Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  “Which is exactly what they need.”

  Dominic narrowed his eyes at the far wall, and said nothing.

  The piece du resistance was a chess match between not MFP2 and student, but prototype MFP201 and the English representative, a man that Dominic had on good authority was an expert chess player. The MFP beat him in fifteen minutes.

  Khalia had felt pride radiating from Dominic like it was his own son who had just triumphed.

  “That went well,” she repeated.

  Dominic looked up from his computer screen with weary eyes. “Yes,” he said, and looked back.

  “Hey.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stop. Right now I’m acting as project manager, not your lover. Give me your rundown. How did you think it went?”

  He sat up straight and turned the chair toward her. “The English representative said to me, ‘It could be an officer, not just a common soldier’.”

  “Wow.” A smile broke across Khalia’s face.

  Dominic didn’t smile, and soon hers faded, too.

  “Isn’t that good?” she asked.

  “In terms of the project, yes. But the whole time he spoke to me he never referred to the MFP as ‘he’. Just ‘it’. It pissed me off.”

  Khalia stared at him for a moment. “Well…”

  “Maybe MFP203 isn't a man,” Dominic said with a hard edge to his voice. “But he isn’t a robot, Khalia. He could do my job!”

  He seemed to come to himself, then, and the fire in his eyes faded and he was just solemn Dominic again.

  “I can’t afford to think like that, Dominic,” she said softly. She had ceased to think like that years ago—before she’d even started at Caspian. It made it too difficult to think of them as anything other than subjects, or MFPs, or specimens.

  Dominic sighed. “No, and I suppose I cannot, either. Have you ever wondered what those men would do if they were allowed to live normal lives? Would they want a family? Go to school? These, at least, would qualify to go to school.”

  “No, no I’ve never wondered that.” Khalia shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. She stared at the computer screen, just beyond Dominic. “They can’t have families, Dom. They’re sterile.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “They never have to worry about where their next meals come from. They never have to struggle for a job. They get the best medical care anyone could want. You said it yourself. They have nothing else to worry about. How bad of a life is that?”

  Dominic slapped his hands on his knees abruptly and stood up. “Look, I’m sorry. This is a great day for you, and it should be for me. I don’t know why I’m ruining it for you. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be angry,” Khalia said softly. She slid her hand over his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck. “The exhibition is an absolute success, and we’ll have another round in six months to try again.”

  His face contorted for a moment, and then went absolutely blank. He leaned in and kissed her lightly. “You’re right.”

  “Come over tonight,” she whispered.

  He nodded and stepped back. A few seconds later Barjinder entered, carrying two bags of takeout.

  __

  Dominic arrived, discreetly, on her doorstep five minutes after she did. Khalia was still standing in the entry, trying to decide if she should put on sweats or to stay in her nice clothes. Dominic still bore tension around his eyes but he just sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist before she could go anywhere.

  “Do you want coffee?” she asked.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he muttered against her ear.

  Later, she lay snuggled up to him and watched his eyelids flicker. His body was rigid. “Dom,” she whispered, “Dom, are you still mad?”

  “No.”

  “Are you still thinking about the test?”

  “No.”

  She pushed up on her elbow. “What’s wrong, then?”

  He finally opened his eyes, “I’m just tired, Khalia. Go to sleep.”

  Khalia lay back, stung by the abruptness of his words. But then he reached over and ran his fingertips across her cheek. She relaxed against his shoulder, but a weight remained in her stomach.

  CHAPTER 13

  Dominic stuck his head under the faucet and let it trickle into his mouth. He swished the tepid water around in his mouth and spat it out, then repeated, and again. Still the taste of vomit wouldn’t leave his mouth.

  “I just sanitized that tap,” Jennifer said behind him.

  He looked up. She had her hands on her hips, a smirk on her red lips.

  “I’ll sanitize it again,” he said, and let it gush into his mouth again.

  “What, are you sick? You shouldn’t be here if you’re sick.”

  How could her voice be so damn annoying in an ordinary conversation? “My breakfast didn’t agree with me. I’ll be fine.” His stomach was still churning, actually. It just didn’t have anything left to send up. He lifted his head and pulled up his lab coat so he could use the inside to wipe his mouth.

  “Yeah, whatever.” She screwed up her face and left him be.

  Dominic grabbed the bleach and sprayed it all over the faucet again. The smell of it made his stomach feel worse. He walked away, back to his desk.

  As he sat down, Khalia passed by. She slid her hand over his shoulder, and set a can of ginger ale in front of him. “I know it’s no use to tell you to go home,” she said softly.

  He popped the top of the ginger ale, and it fizzled in his hand. He raised it to his lips and drank. It burned his raw throat. “You have your hair curly again,” he croaked.

  She turned back with a tremulous smile. The fluorescent light behind her lit up her coffee-colored ringlets in a halo. She had them piled up on top of her head, escaping in tendrils everywhere.

  “It’s so beautiful like that,” he said, and watched her eyes light up.

  “You might be the only one who thinks so,” she said softly, averting her eyes. “But I don’t really care anymore.”

