by Angel Wedge
I didn’t see the warrior standing in the trees until we were right on top of him, so I had no idea why Amba and the elder, Madsa, had stopped ahead.
“Madsa-Omhatri,” the voice was friendly but firm, “I see you have abdicated as leader.” The title he gave the old man wasn’t a word I’d heard before, but it was easy enough to guess in context. “I must tell you to come no further. Many outsiders wish to attack the Goddess Tomb, so the glass temple is sealed now. If you wish to commune with her spirit you may pray in the glade here. And your successor too, may I meet him?” I got the impression that behind the strict words, the two knew each other quite well. The sentry had gone straight from the warning he’d been tasked with reciting to a more relaxed, curious tone to enquire who was now carrying Madsa’s medals of leadership.
I didn’t know how he would respond when he saw Lucy, but all I could do now was cross my fingers. Now, the accessories strung around her neck and arms included some ancient carved wooden totems, as well as flowers and everything suitable from Marcos’s pockets. She was a vision of beauty, calm, and tradition all wrapped up together. She walked forward, completely ignoring the leaves and vines of the undergrowth bouncing off her face as she strode through them. She purred as she approached, a low rumble that could have been the resting growl of a big cat if she raised the volume just a little. This time it was Amba who spoke for her: “The White Girl has returned from the land below the waters. She comes without her voice, but it is her.”
I heard the sentries all drop to the ground and kneel, including a man I hadn’t even realised was in the shadows right at my shoulder.
“This is incredible!” the one who seemed to be their spokesman gasped, “We must tell the Council at once, so that all may celebrate!”
“No,” Madsa shook his head, as the rest of the group emerged from the jungle. He spoke in a mix of Dutch and broken English, that he reasoned would be understood by both the tribesmen and by us. “The Committee that rules this place is no successor of the Council of equals that Professor created. They are liars, struggling for position, and they have no honour. The foreign warriors are here to tear apart this sacred site, no matter what they say, and they have joined with the traitors within the Council to cage the Revived Goddess, so that their part in her father’s death would go unpunished.” I had helped to construct that version of the tale, and still felt some guilt over the inaccuracies it contained, but I told myself that ensuring a future for the few surviving hybrids was more important than simple truth. I couldn’t dwell on the thoughts too long, because it was my turn to speak, and to show that our group was an alliance of different peoples rather than just one tribe deciding for everyone.
“There are some honest men among them. I believe that a number of people including Doctor Corliss and a nurse named Chǎ Jìng helped Lucy – your revived goddess – by bringing her good food and water while she was imprisoned, and eventually helped her to escape. But Barishkov and some others simply want to strip the resources of the rainforest, pillage this land for their own gain. If we are to stop them, I must get to the communications centre before they know I am here.”
To my surprise, Uvi stepped forward to vouch for me. He was one of their tribe, and would be more trusted. I still couldn’t bring myself to stand close to him, and I wouldn’t allow the man behind me, given his previous actions. But he was pragmatic, selfish, and cynical. As soon as it became clear that Lucy had the power to unite the tribes, he’d been willing to keep what he knew a secret. He knew human nature well enough to know that a united civilisation would need a General as well as a Goddess, and that was a role he thought he was well suited to assume. Now, this giant was one of our strongest fighters, and he would stick with our cause just as long as it looked likely to become a regime he could control.
I hadn’t realised just how many tribesmen still followed Barishkov; they had simply moved to camping in the jungle, defending the complex invisibly so as not to defile their holy site. The story spread from mouth to mouth among all those interleaved communities now, and was passed on to the Benedicteans who worked at Lucretia Falls as well. And the tale grew as it spread. That would always be the case with a message passed on orally, and I hoped that along the way it might mask some of my own fabrications, or at least make it less likely that I would be caught out. A few of the amerikanjie staff were told what was going on, but they were in the minority. Corliss discovered the situation on his own, being one of the only people to understand the tribes’ language. In some places, the lab security staff started to fight back against what they saw as an invasion. But the majority of the tribesmen revered Lucretia and Lucy without question. The Benedictean staff were angry about being pushed into menial or support roles by the UN troops, and had been simmering over their loss of authority for months now, so many of them were in favour of any change of ownership. Marcos was a local boy, and knew a lot better than I did about how to speak to them.
My mission now was to get to the communications centre, and broadcast my pictures and report back to the rest of the world. It wouldn’t just be going back to my own editorial staff, though. From here, I could send a plea for help directly to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, body that had in Paris to appoint the Oversight Committee. Or I could report to the Congressional Subcommittee on Ethical Technological Advancement in Washington, where I was confident I’d find at least one supportive voice. I would show them pictures to prove just how far Barishkov had lied to them, and I was pretty confident his international support would quickly vanish.
