by B. C. CHASE
She didn’t move.
He pulled on her arm, “Time to go to bed.” She stood slowly, and, her eyes half-open, slid her hands up to hold his neck. Having her hold him like that gave him an unfamiliar, warm sensation.
“Aubrey,” he said awkwardly. She had buried her face in his chest. With nothing else to do, he lifted her easily and carried her down the hall to his private suite to lay her on his bed. She was snoring immediately. He paused for a moment at the door before he closed it and left her to sleep. She really was tired.
Then he went to his office and pulled his wallet out from his suit coat. From deep in the recesses of a fold, he flipped out a picture of a beautiful young woman. Wearing an elegant dress with a deep v-neck and a diamond necklace, she was standing next to a man who had apparently been deliberately blacked out. Henry contemplatively gazed at the photograph for a time before pressing it to his lips in a brief kiss.
Shanghai
It was almost three o'clock PM local time when they arrived in Shanghai.
A limo sent by Genetic Labor Solutions picked Henry, Jinkins, Maggie and Aubrey up from the busy airport and drove them to the company's headquarters. The traffic was horrific, but the towering glass skyscrapers of Shanghai were impressive.
The entrance to the GLS compound was foreboding. A tall wall with barbed wire was interrupted by a gate with a security booth. The gate opened automatically for the limo. Inside, Aubrey could see that it was a monstrous sprawling complex comprised of mostly older concrete buildings, but also a lot of very new glass ones. Nearest the gate was a twenty-floor, spiraling office tower.
As the limo pulled up under a huge portico jutting out from the office tower, a group of executives in suits waved and welcomed them as they stepped out, greeting them all with limp handshakes. They were then led into the lobby of the building, which was sleek and modern. From the lobby it was a quick walk to the elevator. Aubrey was surprised to see that buttons were missing; four, thirteen and fourteen. She whispered to Jinkins, “Why are floors missing?”
Amused, he replied, “Those numbers are bad luck.”
They rode all the way to the top; floor “seventeen.”
Once they stepped out, an expansive view of the surrounding city awed them. Their hosts guided them to an area recessed into the glossy floor and edged by a giant screen. A row of round armchairs was against the circumference. When they had all taken seats, the lights dimmed and a bass drumbeat and aggressive cello music began.
The screen was black until a series of white sentences appeared and flashed toward them, a deep voice intoning each:
IMAGINE A WORLD
WITH 40% HIGHER EFFICIENCY
WHERE ACCIDENTS ALMOST NEVER HAPPEN
WHERE FACTORIES OPERATE 24 HOURS A DAY
7 DAYS A WEEK
BUT NOT A SINGLE PERSON
WORKS THERE.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF
GENETIC LABOUR SOLUTIONS.
WELCOME
BIOBOT
The screen flashed white and the chiseled face of a man in a closed-necked white shirt appeared. He stared into the camera and, expressionless, said, “I am Biobot, the world's first genetically manufactured industrial robot. I may be customized to virtually any task. I require almost no maintenance. I use no electricity. And I have no wish but to service your business.
“Here are some examples of what Biobot can do for you: Biobot can work your factory floor.”
A scene of a humming manufacturing plant was displayed.
“Biobot can perform routine maintenance.”
A jet hangar was shown with scaffolding around a plane.
“Biobot can answer your telephone.”
A busy call center.
“Biobot can make your deliveries.”
A freight van speeding down the highway.
“Biobot can service your rooms.”
A pristine hotel bed was on-screen.
“Biobot can cook your vegetables.”
A bustling restaurant kitchen was displayed, then it was back to the face of the man. He said, “There is virtually no limit to what Biobot can do.” His lips formed a robotic smile, “So the only question is, 'what may I do for you?'”
The screen faded out and one of the executives rose to stand before them. “Before we proceed, would any of you like a drink?” A busboy supporting a tray of many stemmed glasses of sparkling amber champagne strode up. The executive raised a glass and took a sip. He placed the glass on the tray and said, “Thank you, Biobot.” The man smiled proudly, “This is our miracle of science. This is Biobot,” he motioned to the server.
Jinkins said skeptically, “So these 'Biobots' are capable of restaurant service?”
“Indeed, they are.”
Jinkins shook his head, “I don't believe it. How are we to know that this isn't a person posing as a Biobot?”
The executive said, “Believe it,” and took one of the glasses off the tray. He then astounded everyone by pouring the glass onto the busboy's head. The busboy didn't flinch. "Smile," he commanded. The busboy's lips curved into a grin, though its teeth were not exposed. The champagne dripped from its chin onto its vest. The man explained, "The computer monitors every Biobot's location. If it strays from assigned parameters, the Biobot receives a negative signal in its brain. After it completes a task according to how it was trained, it receives a positive signal.
"The Biobots can be switched off," the man said. He lifted the tray from the busboy's shoulder and, touching its hand, said, "Shutdown." The Biobot immediately lowered itself to the floor and lay on its back, closing its eyes. The man quickly touched its hand again and said, "Start up." The Biobot raised itself to its feet and the man handed it the tray. “Biobot, offer them drinks,” the executive ordered, pointing to the group.
