

  “Since Monday?”

  “It was a couple of weeks ago.”

  Zowan exhaled a deep, shaky breath, rocked as much by the content of Terra’s disclosure as by the fact she’d chosen not to tell him until now. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I guess I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

  The music stopped, and having completed their twenty laps of the island, they settled side by side on the freestanding bench, a little way off from the Tangle Grid, with the entire length of the mall separating them from Gaias.

  Zowan’s eyes swept the high mirrored window that stretched the length of the mall, overlooking all of it. The reflective surface created a sense of airy space where there was only a narrow vault—and hid the rooms where Father’s wives lived. Father had visited them today, before he’d toured the crèche. They could see out, but no one else could see in. In fact, no one Zowan knew had ever seen any of the wives. They were even more imprisoned than the rest of the Edenites.

  He wondered, as he often did, if his birth mother was among them, and why he’ d never been allowed to meet her. . . .

  At his side, Terra spoke softly, breaking into his troubled thoughts. “Parthos is convinced the New Babel reassignment is a ploy and that you’ll never leave New Eden alive. He’s certain once the departure ceremony is over, they’ll whisk you away to the termination facility and do the same to you as they did to Fyver.”

  He shuddered and didn’t even try to argue with her.

  “Which is why you have to leave now,” she said.

  Well, he’ d pretty much decided the same, so he couldn’t argue.

  “And why I want to come with you,” she added firmly. “Parthos, too.”

  He looked at her aghast. “I don’t know if anyone can live up there, Terra. It was bright and hot and—”

  “So you did go up!” she whispered, suddenly awed. “You have seen it!”

  He frowned. “I have. And it didn’t look very habitable.”

  “Neos says it is.”

  “Neos is dying.”

  Her brown eyes widened.

  “I also think he’s more than a little insane,” Zowan added. “He says they did something to him in some secret deep-level lab. He doesn’t know what. But it looks like he’s forming an oculus.”

  Her surprise gave way to ferocity. “And you don’t think that will be you in six months if you don’t flee now?”

  He sighed and fell silent. Then, “I have to get to the physical plant to find the hole I went through, and I can’t just walk up there without a reason. Not to mention the problem of getting in, since the physical plant is restricted to anyone who doesn’t work there.”

  “You could go as an Enforcer,” she suggested. “Parthos has a robe. With a bit of smudge on your forehead, you could pass for Gaias if no one looked too closely.”

  A shiver crawled up his spine. It was the very idea he’ d entertained himself. And Parthos had apparently acted upon it. “When did he get the robe?”

  “Today.”

  This time the chill rushed over his whole body as he recalled the assurance he’ d felt in this morning’s Affirmation that if he sought to obey I Am’s command to leave the Enclave, he’ d be shown the way.

  “He also has a couple of Elder’s robes,” Terra added with a smile. “I could go as Elder Sophia, and he as Elder Horus.”

  “Absolutely not! Bad enough that I would masquerade as Gaias—I’m already slated to be removed. But if you or Parthos were caught—”

  “How could it be any worse than what we’re already living?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said about that secret deep-level lab? Besides, I meant it when I said I don’t know if we could survive up there. It was hot, dry, empty. Where would we find food? Or water?”

  “Neos says it’s up there. And I’m willing to take my chances. So is Parthos.”

  “Okay. I understand that. But there’s no reason for you to rush. Let me go up and see what’s there. We might need to plan this more slowly, stockpile food and water. If we all go . . . everything will be thrown into turmoil and they’ll hunt us down.”

  “If you disappear, the first people they’ll come to will be me and Parthos,” she said bluntly.

  And he knew she was right.

  A competition of acrobatics in and off the Tangle Grid started up then, and the crowd closed around them, blocking off their view of Gaias as it blocked off his view of them. Moments later Parthos squatted before them.

  “Did you ask him?” he asked of Terra.

  She nodded, then summarized their recent discussion, concluding with Zowan’s insistence on going alone. “He’s worried we’ll get ourselves into trouble.”

  “Just being your friend has already done that,” Parthos said, affirming Terra’s earlier words. “And we’re happy about that, so don’t try to spare us from it. If you use the robe, I’ll be implicated. If you don’t, you won’t go anywhere. Besides, they’ll be looking for you, not us.” He smiled. “They would never expect us to be so audacious.”

  Zowan frowned at him.

  “How do you plan on getting into the physical plant once you get there?”

  “I don’t know,” Zowan said. “Though Neos did say that as Father’s son, all he had to do was hit the lock plates and the doors would open. I don’t see why that wouldn’t happen for me, as well.”

  “He could do that before he kidnapped you and took you to the surface,” Parthos pointed out. “Those plates have undoubtedly been reprogrammed by now, and while I suspect th
ey’ll still work for you, they’ll also surely signal security so the Enforcers will know where to look. Since I’m betting Elder Sophia’s touch will also be accepted without the stigma, Terra should be the one to push the lock plates. For as you are one of Father’s sons, she is surely Sophia’s daughter.”

  He had a point.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” said Parthos. “We leave tomorrow night during your party, right after Terra returns to crèche duty. Helios and Erebos will distract Gaias while you slip away. I’ll leave shortly after.”

  They’d meet in the orchid room, where Parthos would already have hidden the robes. Once those were donned and a blot of grease dabbed on Zowan’s forehead to serve as the substitute oculus, they’d head out through the food storage areas and into the main corridor leading up from the commons. Surely “Elder Horus” and an Enforcer on a mission of great haste and importance were unlikely to be stopped and questioned.

  Terra would meet them in a small court near the physical plant and access the lock plates to let them in.

  When Zowan again sought to argue against her going, the other two refused to listen. “Elder Sophia is second only to Father,” Parthos pointed out, “while Horus is several ranks lower and doesn’t have the range of access she does. We need her.”

  Zowan continued to frown from one to the other, deeply annoyed that all their ideas made so much sense and that, not only could he think of nothing to refute them, he lacked a reasonable alternative. But what if he couldn’t find the hole? What if he had hallucinated? What if they were caught? There were so many risks. . . .

  Terra squeezed his hand and leaned against him. “There’s another compelling reason for me to go I haven’t told you about,” she said grimly. “Gaias. He’s put in a request for a union with me.”

  A mix of horror and intense anger nearly choked him. She was too young. She was a crèche worker. She was unwilling. . . .

  But Gaias was an Enforcer and one of Father’s sons, as well, and with Terra only a week away from turning eighteen, Zowan knew the Elders would not deny him his choice.