by John Feffer
I am in the basement of the smallest of the four buildings in CRISPR International’s complex. At some point, my husband was in this very basement and saw something important enough that he couldn’t tell me via avatar, when we met at Arcadia just before he died. He must have known that CRISPR had him under complete surveillance. Instead, he embedded a code in messages to our two oldest children. He also knew something about Benjamin’s capabilities and perhaps anticipated that our youngest would complete the puzzle by transporting me safely to this place. Julian was always proud of his prophetic vision, something I never genuinely appreciated until now.
The problem is that I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I increase the luminosity to see better as I navigate the basement’s murk. Various closed doors lead off the corridor. If I were an expert at this technology, I could jump from the corridor into these adjoining rooms. Or perhaps, given the encrypted nature of the building, I’d just get ejected and end up back in the Allan Hills. I only hope that my husband anticipated my poor VR skills and that whatever he wants me to see will be obvious: a kill switch that says “don’t touch” or an unsecured screen that lets me into the virtual heart of CRISPR. But that would be absurdly easy, and by definition nothing about CRISPR is easy.
At the end of the corridor is a glass wall with doors cut into it. Through it I can see a long oval table in what looks like a conference room, which probably explains why I can VR here in the first place. The technology was initially perfected to bring far-flung participants together for meetings.
There’s nothing in the conference room. But as I turn around to retrace my steps, I see something.
It’s a scale model of a set of buildings. At first I think it’s a model of the complex I’m in, that the little white cubes correspond to CRISPR International’s headquarters here in Darwin.
But when I move closer, I see the little cylindrical tower. It’s a silo. I’m looking down at a miniature Arcadia.
It makes sense. At this very moment, CRISPR is bringing in its nanoartillery for a final assault on my community. The corporate executives probably use this model in their meetings to show what the prize looks like and where my research lab is located. They must have been planning this raid for more than a year—otherwise, my husband would never have seen this model in the first place.
But as I examine it more closely, I notice something odd. The building that houses my research lab isn’t there. At first I wonder whether this is some future model of Arcadia after my lab has been expunged from history, a community that CRISPR has taken over for its own malign purposes. Then I notice that it lacks all the recent additions: the science center, the second set of greenhouses, even the standalone schoolhouse we built twenty years ago.
I’m not looking at our present or future. I’m looking at the original Arcadia.
Above the model is a set of photographs. I recognize the scenes. They are of the building of our community—the retrofitting of the original farm buildings, the construction of the Assembly Hall, the ribbon cutting. I amplify my resolution. Yes, there I am in the last picture, standing beside Anuradha, our arms around each other’s waists. We look radiant. Ah, to be middle-aged again!
But there’s one last picture—of the scale model resting on the table in what looks like the nearby conference room. A semicircle of people peers down at it as if it were a newborn child. They have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they’re smiling.
This, I realize, is not a picture from the present. These CRISPR functionaries are dressed as if from the 2020s. All except one of them.
She’s wearing a sari. And I recognize her.
I feel faint. I want to throw up. I move backward, dazed. Then I see what I’d first missed because I had been so focused on the scale model. Above the photograph is an inscription on the wall. It reads in bold black letters: Arcadia, Our Future.
I’m not thinking. I just want to run away from this horrible vision. I’m trying to move but I can’t. I’m frozen in place.
Then Ivanov appears, a large slab of virtual flesh that now blocks what I’ve just seen but not really taken in.
“So you have discovered our secret,” he says.
“I don’t understand,” I mumble.
“Of course you don’t.”
“I don’t want to know,” I add, though I already know far too much.
“It’s quite simple,” he says with relish. “We created Arcadia as an experiment in living.”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me more.”
“We could run our computer simulations and gather terabytes of information, but nothing beats a real live test.”
I’m taking in large breaths of air between my sentences to quell the urge to vomit. “Everything we’ve done? All our struggles and successes? We were just rats in your maze?”
“I wouldn’t choose that analogy. You were the prototype. And it isn’t for me or for CRISPR. It’s for humanity. Arcadia is the future. It’s how the surviving 1 percent will live. All those multibillionaire survivalists and their prepper bunkers back in the 2020s? They barely lasted a decade. You, however, have managed to solve the problem of sustainability. Well, with a little help.”
“What help?”
“Where do you think all those fancy weapons came from back in 2032?”
“But Anuradha said—” I stop.
“Exactly. It would have been silly to end our experiment simply because of some voracious wolves. Ultimately, however, the attacks were quite useful. We needed to see if you could survive to the next generation and hand over power without going backward, like those foolish Hungarians and their—”
“I don’t want to hear any more.”
“And now we are preparing to establish Arcadias on every continent. Staffed by our people, but according to the blueprint that you and your fellow Arcadians have drawn up over the years. You should be very proud of your accomplishments.”
My mind is racing. “But why are you attacking us?”
“Because of you, Rachel. Because of your research. You could ruin everything. You’re not about to save the world. You’re about to destroy it. We can’t all live on the planet. Not if some of us are going to live forever. If climate change didn’t exist, we’d have to invent it. Such an efficient, organic solution to the problem of overpopulation. Hats off to you, Mother Nature.”
