MINDFRACK

by S G King

  “You have a better idea?”

  She had tears in her eyes. “No, but you might not get out.”

  “I have to try. I’ll have Salvatore counting down. Salvatore, do you know where the bombs are? Which ones will go off first?”

  “Yes.”

  “Direct me to those areas first.”

  “All right. I’ve sent the details to your iSense …”

  “You okay?” Logan said to Wanda.

  “No, not really.”

  “Please – we don’t have time to discuss this.”

  “All right, but promise you’ll get out. Promise me.”

  “Trust me. Now go.”

  Wanda and Carrie ran over to Salvatore and checked out the apparatus he was mounted upon. He’d briefed them, so they knew exactly how he could be moved around. They released a braking mechanism, engaged the protective apps, and pushed it towards the door. Wanda grabbed a surgical sheet from a shelf and threw it over Salvatore before they exited.

  Logan was already running towards his first laboratory, with no idea what to expect or what he could achieve. He knew he had to try.

  62

  The corridors were eerily quiet and lit by overhead emergency lighting that pulsed steadily. Every so often the voiceover returned to warn anyone left behind to leave immediately. A few research bots remained and were going about their duties as though nothing was happening. A bird-sized drone flew through the corridors; it came back and circled him slowly before moving off again. Was it reporting on him? He ignored it. Salvatore’s own commandeered drone was hovering at his shoulder.

  His first stop was “Spoke 1”, where he found nothing but monkeys and other less identifiable subjects, but not human. He gave up on that one.

  He cut through a branching sub-corridor into “Spoke 2”, “Dry Tech”. He tried rooms at random and found nothing special, until “Room 18”, which he knew was different, as it had a secure door, similar to Salvatore’s, and an airlock of sorts.

  Once through, Logan halted at the lab’s entrance, not sure what he was looking at.

  Salvatore’s drone remained outside as he said he was busy cycling around the bombs to reset them. Logan knew he was avoiding entering the laboratories, and now he understood why …

  In the middle of the room was a medical cradle, inclined at an angle, and strapped within it, with white plastic banding, was a living individual. Logan couldn’t tell at first whether the person was male or female as its skin appeared bloated and was covered by a thicker plastic band around the loins. He decided it was male as the shoulders were on the large side. Possibly sedated, the man slowly opened his eyes. When he did so, he looked at Logan for a few seconds and registered that he wasn’t a scientist. His mouth opened and silently formed the words help me. Logan approached him. He squinted and looked again, as it appeared the man’s skin was moving. No, something was swarming over him. It must have been micro-technology at work, perhaps mixed with nano. As he looked closer, he could make out the tiniest particles the iSensed human eye could resolve – they were simultaneously erupting and then burrowing into every pore and crevasse. He realised every square inch of this man’s skin was seething with activity. It was beyond his understanding. The very idea of such a mass alien invasion of a body like this was simply too horrific to contemplate. He stumbled backwards, nauseated.

  Swallowing thickly, he said sorry before turning and walking out of the room. As he reached the door, he couldn’t help but glance back. The man was now fully awake, his mouth caught in a permanent, long-suffering grimace, his body writhing. Logan wasn’t a religious man, but he said a brief prayer and asked God to take him there and then.

  He moved on.

  He saw other human subjects that had a mix of invasive bio-technology, equally tortured, though most were unconscious. Some were being tended to by medibots.

  Returning to the “Wet Bio” section he found subjects that were undergoing procedures that would have been debatable if performed on rats. One such person, a male of advanced years, had had his skin peeled back from his torso to reveal organs that were somehow being supplemented by duplicate, perhaps synthetic, printed organs, or maybe bio-grown. Again – to what end here? The internal visceral landscape of this individual was slick with a covering of gel, presumably to prevent infection or decay. How long had they kept him like this? How aware was he? Logan dry-wretched.