After the Biobot made the rounds with the tray, Henry commented, “I knew of everything you could do, but I confess this is truly astonishing to see in person. Very well done. You have my congratulations.”
The executive nodded gratefully.
“Now, you have factories, I believe. May we see one?”
“Certainly. Let us go at once.”
Aubrey was stunned when they entered the glass-walled room overlooking the factory floor. The Biobots laboring over the apparatus were all apparently very young. They did not have legs, but sat on small, round stools and robotically moved fabric over sewing machines with their tiny hands.
Henry was gazing down at them approvingly, and their hosts smiled proudly. “Factory is twenty percent more efficient," one of them boasted. "Ninety percent less accident than at traditional factory."
Jinkins had broken into a sweat and began tugging at his collar nervously. Although he didn't say anything, Aubrey could easily tell he was growing very uncomfortable with what they saw.
“So these are more specialized than the restaurant busboy you showed us earlier,” Henry said.
“Correct, we specialize Biobot for all tasks.”
Finding herself really agitated by the spectacle of what, for all appearances, were legless children working a factory floor, Aubrey banged her hand on the glass, startling everyone in the entourage. Henry shot her a warning glance, but not before several of the Biobots raised their eyes to her. They all flinched in unison, as if stung, and quickly resumed their work.
Another executive host explained, "Perhaps the best feature of these production-line Biobots is that computers monitor their movements and instantly correct any erratic behavior. This means there's no chance yours would be wasting your time or money. So, have you seen all you wanted to see? We could show you our erotic dance Biobots. I think they could be very beneficial to your island."
At this, Jinkins exclaimed, "Paradeisia is a family destination! That would be entirely out of place!”
Looking irritated, Henry said to their hosts, “We have no need for adult entertainments, yet. But,” he smiled, “We'll see what the market demands.”
Once Henry had seen h
is fill of the Biobots, they were back in the limo. “So, where are we staying tonight, Aubrey?” Henry asked.
Nobody had told her to book a hotel. She said, “Uh . . .”
Henry frowned, “Please tell me you booked accommodations.”
“Nobody told me to do that.”
Henry rubbed his face with one hand, “Maggie?”
“I apologize, Mr. Potter. I mentioned something to her but I'm afraid she forgot.”
Aubrey shot Maggie a glance. Why had she just thrown her under the bus like that? Aubrey started to defend herself, “You didn't say—“
Henry interrupted, “Ladies! Let's get on the internet, shall we?”
Maggie was able to book some rooms at the Starline Regal Shanghai. As their limo took off for the hotel, Aubrey was silent and just stared out the window. She was angry. She was angry with Maggie, but even more than that she couldn't believe what she had just seen at GLS. Genetic Labor Solutions. Yeah, right, she thought. More like Slave Labor Solutions. Worst of all, she couldn't believe that Henry was pursuing these “Biobots” as a viable labor source. He really was without morals.
Henry asked, "What's the matter, Aubrey?"
She didn't say a word but continued to gaze at the passing traffic.
"You're forgiven for not booking the hotel.”
She didn't respond.
“It's the Biobots, isn't it?”
She nodded.
“They're not human. You can't think of them that way. They're machines—animals, at best."
“Animals!?” Jinkins piped incredulously.
Aubrey just shook her head.
"I know it's hard for you to understand. But they wouldn't even exist had they not been built. They can't even survive without the nourishment that's provided for them.”
Aubrey said, "I'm sure plantation owners told themselves that every day! What we saw in that factory were little kids!"
"I'll admit, they do look like children. But that's only because they share some genetic material with humans. That's nothing extraordinary. 98% of our genes are common with other animals! What you saw were simply Biobots at the beginning of their shelf lives with another fifty-plus years of service to offer."
"Haven't you heard of child labor? Isn't that the kind of thing Nike got in trouble for?”
"That is completely irrelevant here. You're comparing apples and oranges."
Maggie interjected, looking apologetic to Henry, “Aubrey, really. You shouldn't interf—”
Henry raised his hand, “It's all right, Maggie. I asked her.”
Aubrey turned from the window and said, “This is slavery. Genetically glorified slavery.”
“Five hundred Fortune Five Hundred companies disagree with you. Even the U.N. disagrees with you.”
“Well the U.N. can go to—”
“Aubrey!” Maggie warned.
Aubrey spun back to the window and placed her chin back on her fist.
Jinkins, nervously wringing his hands, mustered a complaint, “Mr. Potter . . . It's not what I envisioned.”
“In the Out of Africa area of Paradeisia, didn't you purchase genetically modified animals from a company called Convergent Genetic Science? It's hypocritical of you to criticize me when your hands are already bloody, don't you think?”
“That's entirely different. Convergent sells animals that have been made tamer and safer. They do not sell modified humans.”
“Did you ever think to ask if the animals were given any genes that came only from humans? It’s a likely possibility. But as I've said before, human genes do not make a thing human. We share genes with most every creature on earth, but that doesn’t make any of them humans!”