“But if Anuradha is your… your…” I can’t bring myself to say it. My friend. My colleague. My role model!
“She has been a most invaluable employee. Imagine giving up your career to devote yourself to this experiment. We call her the astronaut. She traveled to the distant planet of Arcadia. But that planet has now spun out of her control. You have another generation that is pushing for a conflict with us.”
“If you created Arcadia, why can’t you just—” I’m too nauseated to continue.
“Just waltz right in through the back door? Well, we never imagined you would develop such sophisticated defenses. It’s like dealing with a teenage son’s rebellion, don’t you think? You’re so proud that he’s so smart and independent. But then he uses all these new skills to defy you. We thought about bringing Zoltan in on the secret. Perhaps we should have. We might have avoided the current mess. But we still can, of course. You can.”
I want to leave. But I can’t move.
Ivanov is consulting his watch. “Your twenty-four hours is almost up. Have you come to a decision, Rachel?”
I can’t think. I don’t want to think.
“Say the word, Rachel, and we will call off the attack.”
“You are evil,” I manage.
“We’re both trying to save humanity,” Ivanov says. “We’re both on the side of the angels.”
All along I’d thought of Arcadia as a Walden Three, a utopia established by scientists and artists who believed in common sense, not behaviorism or some other cultish ideology. We were pragmatists. Even when we disagreed about the Capture policy, we came to a decision in the old Vermont tr
adition of town meetings. We were the anti-Splinterlands, the place where compromise was still possible, where the middle had not been devoured by the extremes. To learn that our bold, democratic experiment in sustainability has been the plaything of a malevolent force leaves me completely disoriented. I have nowhere to turn, no polestar to guide me.
“Your decision, Rachel?”
We made difficult choices at every step. We took up arms. We killed. Even the terrible decisions were ultimately acceptable because they were our decisions. We believed that we were autonomous, that we were the architects of our own fate. And that proved to be the most durable illusion of them all.
“Rachel?”
I come to a decision. “Listen,” I begin, and then he’s gone and my decision has been made for me.
Chapter Nineteen
I am looking into Lizzie’s eyes as she rapidly ushers me out of the VR apparatus.
“How?” That’s all I can manage.
“I unplugged you,” she says. “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything important.”
“You didn’t know? About Ivanov? About Darwin?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quickly. “I’m here because we need you.”
And now I notice that she’s glowing green. I look down at my wrist: the band is red.
“They broke through the outer perimeter,” I say.
“We need everyone. I was running past this room and saw that someone was using the equipment, so I unplugged you.”
“Anuradha—” I begin.
“Don’t worry, she’s fine. She’s helping Zoltan. You need to get to your post. You need to help my father.”
“It’s more important that I talk to Anuradha.”
“It’s a firefight out there, Rachel. We need you behind a gun. And I have to get back to my screens.”
“Can they break through the inner perimeter?” I ask her.
She doesn’t even turn around to answer.
Instead of going to my station to help Bertrand, I head for the Assembly Hall. As I push myself on aching joints as fast as I can speed-walk, I note the green outlines of my fellow Arcadians—standing, kneeling—their weapons half in and half outside the inner perimeter. What I see beyond the perimeter wall is too terrible to contemplate. Drones darken the midafternoon sky like a thick, low-lying cloud, and they’re not small. They look like manta rays, with sinuous wings. Their two “eyes,” where the cephalic fins would be, glow a dark red. The volley of energy from those eyes makes our perimeter wall shimmer, subtly distorting what I can see beyond. Our automatic defenses have been overwhelmed and we’ve fallen back on our own force of arms, using updated versions of the same weapons our enemy originally provided us. But this, too, seems like a losing battle. Every time we strike down one of the deadly creatures, another takes its place.
I turn away in fear and rush into the Assembly Hall. One more defender at the parapet probably wouldn’t add much, but I don’t know what my confrontation with Anuradha will do, either.
They are both in the Hub. Zoltan’s hands are moving frenetically in front of his screens. He’s so absorbed in his efforts that he doesn’t even notice my entrance. Anuradha is talking with several volunteers too young to shoulder weapons.
“The kitchen is preparing boxes—water, dried fruit,” she’s saying. “Put them in your wheelbarrows. Start at Section A. One of you work clockwise, the other counterclockwise.”
She sends them scurrying past me. Several more wide-eyed young volunteers await their orders. But, seeing the look on my face, Anuradha takes my arm and escorts me out of the office. Perhaps she’s expecting me to collapse in the face of crisis and is preparing to buck me up.
“Let’s not distract Zoltan,” she says. “Don’t worry, Rachel, we can do this.”
We’re standing in an alcove just outside the assembly room. Through the windows in the doors, I can see that it has been turned into a makeshift hospital.
Anuradha follows my line of sight. “No one’s been hurt yet. Except for Jackson, who dropped a gun on his toe.”
“What were you thinking?” I ask. “All those years ago?”
She looks at me. “Thinking? When?”
