They claim that GenPhen was repeatedly selected by middle managers at Bel’Natur because of its exemplary track record in the early verification of highly engineered sensory and cognitive abilities, and have acknowledged only a failure on the part of these relatively low-ranking department heads to ensure that corporate welfare standards were adhered to. It was well known that lab director Dr Nick Henderson had a seemingly unparalleled ability to accurately identify the expression of supernormal capacities in even very young children. It was something for which GenPhen was known and admired within the human gemtech industry, and gem children as young as three were sent to Henderson for testing.
The details of how he achieved such stellar results emerged shortly after the Declaration. Henderson and most of his staff had already disappeared by then; while several staff members have since been located and arrested, Henderson himself has never been found.
Contrary to popular belief, genetype alone cannot predict with 100 per cent accuracy the degree to which the supernormal abilities engineered into a genome will actually be expressed. Time and extensive testing is required to determine what the engineered individual is truly capable of. This period of a gem’s life was one of investigative and commercial dormancy for gemtechs, while they waited for the natural progression from infancy through early and into middle childhood. Obviously the sooner they could determine the success – or otherwise – of their efforts, the shorter the research cycle and the more cost-effective the end products.
It is only fair to recall at this point that the rampant abuse and neglect that had formerly characterised gemtech crèches had been addressed and significantly reduced by the time of the Declaration. For the most part what the health and social services were confronted with when they finally took full control of the crèches was less the fallout from overt physical and psychological damage than the passivity, depression and emotional isolation of children who had never been shown affection or given individual attention for their own sakes. However, a significant cohort of children who did exhibit signs of psychological, and in some cases physical, trauma were discovered to have one thing in common – they had undergone testing at GenPhen.
As the children’s histories were collated and studied, a pattern of systematic abuse emerged. Photographic records compiled at intake documented fading evidence of physical restraint and injury, including in some cases what appeared to be electrode burns. The accompanying medical records indicated the use of pharmaceuticals both to facilitate testing and, apparently, to induce memory loss of the testing process itself – chemical cleansing as a substitute for parental care or professional therapy. Full or partial amnesia was the most ubiquitous characteristic of the GenPhen test subjects, and the one which initially caught the attention of the authorities.
When faced with this evidence Bel’Natur and other gemtech clients denied all knowledge of GenPhen’s practices and joined the chorus of condemnation of Nicholas Henderson. While there appears to have been a widespread conviction among GenPhen employees that Henderson took orders from somewhere ‘higher up’, no one knows who this ultimate boss may have been. Any evidence of links to a parent entity is protected by Dubai corporate registration. When police raided the lab three weeks after the Declaration, they found it deserted. Both on-site and remote datastream archives had been wiped. A year-long, worldwide manhunt for Henderson has failed to turn up a single lead.
Ultimate culpability has therefore never been established. The only records of what Nicholas Henderson did to helpless children, and why, reside in incomplete crèche intake files, the fractured memories of the children themselves, and the reluctant testimony of former associates. They claim that Henderson personally oversaw the care and medication of the children, and conducted the more extreme testing without assistance and in secrecy. While undoubtedly selfserving, without Henderson himself this assertion cannot be disproved.
To those who protest that such behaviour, while regrettable, simply reflected the zeitgeist of the time, it should be made clear that it continued until at least a month prior to the Declaration. By then public and political opinion had turned firmly against the excesses of the gemtech industry, which claimed, loudly and falsely, that it had listened and learned. Indeed, one of the most disturbing aspects of the GenPhen scandal was the rumour circulating among several of the lab’s employees that there may have been a child undergoing testing right up to the date of the Declaration.
A police investigation concluded that this rumour was unlikely to be true. As soon as the correlation was made between the amnesiac, abused children in crèche and the GenPhen facility, the inventories of GenPhen’s clients were crosschecked against crèche rosters, and the whereabouts of all children were verified. The police are therefore inclined to discount the tale as an invention by those under scrutiny themselves, in order to appear cooperative or to deflect attention from their own abuses. One must hope most fervently that they are correct. If not, then the mystery child disappeared along with Nick Henderson. If he existed, his fate does not bear imagining.
The GenPhen scandal is just one of many that came to light only when the autonomy of the gemtechs was finally and fully rescinded. It was neither the first nor the worst example of their callous disregard for the safety, health or welfare of their human products, but it is a signal reminder to the rest of us of the dangers of an unregulated, arrogant, greedy industry.
Unless and until Henderson is captured the full, dreadful extent of GenPhen’s institutionalised child abuse may never be known. However if those who call for a repeal or restriction of the Declaration have their way, it might be repeated.
Zavcka Klist read the Observer article with bone-cracking anger. The GenPhen affair had been little more than a wavelet in the flood of scandals that had accompanied the Declaration. She had worked hard to keep it that way, her own hunt for Henderson as much about finding him first to prevent him being found by others as finding out what he had done with the child. She no longer needed him for that. But now their ability to reclaim the boy had been fatally compromised.