“Human or not, I cannot conceive of those things wandering around my island like an army of zombies.”
“I suppose you can conceive of bankruptcy, then?” Henry went for the jugular, “I suppose you can conceive of every other company in the world making use of them while Paradeisia sinks under a burden of high wages, healthcare and benefits? If we do not employ Biobots, Mr. Jinkins, Paradeisia will die.”
There was a moment of silence as the limo drove along. Aubrey thought Jinkins had succumbed, but then, still looking down into his lap, he intoned, “Better dead and buried than standing on the back of slavery.”
“Slavery? You too?” Henry shouted incredulously. “This kind of absolute ignorance genuinely astounds me. Ignorance, or stupidity, I'm frankly not sure which it is.” Henry leaned forward, “I mean, have you totally lost your mind?”
Jinkins said, “Mr. Potter, I want to be diplomatic, I really do, but rest assured I will oppose this. I will oppose it to the bitter end.”
Aubrey chimed happily, “Me too.”
Henry leaned back in the seat and smugged, “Well, that's the bright spot in this situation. Neither the kangaroo nor the pouch has a say.” As he sat there, grinning in victory, suddenly Henry's phone rang.
When the call was over, Henry looked at Jinkins with annoyance, “Well, we have yet another happy thought to ponder. Your prodigal son, Jinkins, has disappeared. Again.”
Aubrey asked, “What prodigal son?”
Impatiently, Henry snapped, “Of course Andrews. He's vanished.”
Cognitive LifeScience Corporation
After the disappearance of their son on his watch, Gary needed something to distract him from constant feelings of desperation and self-loathing. So he turned to the other unexplained mystery in his life; what was he doing at Cognitive? While the FBI worked on his case he set about solving this question with a fervency born of loss and grief.
With this in mind, he was waiting when the delivery came this time.
It was a nondescript E series white van. The driver wore a blue uniform and ball cap. Gary couldn't make out any badge. As soon as the van squeaked to a stop, the delivery man jumped out with an acknowledging nod to Gary. He went to the back and opened up the double doors. After a moment or two, he returned with a package in his arms to follow Gary into the facility. As they walked toward the refrigerator, Gary casually asked, “How long have you been making these deliveries?”
“Four years, boss.”
That was the same amount of time Gary had worked for Cognitive LifeScience. “Like your job?”
“Pays the bills . . . .”
“What was the name of your company, again?”
“Biocertica.”
“You make a lot of deliveries?”
“All day long.”
“Any pickups?”
“Nope.”
“No pickups at all?”
“None.”
They entered the walk-in fridge together and the man placed the box on a shelf. Then he took out an electronic pad which he had Gary sign. As the man turned to leave, Gary asked him one more question, “Do you know who brings in the samples? I mean, have you ever seen any coming in?”
The man stopped and faced Gary, his posture defensive, “Doc, I don't know anything about the samples. I load up the van and I deliver them. That's all.” Then he added, “And I'm smart enough to keep my nose in my own crap.”
FBI Field Office, Baltimore
Special Agent Kessler was at his boss's desk, saying, “I made calls for every missing person alert we have.”
“You mean everyone at our office?”
“No, I mean everyone in the FBI.”
His boss sat back in his squeaky chair, “You've got to be kidding. 2,500 people go missing every day.”
“Yeah, but you know most of them are child custody cases or the senile. Once you take out the superfluous ones, it's not that many. Only about a hundred kids are verified as kidnapped by creeps every year.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Legitimate disappearances have come up 400% over the past three years. Nobody noticed because nobody was separating the legitimates from the divorces and silver alerts. I thinned the herd down to about 500 active cases that I thought fit my bill. We spoke with someone from each of t
he families.”
“You know, Jarred, we don't have a 'special agent of the year' award . . . .”
Jarred said, “I know. But listen; here's the rub:” he paused. “In almost every one of these cases, the missing person had an anomaly. Some had special traits, such as the case I'm working. He was a two-year-old genius. But many of the missing people had diseases. A lot of them had psychological problems. But they were all rare.” Kessler continued, “My question is, what is it that makes this uniqueness valuable? Especially the sick ones. Why would anyone want a deadly disease?”
His boss said, “That is a very good question.” He tilted his head, “And precisely why I think you might be taking this a bit too far. Aren't you just grasping at straws, here, Jarred? This seems like quite a stretch. I mean how many of the missing people have some rare characteristic like you're talking about?”
“479.”
“You know it's very easy to get caught up in conspiracy theories if you look to hard enough.”
“This is no theory. This is an epidemic of the lost.”
Biocertica
Lightning flashed to illuminate the oak-lined road Gary was driving. It was probably going to rain before the sun came out. He was on a street near an imposing windowless building surrounded by a parking lot. It was about three floors tall, as wide as a city block, entirely concrete and brown. The structure's only distinguishing features were the two blacked out glass doors at the front.
It was plain and depressing, not a building anyone would be proud to work at. The only positive thing that could be said about the place was that the paint looked new. Well, that and the fact that the parking lot was home to several sparkling BMW's, Audi’s, and even a Rolls Royce.