“When you volunteered to set up Arcadia for CRISPR International. When you volunteered to be the serpent in our Garden of Eden.”
She doesn’t bother to pretend. I can see now how tired she is, how discouraged, how pessimistic. She takes a moment to formulate her response, then says, “I believe in Arcadia just as much as you do. More now than ever.”
“You can make them stop,” I say.
“But I can’t. I don’t have any say with them. Not anymore. I send reports. I hear nothing back.”
“Then send them another message. An urgent message.”
“Trust me, I have. It’s like praying for years and then losing your faith because no one responds.”
Trust me, she says. I just shake my head.
“How did you find out?” she asks in a near-whisper.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not a spy, Rachel. My mission was to create a successful and sustainable community. Nothing more, nothing less. I have devoted my life to Arcadia.”
I’m not sure if she’s telling me the truth. I’m not sure if she even knows what the truth is anymore.
“And what will happen if these old ‘friends’ of yours breach the inner perimeter?”
Anuradha begins to cry, something I’ve never seen before. “I don’t know that, either. I don’t, Rachel. Please stop looking at me that way. I was just trying to do my best. To save the earth. To save people.”
“To save some people.”
She makes every effort to stop her tears. “It’s a ship, Rachel, the earth is a ship. A sinking ship. And Arcadia is a lifeboat. I reached out to you. I wouldn’t have left you behind. Please, you must believe me. My loyalties are only to Arcadia. To Arcadia and to you.”
I have nothing more to say to her. I can’t even tell where her loyalties lie. Soon they’ll be tested, though. I leave her weeping outside a room that, in hours or perhaps minutes, might be filled with the injured and the dying.
I feel old, hollowed-out, jetlagged from my VR journeys, at the end of my tether. I’m limping, though I don’t remember hitting my leg against anything or pulling a muscle. I make it over to Section A, keeping my eyes on the ground so I don’t have to look at what’s attacking us. It’s a childish gesture, but I feel as scared and lonely as a child right now.
Bertrand is standing at the earthworks, his weapon resting on top of the cistern. A box of fruit and water is by his foot, unopened. He’s alone. My weapon is leaning against the tin shed. I grab it and take my position next to him. I begin to fire at the mantas. I can sense a wave of heat coming off the invisible perimeter wall, something I’ve never felt before.
“Where were you?” he asks, without taking his eyes off his targets.
“It doesn’t matter. How long have you been here?”
“Maybe an hour. They keep coming. We’ll eventually run out of power for the weapons. And for the wall, too.”
We’re not supposed to be talking, but who cares now?
“I’m sorry to ask this, but can you tell me where you’ve been sending all those DMs this month?”
Bertrand stops firing for a moment and looks at me in shock. “How did you know about that?”
“It doesn’t matter. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.” I’m tired of secrets kept and secrets revealed. I need to know which side everyone is on. I need to be reassured that there are still clear sides.
“Of course I can tell you,” Bertrand says. “My brother. He lives in Toronto, with our mother. She’s dying. I wanted to send her pictures of Lizzie. She’s her only grandchild. She’s very proud of her.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, strangely relieved.
I turn back to resume shooting, as does Bertrand.
Suddenly a section of the wall in front
of us sizzles, as if from an electrical short, and a hexagonal hole appears, outlined in a ribbon of gold. Our walls are constructed like a honeycomb, from a grid of such invisible hexagons. One of them has just failed, and the mantas are now trying to get in. Bertrand and I step back, horrified.
Bertrand immediately shoots two in succession as they squeeze through the opening. A third pushes the carcasses of the first two through the hole and manages to avoid the fusillade. It makes directly for me. We’re firing, but it doesn’t stop. It’s huge with its wings outstretched, its eyes a hellish red, and everything darkens as I prepare for its embrace. It’s about to wrap its wings around my head when a hand reaches out from behind me, grasps one of its murderous horns, and tears the creature out of the air. The darkness disappears, but I’m reeling, breathless. I see the attacker on its back, and a boot is crushing its head. I’m aware of someone else—it’s Rupert—stepping between Bertrand and me to help fire at the next round of mantas swarming through the hole. And now I’m feeling myself swept off my feet by powerful arms and find myself looking up into Karyn’s face.
“I will take you to the library,” Karyn says. “We need to execute our plan.”
“No, no, put me down!” I protest. “I must fight here!”
“You told us that the mission is our greatest priority,” Rupert replies, even as he expertly dispatches one manta after another. “And that we must disobey all other orders.”
“But this is me, Rupert,” I say. “I order you to—”
“You have an estimated thirteen minutes to execute the plan,” Rupert says over the hum of his weapon.
“But that’s not enough time!” I cry.
“We have a 14 percent chance of success,” Karyn says as she bears me away from the battle.
“But if I stay and fight—”
“Then you would have a 0 percent chance,” she continues. She’s moving with startling speed and litheness. “And that would be stupid.”
“I can’t just leave!”
I look over Karyn’s shoulder and see other hexagons in the perimeter wall glow gold and disappear. Soon the mantas will overwhelm our defenses and swarm in.