The rumour had never been made public before. She was sure of it, had made sure of it. In fact there was a lot in the piece that had not made it into previous newstream coverage. It was no secret where the Observer’s editorial team stood on the gem issue, but they rather pompously refused to engage in the often questionable tactics that led to scoops and exposés, tending instead to opine with righteous indignation on the findings of others. But this commentary was based on more than year-old snippets from public police briefings. Someone must have passed them a file.
She considered the options, and concluded that it did not, after all, have much immediate significance, beyond the obvious negative publicity. Unless and until her proposal formed the basis for future legislation on gem rights, they would not be able to make use of the boy anyway. It would therefore not be worth the trouble of trying to claim him publicly, or the risk of attempting a retrieval. Not with him safely sequestered in the heart of the Squats. No, the best course would be to wait until the new, more regulated, more transparent, more humane and infinitely more profitable indenture infrastructure was put in place.
Then she would do a deal with Biomin to acquire Bal’s contract, a goodwill gesture demonstrating their commitment to keeping couples and families together. Maybe buy them all up, this little knot of rebels that appeared to have formed a pseudo-family around the boy. Forget the rights that had been signed over by his birth parents a year ago, before they abandoned him and fled. Rely instead on the ones she was creating for the future.
She would have to explain this to Felix. Rewrite his notes. Make sure he understood the significance of this development.
She messaged public relations with instructions not to respond to the piece beyond a reiteration, if necessary, of their previous denials. Then she turned her attention to the core business of ensuring the optimum environment for the proposal itself.
Despite her assurances to Felix,
she was not at all sanguine about sailing through on the back of Eli Walker’s report. Bel’Natur’s proposition would, she was sure, go far beyond anything he would be prepared to support. He had said he’d shared their analysis and vids of the murder with the authorities, but she thought he would have done so cagily, mitigating the immediate, visceral response. She needed to bring that back, use the raw, shrieking horror of it to slam home the necessity for segregation and control until they could be absolutely, completely sure of each and every gem.
Such a commercially damaging revelation, delivered with their own breast-baring mea culpas, would position Bel’Natur as the ultimate honest brokers. Reformed characters. A giant brought low, humbled and contrite and ready to serve.
As long as none of the rogue elements came home to roost. There were too many, and she put down another surge of anger, this time at herself for having allowed so many plates to simultaneously spin. Still, the risks were minimal. No one save Henderson and the parents knew of their connection to the child, and it suited neither to surface. The fake gems had been shaved, equipped with facial prosthetics and dispatched to a comfortable retirement abroad. Their handler also would never have to work again.
The Preacher had disappeared, and she could only hope he had the sense to stay that way.
*
They had to wait at reception for another set of refugees to be registered, assigned housing and introduced to an escort who could guide them to it. John could not quite credit that even among the misbelievers and the abominations this was considered acceptable, that actual humans should have to cool their heels while a giant-sized, lizard-eyed, demon-clawed monstrosity fussed over a pair of puce-haired goblins. But Tobias only smiled and nodded and stood back, for all the world as though it were normal behaviour, and John could do nothing but follow suit.
It was an opportunity to learn, he told himself, and tried to listen in. But his confidence was shaken by the sense he had of being the alien, a lone and vulnerable intruder into hostile territory. It was the overwhelming ratio of gems to norms, and the easy way they inhabited the space. As another volunteer had walked him from the church to the outreach centre, he had seen more and more of them, bustling about as if they owned the place. They had set up shops, they were milling around the entrances of buildings, they were strolling down to the river in a brief spell of weak winter sunshine. Some of them glanced at the two norms in their midst, even nodding in a familiar way to his companion, but most ignored them completely.
The lack of deference, even of notice, was like a slap in the face. It was as though they really imagined, actually believed, that they had some sort of rights here, some kind of status. If anyone out there in the sheltered, unthinking, let’s-all-get-along world needed a reality check, he thought, this was it. He and his comrades were being denounced by every politician, priest, media channel and socialstream philosopher, but they all needed to get wise to what it was they were really fighting against. The possibility – no, probability – that if matters were allowed to proceed unchecked, one day everywhere would be like this.
Another vexation was the name he heard over and over as he delved deeper into the Squats. Nelson. It whispered and echoed from the snatches of conversation he caught amongst the gems on the street. His guide had intoned it, going on and on about the sweet, gentle nature of the victim, the cruel irony of his having been one of the first true converts from the Squats and how that made the murder a double tragedy. It had been the first thing Tobias referred to when they were introduced. He assumed Nelson was the inspiration that had sent John back to the arms of the UC. Which was not entirely incorrect, but it was still sickening to hear the mewling, lemon-headed coward spoken of in such glowing terms. Like he was actually important. And now there was the name again, flickering across the public-notice surface of the reception desk. A funeral, three days hence, on the quayside. Tobias would officiate at some sentimental parody of a true Christian burial.
I did it, John thought. It was me and Mac and Simon that tipped him over the edge. I’m here to tip you over a bigger one. Stupid, unnatural bastards. If you only knew. The thought gave him strength, and renewed his sense of conviction, and he clung to it like a mantra.