  “Good.” Dominic opened up the folders of classified MFP2 prototype files and videos of the exhibition. Chassagne was waiting. He’d said that his reps were very impressed with MFP2, and were looking forward to his own ‘product’. Which reps had been under his pay, Dominic didn’t know. At first he'd been miffed that Chassagne didn't tell him he was sending reps, but after giving it thought, realized it had been for his own protection.

  The rejection was scheduled for 2:45, just as the operators would be returning from their last break. Justine and Lisa would have a quiet space of time to transfer the MFP’s to the rejection room and slip them out to Casey. Dominic would be there early, preparing paperwork.

  Khalia left the room. Dominic took a sip of the ginger ale and dragged the folder from the desktop to a dummy email account he'd set up. In ten seconds the message was gone. Dominic deleted the account.

  The waiting began.

  Two-twenty. Dominic had forced himself to sit still, to work, to complete the two reports that had been sitting on his desk. He was about to explode.

  Two-twenty was close enough.

  He stood up. Khalia looked up from her screen.

  “I’m going onto the floor for the rejection,” he said.

  Once again he felt his stomach churn. He breathed in slowly, held it, let it out, breathed in, and repeated. Slowly his heart came into control.

  Easy does it.

  He passed Justine just as he stepped out of the airlock. She glanced at him, then quickly away. She was heading toward the MFP2’s dormitory room.

  Dominic deliberately walked slowly, his feet making no sound in their boot-covers. The production floor, normally kept so cool, felt hot and oppressive.

  The rejection room. He slipped on gloves and pushed his way in.

  The rejection operators looked up. They had just laid out four syringes, identical, menacing, gleaming in the white light.

  “All set?” Dominic asked, injecting his
tone with lightness.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll go for break now, and be back right on schedule.”

  “I will begin the paperwork. If they bring them early I’ll just have the operator assist me.”

  “Okay.” They slipped out, single file, and Dominic listened until he could no longer hear their footfalls. Then he walked to the other side of the room and unlocked the engineering corridor.

  A minute later Justine poked her head in.

  “Clear,” Dominic said.

  She pushed the first MFP in.

  “I will take a blood sample,” Dominic said to Justine. He turned to the MFP. “Justine will be taking you for a walk. You will follow her and do as she says, all right?”

  The MFP’s eyes flickered at him. Dominic could hear his elevated breathing.

  Dominic retrieved a sampling needle from the prepped jar, and the MFP held out his arm. Dominic took the sample, then took the scalpel and slit the MFP's skin where the tracking chip was.

  The MFP hissed in a breath.

  "Shhh," Justine whispered. "See the chip? We have to take it off."

  Dominic tugged out the silver piece with his forceps and slipped it into a tiny bag. “All right.” He nodded to Justine. “Leave your bracelet, Justine.”

  Justine slipped it off her wrist and set it on the table. Then she took the MFP by the arm and opened the door of the corridor. “Follow me, all right, 203?”

  He watched them go, then wrote on the records, MFP203, rejected. 14:32. He left the signature section blank. He would have the rejection operators sign, and he would verify them so that neither Justine nor Lisa would be tied to the rejection.

  Lisa came through the door with MFP204 a few minutes later.. Her hands were shaking too much to removed the MFP's tracking chip. Dominic yanked the scalpel from her hand and removed the chip with one, neat slit.

  "Thanks," Lisa breathed.

  MFP204, rejected. 14:38, Dominic wrote on the form. The door to the engineering corridor opened a crack and Justine peeked out.

  "Clear," Dominic said. He pushed 204 toward her and Justine slipped the MFP into the corridor. The door shut behind her.

  “I'll go get the next one,” Lisa stammered.

  Dominic glanced at the clock. They had eight minutes before the rejection ops returned, ten at the most. “Hurry.”

  Justine came back, breathing hard like she had ran. “All good,” she squeaked.

  “What happened?” Dominic asked, looking her over.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I just realized we're tight for time. I’ll get the next one.”

  As she opened the door, Lisa came in with 205. “I had to bring 205. I can’t find 201’s rejection approval.” Her voice squeaked. “It isn’t in his folder. Were you going to keep him as the sample? Or was it 202?"

  “Take him in. I’ll be right back. Justine, come with me.” Dominic shoved open the door and looked both ways. The corridor was empty, but he could hear laughter. The operators were returning. He turned back, bumping into Justine. She scurried out of his way, down the corridor. “Lisa, if the rejection ops return, stall them, okay? Say there’s been some confusion—or that you’ve been told to wait. Okay?”

  He half-ran after Justine, down the hall to the holding dormitory. 201 and 202 were sitting on their beds, heads down.

  Dominic yanked the sheaf of papers from the folder at the foot of 201’s bed and flipped through the pages and pages of reports, data, conception report, even prototype order. No rejection order. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll make another after the fact. It’s all right. Let’s take him. We don’t have time.” He grabbed 201 by arm and lifted him to his feet. “Get up. Come.”

  The MFP turned his head and met his eyes. His black eyes were cold, bitterly defiant.

  A thrill passed through Dominic’s belly and he understood. The rejection order was gone, and for good reason.

  “Come,” Dominic said.

  The MFP’s glanced at each other.