That was the priority, because if the decision makers knew what was going on here they would at least be willing to delay the closing down of the facility. We could knock the current Oversight Committee down, and make a leadership that actually wanted to do the right thing, while still having the support of the multinational armed forces camped out around the compound.
* * *
The observatory dome had been partially cleaned, giving a clear view out over the top of the jungle. It was a spectacular sight when you were used to the canopy being high overhead, almost like being on a mountaintop or seeing the country from the air. The only sign of human presence visible was a barely noticeable gap in the canopy near the horizon, where Sante Benedicté lay.
The members of the Lucretia Falls Oversight Committee weren’t concerned with the view, though. Most of them were sitting in a rough circle in the centre of the room, while a circle of large screens hanging from the dome displayed the faces of the other United Nations members responsible for ensuring that no further breaches of international law occurred. Some consultant had probably decided that this was the most efficient way of organising a video linkup so that everyone in both the observatory and the remote conference rooms in Paris and New York could see each other easily.
“It is imperative that the staff are evacuated immediately,” one of the scientists insisted, “We knew this was going to be a difficult assignment, but we cannot be expected to conduct research in a war zone.”
“And what do you think will happen to the specimens that are still alive if everyone leaves?” a grey-haired man with a charcoal grey suit, a truly impressive array of chins, and an almost impenetrable Spanish accent spoke from one of the monitors, backed by a low murmur of agreement.
“We must destroy them,” the Greek delegate from the Security Council spoke with such confidence you might believe there was no possibility of debate. But Barishkov looked up at that video screen, and quickly selected a different document from the folder in front of him ready to argue the statistics as soon as he had a specific point to attack. “Our churches have been reminding us every day through the press and public protests that we have allowed these ‘Frankencreatures’ to live on too long, and yet still we prevaricate around their elimination. Doctor Meyer, Doctor Barishkov, can you honestly say that you are willing and able to ensure these abominations do not run free when there are two armies convergin
g on your position and without logistical support from a revolting host country?”
“No. You are right that we cannot leave the specimens here unattended, but their value to medical science is incalculable. As I was investigating Doctor Faulkner’s notes from the initial phases of this laboratory’s founding, I found that he claims to have successfully treated several animal subjects who were genetically modified to suffer from Keppler-Monroe Degradation Syndrome. This condition is universally fatal in humans, leading to nearly thirty percent childhood mortality. Though I agree that the man was unbalanced, if he had actually managed to cure the condition that his wife died from, we owe it to all the other sufferers worldwide to determine the effectiveness of his treatment and to work on replicating his treatments for this and other serious diseases.” It was a masterpiece of storytelling, a narrative in which Barishkov was completely innocent of the torture of animals, and just wanted to save the children. But worse than that, it was a story that would stand up to casual scrutiny if he was careful which of Faulkner’s notes he released to the public.
The only people who could argue with that were the religious extremists with an inflexible view of ‘what man was not meant to know’. But still, one of the near identical grey-suited politicians representing the Western world spoke up: “Our latest reports show that Oimbawa is on the brink of civil war. Some people are claiming that Benedicté has seceded already. You have two –” he cut off speaking as a British soldier in the uniform of the peacekeeping force ran up the stairs from the level below the dome and whispered urgently to Dr Barishkov.
“Thank you,” Barishkov muttered, dismissing the man with a wave. The closest scientists looked shocked, but he returned his attention to the man on the screen: “Please, continue Minister Byōko.”
“There are at least two armies attempting to claim the land you are standing on by military force. The region’s only airport is under the control of revolutionaries. The troops that the nations of the Security Council have already dispatched cannot be expected to serve as your bodyguard indefinitely. At this point, you need to choose if you wish to continue your research, or if you will get out of that place while you still have a chance. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are under attack within a week.”
“Actually, Honoured Minister, this facility is under attack right now. But my security detail is quite capable of holding the line for a few days. I am not proposing to keep this facility open. Indeed, I will be only too happy to torch the remaining samples myself, if that is what you decide upon. But I ask for two days so that we can crate up the most important specimens for transport to a new laboratory, and of course so that our new facility’s installation can be expedited and the plane you are sending to evacuate us made ready for transporting live cargo.”
The room was silent. Something the man was a master of, Barishkov had been manipulating both the committee and their masters on the two United Nations councils. Would they change their mind and say they didn’t have any evacuation plans, or go back on their previous agreement and say that curing a deadly childhood disease was no longer important?
But watching from the monitors in the communications centre, I could see something that should not have shocked me as much as he did. When he delivered his demands, Barishkov made sure to mention the new lab and plane as if they were something already promised, and as he said those exact words his gaze was fixed on just one of the satellite link monitors. Out of all the politicians, bureaucrats and scientists participating in this 11th hour debate, only one monitor showed faces I would easily recognise. Meeting the mad scientist’s long-distance gaze with visible trepidation was the man who’d argued for Barishkov’s position on the Oversight Committee in the first place, a US Senator representing the Subcommittee for Ethical Technological Advancement. Over the man’s shoulder were a few other representatives of that committee, but the only one who seemed pleased by the threat was the man tipped to become the next chair if Carling was forced to resign.