  After a time, he recognised a common theme. They were all older males – something like Salvatore. That was, until he cut through to “Spoke 4”, “Genetics”, the group of labs mentioned by Wanda. Here he found rooms with foetuses, babies and infants no older than twelve to eighteen months. This was a different slant of research, he guessed, also aimed at anti-aging, maybe tinkering with the genetics of stem cells or something similar; stuff he’d learnt from popularised science.

  Whatever. It was the stuff of nightmares.

  The purpose made sense. Grist wanted immortality at any cost. Freedom from the limitations of the biological body. He had given carte blanche to unethical scientists to approach the problem in any way they chose. Who needed animals when there was an endless supply of homeless people or aborted foetuses in the uncaring metropolis above?

  So far, he had not found one individual he could have realistically “saved”. Maybe there was a chance here.

  He checked out the living babies within the incubators and was again shocked. They all looked wrong. There was no other way to put it. But was this so different from the Xenos? he questioned.

  For those that underwent bodymod under their own volition, of course not. But what about those like Shala who were born with pre-edited genes? He wasn’t sure. But he was sure that, for those like Salvatore, and the seething-man, this had to stop. They had been abducted, imprisoned and tortured. This wasn’t a Xeno lifestyle choice.

  He hurried over to an inner room, effectively a large glass or Perspex box. His eyes widened when he saw the backs of two children, maybe five years old judging by their size. They seemed normal enough, and were hunched over a table, engrossed, maybe playing a game. A 5th- or 6thgen minder appeared to be looking after them.

  “Hey,” said Logan, announcing himself.

  They turned around.

  “Oh shit.”

  The girl had no eyes, just bumps of skin where they should have been, and yet she saw him. He spotted a cam that flew above her shoulder. She must have been connected to that, like Salvatore’s eye-stalks.

  “Who … are … you?” said the girl.

  The other was a boy. He seemed to be intact.

  There was something else, however, that horrified Logan. Their skin. Both were wrinkled like someone in advanced old age. In fact their whole demeanour was that of someone as old as Grist. The boy smiled sadly; his mouth had no teeth.

  “Uh, I’m Mark …”

  He turned away. They couldn’t have had any life ahead of them, he justified painfully.

  “Mark, the first bomb …” said Salvatore, sounding urgent. “I can’t –”

  There was a distant crump and Logan felt a vibration through his feet – a small but discernible reaction to the sudden destructive forces unleashed at one end of the GNG basement labs.

  “Mark?”

  “I felt it. How long before the next … the others?”

  “I think …”

  There was another thump, closer. Laboratory apparatus jingled.

  “Dammit, Salvatore, you have to do something.”

  “I can’t stop them. Each one will go off, with about ten seconds between each.”

  Another …

  The girl and boy looked at him quizzically. He turned his back on them and walked.

  “All right – I’m going. There’s nothing I can do here.”

  “The eighth bomb will take out the emergency elevator. The stairs have gone. You only have –” another bomb, much closer “– ninety seconds by my reckoning. Enough time if you go now.”

  Logan ran down the corridor, gla
ncing in through the windows as he ran. He could see incubators. They all contained tiny bodies – none moved or looked alive.

  Except for one. And it looked normal, at least from where he stood. He entered the lab and rushed over to the transparent bubble. Within was a restless, squirming baby, he guessed no more than a few months old.

  He tried to open the incubator but couldn’t find the mechanism … electronic? He hammered on the plexiglass with his fists. Then found a metal implement. The baby started to cry and then scream as he hacked at the transparent prison. It was tough, unyielding. Thirty seconds. He howled at the laboratory. He turned away and started toward the door, his mind reeling, his legs leaden.

  “Wait, I’ve opened the incubator.” It was Salvatore, he’d come into the lab after all.

  Logan rushed back and reached in. He quickly swaddled the bedding around the baby and plucked it out. Holding it in one arm, he sprinted to the central nexus.

  Another explosion. Deafening. This one tore through part of the corridor structure, too close for comfort. Heat surged through the air, overtaking him.