The two at the desk retrieved their tablets, now linked to the local network, and waddled off behind another freak, a female gillung who looked like one of the grey seals John remembered from childhood trips to the seaside. He swallowed hard to keep the bile down as Tobias stepped forward, and steeled himself to look at the giant gem as he was introduced.
‘John used to be a member of one of our sister parishes, over in Ealing,’ Tobias was explaining, polite as you please. ‘He’s been away for a while but recent events have brought him back to us.’ He smiled benevolently at John, who nodded and tried to smile back. ‘He’s made himself available over the next few days and we’ve put him on the rota, but I thought I’d bring him over to meet you since he’s new and I won’t be here tomorrow.’
Mikal eyed him thoughtfully. For one panicked moment John thought he was going to stick out that twisted travesty of a hand and knew that he would be unable to bring himself to shake it. But Mikal merely thanked him and glanced back down at his tablet.
‘We may get a few more arrivals tomorrow, but it won’t be anything like today,’ he said. His voice was deep and sonorous and a bit nasal, as though it had travelled miles up from the seat of his chest but been caught in a bottleneck on the way out. ‘And we’ve got a good system set up for that now. We’ll still need to make sure anyone who has to travel is safe, but I think the main thing will be to help people settle in and make sure they have what they need. We’ll be getting supplies distributed to the main residential blocks, so if you could help us with that?’
‘Of … of course,’ John managed. ‘Sure. Whatever.’ He swallowed again. It was hard to actually speak to it, harder still to feel he was accepting instructions, almost impossible to request them. But he had volunteered for this and he had to make it work. ‘Where should I go, what time?’
‘Come here, whenever’s convenient for you. Someone’s always around, and the police are based in there.’ He nodded at a door, and raised his voice slightly. ‘Gaela?’
A flame-haired woman stuck her head around the door. ‘Yeah? Hey, Tobias.’
Tobias raised a hand in greeting as Mikal said, ‘This is John. New volunteer, he’ll be helping out tomorrow.’ He blinked that toe-curling, double-lidded blink.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Great. Hi, John. Thanks. Welcome aboard.’ She looked him up and down, nodded to Mikal and disappeared back into the room.
John knew who this was. She was the one who could see like an animal, who had sent the poor guy from last night out into the storm to be set upon by her kindred, and then lied about it. And been believed. The credulity of his own kind was sometimes hard to fathom.
Beside him, Tobias winced. Mikal chuckled. ‘Don’t take it personally. Previous errors make future mirrors.’
‘Oh, I know. Quite right,’ Tobias returned. John realised with a start that the woman had just scanned him.
He almost lost it then, mouth opening for an instinctive protest. But Mikal was looking over his head, and Tobias turned, and John caught himself in time and turned as well.
Aryel Morningstar was coming towards them, the lumpen black cloak swaying as she moved. Beside her walked a tallish man with slightly greying hair who looked rumpled and a bit tired and altogether ordinary. John thought he had seen him somewhere, recently, might even know his name. But he had a sense that the setting had been very different, and he could not think who the man was.
They appeared to be nearing the end of a deep, quiet conversation. The man was nodding earnestly. John caught the words, ‘Don’t worry,’ and then Aryel looked up, saw Tobias and him and changed the direction of what had been a stroll towards the exit. There was a flurry of greetings, Tobias murmuring, ‘John, new volunteer,’ again, him nodding dumbly again, and then the man was saying g
oodbye.
Gaela’s head reappeared round the door. ‘You off?’
‘Yes. Thanks again. I didn’t realise you’d be back at work?’
‘Not for long. Just finishing up a couple of things before tomorrow.’
Mikal looked up from his tablet. ‘Driver’s out front, Eli.’
‘Thanks. You’re sure it isn’t a problem?’
‘No.’ It came out as a chorus from Mikal, Tobias and Aryel Morningstar. She laughed. It was, John thought vaguely, through the dread that pressed in on him, a strangely appealing sound.
‘It absolutely is not. We’ve got the most efficient transit service in the city at the moment.’ She slipped her hand under the man’s arm to walk him to the door, and cocked her head at Gaela. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Sure.’
As the double doors swung closed behind the three of them, John had to muster all his self-control to prevent a fit of trembling. He rubbed sweaty palms inside the pockets of his coat. Here was further proof, as if he needed it, of how deceitful the system was, how degenerate those it appointed. Mac would be glad to know this, but not surprised.
Eli Walker. He had been in the background of the newscast last night, would be in the spotlight at the Conference tomorrow. He was the one who had been entrusted to convey the truth, but instead, like all the others, would choose to lie.
*
They stood on the dank pavement and watched the car drive away up the decrepit old avenue. Gaela shivered a little in a keen wind that whipped up from the river and cut right through her coat. Aryel stood still, impassive and apparently warm enough in her cloak.
‘You told him,’ Gaela said.
‘Yes.’
‘All of it?’
‘Almost all.’
They turned, walking slowly down towards the water. Gaela drummed her fingers softly as they passed the stubby cable box behind which she had found her son, a year ago on another cold winter’s evening.
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