by Eliza Green
‘Explain to me the differences you see,’ Caroline said, moving in closer. ‘Tell me how you’re able to see and process that information.’
Anton’s face instantly became expressionless. ‘I assume your plan is to kill me. I just hope you make it quick.’
‘I promise that no further harm will come to you. That isn’t our intention. After we’re finished here, we’re going to send you home.’
Anton smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re a liar.’
Caroline stepped back from the table. ‘I know I’ve given you very little reason to trust me. Just remember, I’m not the one who conducted countless experiments on you over the last few months.’
‘But you have no problem giving me electroshock therapy.’
A pang of guilt hit her. ‘That was only to make sure you cooperated. The fate of our people—the same people that your first generation once came from—rests in your hands. Please say you’ll help.’
Anton didn’t reply.
MOUSE interrupted. ‘Dr Finnegan, can I speak to you privately?’
‘Not now, MOUSE,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I’m in the middle of something.’
‘I assure you, it is quite urgent.’
She sighed. ‘It had better be.’
Anton watched the doctor closely as she exited the containment bubble and left the room. He tried to listen into their conversation but he could no longer hear them. He struggled beneath his restraints. As he did so, the metal bit into his arm for the hundredth time, but each cut healed within moments of occurring. They seemed to have reinforced the restraints—either that, or Anton’s strength had diminished since his capture—probably both. Certainly the nutrients they’d given him had been carefully measured to prevent him from regaining his full physical power. What little blood they’d been feeding him just about staved off the hunger. Currently, he felt he had about fifty per cent of his optimal strength.
In his mind he resisted the doctor’s claims that his elders, and possibly his father Leon, had originated from humans. In any case, her claims raised other questions that he hadn’t thought of before. Why, for example, did both races think of themselves as ‘human’?
While Anton had prepared for the eventuality that he would be killed, the longer they kept him alive the more he believed they had other plans for him. Then there was the doctor’s promise to send him home. Was that genuine, or just a ploy to get him to trust her?
In the first month after his capture, they had kept him in a darkened room. He had repeatedly tried to escape, and almost pulled it off on one occasion. But the humans learned quickly how best to restrain him; then they experimented on him.
In the second month, his blood rations were reduced the more he fought, so Anton learned to reserve his energy for a worthy fight. Different humans carried out even more brutal experiments on him. After each experiment his body healed, but Anton’s mind was fragile, forcing him to regress to preserve what was left of it.
In the third month, new humans began a series of new tests, this time on his mind, in an attempt to ‘understand’ him better. Anton had maintained his regressed state, only returning to full lucidity when the humans pushed him too far. They had attributed his ethereal-like state to the drugs they had been administering, but Anton’s body had quickly become accustomed to the foreign drug and for two months, their medicine had had no effect on him. It was the hunger that kept him their prisoner.
Like his ethereal, withdrawn state, his lucid moments were also a performance, a trick to make the humans believe they were making progress. He figured that the longer he pretended, the longer he would stay alive. He was able to protect himself in the darkest corners of his mind, but the shock treatments had yanked him out of it, and he deeply resented them for that. At first, he had been too far inside his mind for the electricity to affect him. But the doctor had cranked up the charge and the last shock had burned him. A wall of heat bore down on him like an out-of-control fire and his mind struggled with the pain, forcing him to crawl out of his protective space and emerge into the real world. In the time since his capture, he had gone from trying to understand the humans, to feeling uncontrollable anger, to searching for a constructive way to channel his emotions.
Caroline Finnegan wasn’t like the older human, Charles Deighton. Anton could tell by the way she carried herself that she was following his orders. Her fear kept her sharp. He thought about asking her what exactly she was afraid of. When the sentient programme had interrupted their latest discussion, the frustration on her face was clear for him to see.
Anton closed his eyes and tried to hone in on their voices. They were muffled. He diverted all his remaining energy into improving his auditory capabilities. He strained to cast his hearing as far as the doctor, using her emotions to locate her. The auditory bubble resisted at first, then snapped into place around her. Their voices were almost unrecognisable—a tinny, almost echo-like sound—but he could just about make out their words. For the first time in three months, he got the chance to hear something that resembled the truth.
‘What is it MOUSE? This had better be good,’ Caroline snapped as she left Anton’s room.
‘He doesn’t trust you, but as soon as you mentioned Exilon 5, his serotonin levels increased.’
‘I thought they might. Does he believe anything else I’ve told him?’
‘No,’ MOUSE said, confirming what Caroline already suspected. ‘He has no loyalty to humans. He thinks you are feeding him a pack of lies.’
‘He has to know how important he is to humans’ future survival,’ Caroline said with desperation in her voice. ‘Sure, we can survive on Exilon 5 for now, but given our history, in five hundred years we’ll be back at square one looking for a new planet because we’ve ruined the one we’re on. We’re at the peak of our evolution, but crucially, they’re not. Something else has altered their design and their chemical makeup to make them superior to us. I have to know what triggered that change and how we can replicate it.’
‘Then perhaps, Dr Finnegan, you should just tell him that?’ MOUSE suggested. ‘You might find him more cooperative.’