Paul Jenner.
Chapter 29 — Triple Cross
The Observation Room was clearly designed for putting on a show. When we’d been up there the first time, we’d been distracted from Barishkov’s words by the giant leopard, Panthera pardus sangra, its cage rising from the staging area below on a platform thirty feet wide. We had been impressed by the canned speech, but had regarded it as a distraction unrelated to the real purpose of the lab. Some journalists had probably spent more time wondering why the giant glass dome hadn’t been properly cleaned.
Now the lift platform was rising again, slowly rotating into position. It was a masterpiece of showmanship, the Committee members diverting their focus to the platform one by one as it slowly moved into place. The cameras for the remote debaters were focused on the scientists’ faces, so it took them a little longer to notice that something was amiss. I could access the room’s security feeds as well, so as soon as I saw Corliss looking down in concern I tried to determine just what was happening, but I was probably the last observer to get a clear view of the scene before the Committee. I’d spent so long as a journalist, though, that my instincts were still tuned towards getting the story out there. I tapped at the keyboard in front of me for a moment to make sure that as soon as the action was visible over the heads of the people in the observatory, the video I was looking at would go straight out over the satellite links as well.
It was Uvi at the centre of the platform this time. He had a brwance in one hand, a crude spear in the other, and he was glaring at the ground in front of him. I couldn’t make out what had drawn his ire, but the indistinct muttering from all the scientists was enough to tell me things had gone very wrong. This was supposed to have been my show, the warriors simply enabling me to get to the communications centre and send out my report. We hadn’t known that the debate to decide the final fate of Lucretia Falls would be taking place right now, but even so that would only help my plan. I would have waited until a suitable moment and added my photos from the lab, and a voiceover explaining Barishkov’s treachery. There was no reason for Uvi to be present, especially not making such a dramatic entrance to disrupt the meeting.
“Faulkner and Barishkov!” he boomed, “Liars and cheats. They come before us with their science, tamper with the natural mysteries that my people have so long revered, and they create a false god with which to enslave my people.” I was surprised at how eloquent his English was, his accent seeming exotic rather than alien. I didn’t catch the rest of his speech, I didn’t care for whatever gambits he put forward to let him seize control of the facility. At that point, the platform ceased its screw-thread rise and clicked into position, the safety railings around it sliding down into the ground to make a second clang, and my attention was entirely taken up by the sight of Lucy, bound and bleeding on the ground.
* * *
The plan didn’t matter. Protecting the animals, and keeping the lab community intact, were suddenly irrelevant. After a second frozen in place by horror, I forced myself to move. I told Marcos he was in charge now and ran out into the corridor. Two floors down from the communications centre, I was back in the main part of the clifftop facility. I didn’t remember the exact route to the Observation Room, and something in my mindless panic couldn’t bear to stop and look for signs, so I just took every staircase I saw leading upwards. There were knots of fighting men all over the building, and it wasn’t just a case of tribesmen, amerikanjie, and Benedicteans now. The city-born natives had split into those who considered themselves citizens of Lucretia Falls, and groups who were determined that Sante Benedicté was still their home. Everyone had strong views about which nations should be ruling which parts of the landscape, but there seemed to be almost as many different opinions as there were people. Even the soldiers sent in by the UN had conflicting loyalties, some determined to follow Barishkov’s orders as he was officially in charge of the base while others were already anticipating an order to stop him from their distant superiors.
&n
bsp; I ducked the fighting wherever I could, and didn’t seem to have too much trouble. I was just one more fearful journalist looking for somewhere to hide, not a scientist or a soldier of any faction. I wasn’t armed so most groups assumed I wasn’t a threat as long as they had some more immediate enemy to address. More than once, I managed to evade militia groups patrolling the corridors by ducking into a room and out the other side; anyone who hadn’t spent a week here wouldn’t realise that virtually everywhere except the staff quarters was accessible through at least two doors.
And then I was on the stairs up to the Observation Room. I hoped I wasn’t too late, but that wasn’t the biggest problem. The Observation Room was above 3 identically-sized circular levels of the building, linked by staircases on opposite sides like a double helix. There was an uneasy standoff happening on the stairs now, with American soldiers keeping their weapons trained on the tribesmen on the level below. Reaching the room would mean going straight through both groups. Uvi had bypassed this siege by going through the presentation area in the centre, accessible by a freight elevator that went all the way down to the labs as well as two now-barred doors on the second level below the Observation Room. I considered taking the same route: somehow convincing tribal warriors I hadn’t met before to let me break down the door, and then working out how to work the lift platform.
As it happened, blind panic was exactly the right way for me to get up there.