  201 yanked his arm away, and while Dominic was off balance, swung at him. His fist caught Dominic across the jaw and snapped his head back.

  Justine screamed.

  202 grabbed Dominic’s flailing arm, but Dominic had regained his scattered senses. He drove his knee up into 201’s groin. The MFP fell backward onto the bed. MFP202 swung at him and pulled Dominic toward him simultaneously. He didn’t have time to do much, just duck. The fist caught him on the ear.

  For a moment all he knew was the high ringing inside his head.

  Then the security guards burst in. They threw 202 against the wall and pinned 201 to the bed. In a moment they had their wrists cuffed.

  Dominic staggered back into Justine. She steadied him.

  “What happened?” One of the guards turned to him.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Dominic groaned.

  “What should we do?”

  “202 is to be kept. 201 is scheduled for rejection.” Dominic did his best to summon his thoughts. He held his throbbing jaw and blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision.

  Lisa. 205.

  “Justine, go back and tell the rejection ops that the rejection will be postponed,” he said. It came out garbled, but she seemed to understand.

  One of the guards eased him down onto a vacant bed. Dominic looked up as the other tossed 201, his hands zip-tied behind his back, onto his bed. The MFP’s black eyes bored into him.

  What do I do? Think!

  “Take 202 to one of the solitaries,” he said. His voice came out thick. His jaw was beginning to feel jammed, like it was half stuck-shut.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Justine in the doorway. She motioned to him. Her eyes were huge.

  Dominic staggered to his feet. “Take 201 to solitary also. I’ll come for him soon.”

  “Okay,” the guard said. “But shouldn’t you…?”

  Dominic gave him a look and he shut up. Justine pulled him through the door and it shut behind him.

  “205 was rejected,” she said under her breath.

  “Okay, good,” he said.

  “No! I mean he was killed.”

  “I told them to wait!” Dominic roared.

  Justine cowered against the wall. “Lisa… Lisa panicked.” Tears were welling up in her eyes.

  “Damn her!” He sucked a breath in through his aching jaws and forced calm upon himself. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  “Get out of here,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be part of this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Wipe the look off your face. Nothing happened. Nothing. Got it?”

  He turned, and he heard her walk away, her breath in sobbing gasps.

  I could kill you, Lisa.

  And the rejection operators, those bastards who were just doing their job, innocently evil. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and for a moment he didn’t feel the pain for the surge of rage within him.

  Think. Think. You have to get MFP201 out of here, regardless of the fact that he’d gladly decapitate you.

  The guard’s head poked out of the door. “Sir, we’ll bring them to solitary now.”

  “Okay. I will come see them soon.”

  “You don’t want 201 rejected now?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” The guard pushed the door open the rest of the way, and his comrade pushed 202 out of the room ahead of him. A moment later, 201 and the first guard emerged and marched down the hall. “Go get first aid,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

  But Dominic wasn’t ready to leave the floor. He stalked down the hall to the rejection room. MFP205 lay on the table, head lolled to the side, limp. One of the operators had just finished taking a vial of blood. The other started the rotary saw just as Dominic entered the room.

  Dominic stared as the blade sliced into 205’s skin. The hot flush of anger had passed. His blood had gone to ice within his veins.

  The MFP’s blood sprayed in a red mi
st onto the paper-covered table and the operator’s apron—cardinal red. The saw whined higher and higher as it bit into bone.

  Dominic could not look away. He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He held it up as the operators began to peel the MFP’s chest cavity open, and snapped a picture. Then another, and then another—the white paper, the cherry-red blood, the blue lips of the dead man.

  No one would mourn, but Dominic would avenge.

  “The paperwork is by the door,” one of the operators said over his shoulder, even as his hands were inside the still-warm body.

  “Thank you.”

  How did his voice come out so steady? He took the sheaf of rejection records and walked out.

  He could hear the commotion of the floor operators, louder than before. He took out his phone again. 15:30. Shift change was in thirty minutes. The lab would be emptying in half an hour.

  He turned and headed for the solitaries.

  __

  Khalia pressed save and stood up. Her phone said 4:15, and still Dominic hadn’t emerged from the floor in spite of the uproar that the MFP2’s had caused. Her coworkers had left one by one.

  There was going to be such hell to pay for this. Sebert would hold them to account, but Adam would never forget. Dominic had taught them to work together, and not to trust him.

  Khalia had jittered around the lab, going over every part of the training program in her head, until it all mushed together. She wanted Dominic’s account, his plan. He’d have one.

  Khalia leaned against the wall of the lab and sighed. The fight flowed out of her. They could figure it out tomorrow—they would. But now that the lab was empty, she was longing for a few more things than just Dominic’s plan.

  Where are you?

  Khalia walked slowly around the lab, picking up things. She shut Dominic’s laptop and dumped out his half-full coffee cup. Tenderly, almost. She had filled it for him, hours ago, and he had looked both ways and kissed her for it and brushed his newly clean-shaven cheek against hers.

  I still liked the beard.

  As she lingered at the door, about to switch off the lights, she heard Dominic’s hushed voice at the front of the lab.

  “…I’m just going to make sure it’s empty. It’s dark.”