‘I know. You’re right,’ Caroline said wearily. ‘But what am I supposed to do about Deighton? He was clear that I should keep to a minimum the amount of information I pass on to Anton. Maybe I should just tell him the truth. It’s not like he can share it with anybody. According to your data, he hasn’t attempted to contact anyone. We need to get back in there and see what our test subject can tell us.’
‘Speaking of test subjects,’ said MOUSE, ‘some of our guests from Batch 52 are getting restless downstairs. I woke up the next three subjects, like you asked me to. They are quite talkative.’
Caroline massaged her temples. ‘I keep forgetting they’re down there. Make sure our next stop is the holding area. Continue to monitor any changes to their vitals’—she paused—‘actually, do me a favour and pipe in some of your music. Let’s try to keep them calm. They’ll only be with us until we can determine if they’re a good match for the genetic programme. Oh, and please remember to do a complete wipe on the last batch’s memories before sending them on to Exilon 5. I had awful trouble trying to calm that man down from Batch 50 when he realised he wasn’t on the passenger ship.’
‘On it,’ MOUSE said.
‘We’re so close to creating the new code. I can feel it,’ Caroline said, her brow furrowed. ‘We can’t quit now.’
Chapter 18
Susan Bouchard watched Robbie O’Shea fidget and squirm in his seat. Her own backside and legs were getting sore too; she had been sitting down too long and the edge of the bucket seat was cutting into the back of her legs.
‘How long are we going to have to stay here like this?’ Robbie asked.
‘Stop complaining, kid,’ Joel said.
‘Shit, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,’ Susan said. ‘My legs feel like someone’s tied a bunch of weights to the ends of them.’ She began to
squirm too, unable to stop herself mirroring Robbie’s movements. Anything for a bit of relief, she thought.
Suddenly she felt something—a tingling sensation that seemed to start around her knees and spread down towards her ankles. The sensation stopped then started again, like a wave lapping up and down her legs. Each time it started it was more intense, until it felt like invisible hands were rolling her skin between thumb and forefinger.
She looked at Joel and he gave her a knowing smile. ‘God, that feels good,’ he said. ‘And just in the nick of time.’
Susan breathed a sigh of relief and concentrated on the pleasant feeling of the contracting and expanding force field applying rhythmic pressure to her skin. She had lost all concept of time. For the hundredth time, she examined the four tubes sticking out of Robbie’s arm. She looked down at the pouch covering her private parts, its only job to collect and remove urine from her body.
Robbie continued to squirm in his seat. No matter how brave the young man tried to look, his fear was evident. She had seen many things in her professional life and she knew that what he was feeling was entirely justified. She thought about her own work and the role she played in ‘luring’ volunteers to participate in their advanced genetic manipulation programme. It was Susan’s natural gift that had the most positive effect on potential subjects. She didn’t quite understand where her gift came from; she only knew that her power to persuade had always been good, even when she’d been a child. Her easy bedside manner was the main reason the World Government had selected her to be a front-end operator for the trials.
Susan’s own natural beauty accounted in large part for the success of the genetic programme. She had become its poster girl. They’d used photographs of her, with the tag line ‘Stick with the treatments and we can make you genetically perfect like her’, and her ‘gift’ had helped to bolster the volunteer numbers from ten in the first week to over four hundred after three weeks. She’d always thought of herself as a genuine person, but her role at the laboratory taught her to be smart, cunning even. She used her physical beauty to attract the men, learning when to back off if they seemed to be getting too close. Women were more suspicious of Susan’s easy-going nature, and so her non-bullshit approach worked best with them.
Of course, the tag line wasn’t true: Susan wasn’t genetically perfect—she just looked like she was—and not all problems could be solved with the kind of genetic treatments they offered at the lab. Treatments at the commercial manipulation clinics used nanoids to re-programme existing genes; at the clinics they were able to make people taller, for example, or permanently change their eye colour, or give them a faster metabolism. The volunteers they got at the Toronto lab were people who had been let down by the manipulation clinics, and they came expecting miracles. The genetic treatments that the Toronto lab carried out went beyond altering existing genetic code; they added to it. Success with ‘imperfect’ volunteers was rare, but what they learned from the programme helped to improve existing treatments—so they told their volunteers. But how had Susan been so easily conned into becoming a ‘volunteer’ herself?
‘Do you think somebody will check on us soon, Susan?’ Robbie asked.
‘I have no idea,’ she replied. She yawned loudly; the massaging force field was making her far too relaxed.
Joel leaned forward and snapped his fingers. ‘Hey, Susan! Come on—we need to stay alert.’
‘I’m trying,’ she said.
‘We’ve been here for hours,’ Robbie whined. ‘Why don’t we just try calling out?’
Joel grunted. ‘We tried that an hour ago. Didn’t you notice how dead our voices were? That music they’re piping in has no echo or reverberation. The place is obviously soundproofed.’
‘We can’t just sit here and do nothing,’ Robbie whined. ‘I don’t want to be hooked up to these tubes indefinitely.’
‘Oh my God. Give me the lethal injection, please. HEY! WHOEVER’S OUT THERE, KILL ME NOW. THE KID’S DRIVING ME NUTS.’