  Logan jumped into an elevator that was open – Salvatore’s work – and told it to go. It moved fast, since it was designed for such emergencies. He felt the acceleration tug at him – or was it guilt pulling him back to the labs? He would weep later for those poor souls he’d abandoned.

  Another explosion made the car lurch. It hesitated before continuing upward.

  The car stopped and opened its doors. As Logan leapt out, another explosion blew the elevator car upwards, clear off the ground-floor level. The wave of compressed and searing air slammed into Logan’s back, launching him across the floor and headlong into a pillar.

  Instinctively, he turned the baby away from the pillar and took the full force of the blow on his shoulder and ribs.

  Dazed, he vaguely felt Herculean arms scoop both him and the baby up and carry them effortlessly away.

  63

  Logan recognised the ambient light of an underground shaft. He was lolling on something that was moving along at speed. He focused on the Goliath-like head above him, one he recognised too readily. The wide, expressive eyes were focused ahead, the mouth open and breathing steadily with every metronomic surge forward. He tried to clear his head by shaking it, but wished he hadn’t as a shower of pain sparked through his neck and shoulders.

  Instead, he looked down. Within the crook of his left arm was cradled a small bundle of blankets, and nestled safely inside was the baby, awake and red-faced.

  And he in turn was cradled in Leo’s arms, also like a child. The irony caught him. The hulk of a man was trotting along without effort.

  Logan decided not to fight the experience and let Leo complete his task. He was being rescued, not abducted.

  The lighting brightened and Leo came to a halt. Logan heard voices – amongst them Wanda’s. Leo placed him down, gently, on a hard, flat surface. As soon as the giant stood back, Logan pulled himself up, groaning aloud at the effort: some of his ribs must have been cracked or broken in the bomb blast, he guessed. People he recognised came into view. Wanda approached him, her face both anxious and relieved, her hair a seething mass of colours.

  She saw the baby, and her demeanour changed. She picked it up, her eyes wide with hope. “We need to get this to some medics – fast.”

  Shala came forward. “Can do better than that. We can get it to our own medical facilities much quicker. Leo …”

  She picked it up and placed it into one of Leo’s hands.

  The giant pulled it to his body with a gentleness that belied his vast stature and power. And then he was gone.

  Wanda turned back to Logan. “I thought we’d lost you,” she said, her voice choked up.

  Logan found it hard to respond as his heart was still back with the adults and children he’d left behind in the labs. He struggled up onto his feet and embraced Wanda while looking over her shoulder. Carrie stood next to the carriage that held the blue plastic bubble-head that was Salvatore. On the other side was Shala, who’d moved back and was watching them keenly, her tail undulating, like a cat’s.

  Logan turned back to Wanda. Quietly, he told her, “I couldn’t save them,” and felt his eyes well up with heat and anger at the dreadful images he knew would plague him until his last breath.

  “You’re wrong. You saved one of them,” Wanda said as she wiped a tear from his cheek. “And –” she turned to the odd construction behind her “– we saved Salvatore.”

  Salvatore’s eye-stalks moved back and forward between them. It was a small, physical acknowledgement of his presence, but hugely significant. He didn’t say anything. He was no doubt struggling with his own ongoing trauma.

  Logan steeled himself. He knew Wanda was right. Now they needed to get Salvatore further into the depths of the Xeno commune, to their scientists, who could begin work and perhaps give him a little more time and let him die with dignity.

  Shala approached Logan again, and this time she was focused solely upon him. He felt a new wave of remorse and sadness, only it didn’t seem to be emerging from any part of his own conscience or inner voice. Then he understood why, and was stunned by the realisation. Since that extraordinary and exciting night with Shala in the Faraday bubble, he had felt different in her presence, initially giving it no more value than an odd superficial connection, constructed out of awkwardness. Now, with his mental guard down, he knew without doubt that they were somehow linked on a deeper empathic level. The hurt was hers. He didn’t know why she was feeling this way, but he was too exhausted and traumatised to confront her over his discovery.