‘Cut it out, Joel,’ Susan said wearily.
Robbie called out. His words died as soon as they left his mouth, dropping like deflated balloons. Undeterred, he kept trying.
‘I told you it wouldn’t work,’ Joel said. ‘Take the free advice next time, kid.’
‘Give him a break.’ Susan sighed. ‘If it helps him to do something, let him yell a bit longer.’
Joel scowled. She heard Robbie sobbing quietly. Then they heard what sounded like a door opening. It was accompanied by a stream of light.
For the first time, Susan could see the actual size of the room—the acoustics had played tricks with her; it wasn’t as big as she’d thought. She heard the distinct sound of heels clacking on the hard floor—two sets of feet. The light disappeared when the door closed. Susan tried to find a way to identify who the people might be—something familiar like a voice perhaps—but any sound there was deadened as soon as it hit the walls.
Robbie was the only one who was happy about their visitors. ‘I told you it would work,’ he said, sniffling and smiling at the same time.
Joel said nothing and Susan shot Robbie a look. In order to listen properly, she needed him to shut up.
‘Check on the others. Make sure none of the units have been compromised,’ a female said.
‘Straight away, Doctor,’ replied another female.
The sound of clacking heels filled the room as the second woman went off to begin her checks. The first woman approached them, her movements abrupt and clinical. ‘MOUSE, bring them down to my level,’ she commanded.
A tinny bot voice replied: ‘As you wish, Doctor.’
Somewhere in the background, a machine whirred and Susan, Joel and Robbie were brought to ground level as if they were on a rotisserie.
‘How many are awake this time?’ the doctor asked, standing right in front of them.
Susan stiffened as she recognised the voice.
‘Just three, Doctor.’
‘Is that all?’ she said, clearly unimpressed. ‘There are thousands here. How are we supposed to get through them all in such a short time? Why just three, MOUSE?’
‘These three are genetically closest to each other. They’re also showing a positive reaction to the solution I have been administering.’
So that’s what the green tube is for, thought Susan.
‘What number is this batch again?’ the doctor asked, not looking at their faces.
‘Fifty-two.’
‘Okay, formally note that and let’s get started.’
Susan gave Doctor Caroline Finnegan the once-over as she prepared to address them. She wore a white lab coat over a plain black top and black trousers, and her reddish-brown hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, as it usually was. She held a DPad in one hand.
‘My name is Doctor Caroline Finnegan,’ she said, without lifting her eyes from the DPad. ‘I apologise for the conditions you’re being kept in. I hope you’re comfortable.’ Her speech was well rehearsed, like she’d been through this routine a thousand times before. Susan noticed Caroline’s disinterest. Clinical detachment from her subjects, just like a true World Government employee. Susan understood very well what that was like. Caroline glanced up briefly at Robbie, then looked back at her DPad.
‘Actually this is quite uncomfortable,’ Susan said, a slight tremor in her voice. ‘Are we prisoners?’
Caroline’s expression changed in an instant and her eyes searched the faces before her. After what seemed like a long time, she replied. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘Well, why the restraints then? Please remove them and these tubes from our arms. We would like to go,’ said Susan a little more confidently.
Caroline shook her head. ‘I mean yes, you are prisoners, but you’ll be able to leave shortly. That’s what I meant.’
‘How long do we have to stay exactly?’ Joel asked.
Caroline massaged the bridge of her nose. The doctor is stalling, thought Susan.
‘Careful, Dr Finnega
n,’ MOUSE boomed overhead. ‘The female patient is registering increased levels of adrenaline. Her heart rate is also increasing.’
‘Thank you, MOUSE,’ Caroline replied through gritted teeth. She addressed Susan, trying to sound friendly this time. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t remove your restraints or tubes at this time. We need to conduct some further tests to see if you are a match. We … I will come and get you myself. You need to stay here until we’re finished.’
‘What kind of tests? What genetic matching are you doing?’ Susan asked.
‘That information is classified,’ Caroline said stiffly.
‘Can you at least tell us where we are? This isn’t the passenger ship,’ Joel said.
‘That information is classified.’
Susan stared at her. ‘How long are we going to keep playing this game, Caroline?’
The doctor forced herself to meet Susan’s eyes, her recognition of Susan apparent. ‘This isn’t a game.’
‘Do you two know each other?’ Joel asked.
‘Don’t you recognise the good doctor from our chats over the communication stream, Joel?’ Susan said.
Joel leaned forward for a better look. ‘No. Can’t say I do. I’d have remembered her,’ he said bitterly, sitting back again.
Caroline stiffened. ‘Wait, you two work together?’
‘Yeah. So?’ Joel said.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Caroline. I can see it written all over your face,’ Susan said.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know you worked together,’ Caroline said.
‘When are we going home?’ Robbie piped up.
Caroline dropped her gaze back to the DPad. After a minute or two, she said, ‘We’ll be ready for you shortly. Please be patient. Not much longer, I promise.’
‘This won’t be the last you hear from us,’ Joel said angrily.
Caroline’s eyes flicked from Joel to Susan and back again.