  She smiled at him knowingly. Her eyes nictitated and she drew her shoulders back. “Thank you, Mark Logan. I speak for myself and the whole Xeno Council: we are humbled by your bravery and are forever in your debt.” It sounded oddly formal.

  “But why? I didn’t complete what we set out to do. We don’t know any more about Dexy’s brother – Carrie doesn’t have her memories returned. And I didn’t save any of those poor people – just a baby. And George Grist is still alive and able to pursue his grudge against you.”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t underssstand. George Grissst has died. His laboratories dessstroyed. You have done more than we thought was possible. Your actions have bought us valuable time. Perhaps enough to sway the outcome of the coming unressst. Perhaps enough to stop the Guild. Thisss may be the juncture of possible realities. Xiang will inform us, when he is ready …”

  Before he could ask more questions, Shala reached out and briefly held his hand. The cool, slippery sensation of her skin was like an electric discharge and images of their night together came back to him like a violent but exhilarating storm. “We will meet again, Mark, be sure of that.” She turned and directed Salvatore off down the corridor and out of sight.

  A void opened deep inside him and he knew that Shala had released him.

  64

  The light was fading fast as Logan guided the stolen SUV onto New Jersey’s I-80 West ramp. He handed over control to the 5thgen autodriver. The steering wheel slipped back into the console and he turned to Wanda to say something witty that had come into his mind, but snapped his mouth shut on seeing that she was asleep. Her head was propped up on a rolled-up fleece that she had scrunched up against the window pillar. She was resting deeply, devoid of dreams, since her hair was settled and uniformly auburn in colour, with just a few highlights of darker hues gently flowing out from her roots. In their short history together, he hadn’t seen her as calm as she was now; her features were soft and he felt a yearning in his heart. But as before he pushed away any such notion of closeness, as their relationship had such complex origins. She’d made it clear that he was special in her life, yet at the same time had rebuffed any physical advances. He knew he would have to give her time and decided not to let this push–pull get to him.

  To complicate things further, Shala was still in his head, although not in a controlling way. Every time he tho
ught about that night, deep within the Umbra caverns, he had to fight to suppress his emotions. She’d made it clear that it was just “a good fuck”, but every time he saw her image and replayed her unique voice in his mind he was subjected to the most profound emptiness. He dared not entertain thoughts regarding when, or if, they met again, for fear of being consumed by unrealistic fantasies.

  He sighed and checked on Carrie in the back of the car. Sleep was optional for the 6thgen; she chose to remain awake and was staring out of the window, quietly absorbed by the changing vista that was rolling by. Uncertainties remained for her, but he had a feeling that she was better able to cope now than before her recent experiences. In a word, she had grown, both emotionally and in her self-understanding; she was questioning her existence, her place in the universe, which only served to make her more human. He realised that the border between human and 6thgen behaviour was blurring more than ever, and for the first time in his life he was willing to believe that a 6thgen could have a spiritual nature, some would say a soul.

  She turned to him and smiled innocently, like a child.

  Logan returned the smile and turned back to the road. They’d accelerated and joined a thread of cars and had settled into a leisurely cruising speed.

  Heading west, they hadn’t figured their precise destination yet, though they had formed a shortlist that was still being altered as Salvatore’s and Diaz’s research progressed. The list contained possible locations of Grist’s son, or Joe Grist, as they’d christened him.

  The race to find Joe Grist had become more important than ever, especially after Shala had come back to them with depressing news from the Xeno Umbra.

  Xiang had sought the future again with his farsight, and run the results through his unique theorem. It came as a shock after everything they’d been through: nothing had changed. The world was still heading down a rabbit hole to hell, and it was one that continued to feature Grist as its self-proclaimed leader. That implied Grist would survive his cryogenic death and prosper. Which all meant Logan hadn’t had his Ezekiel moment; at least not yet. He was beginning to doubt that he could make a difference, but he had to believe.