Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  Dominic held up the coat for her to slip into, and took her arm. She followed after him, still without speaking, to his car. As soon as she stepped out of the door, goose bumps sprouted over her arms inside her jacket and a chill shook her.

  “It’s cold!” she bleated.

  “Minus thirty,” Dominic said. He pointed to the car. It sat, running, in front of the hospital, its exhaust lit up by the streetlight, issuing grey into the frigid air. He opened the door and helped her in. The vents blasted air at full tilt, but still Khalia was cold for a good ten minutes as they drove.

  “H-how is the project going?” she asked, after they had drove about fifteen minutes. That, at least, was a safe topic—she thought. “What about the revisions?”

  “It’s getting done.” He glanced at her. “Barjinder and I have been working twelve-hour days, but it’s getting done. I’ll send you the reports. Actually, we wanted you to look them over and make suggestions. We’ve made a few key changes in the cognitive areas, and also some proposed environmental changes for once the prototypes emerge. A more supervised social environment.”

  “Okay. Email them to me. I can look them over at home.”

  "I wanted..." He paused and chewed his lip for a second, "If it's acceptable to you, I'd like to spend some time discussing them with you tomorrow. Purely business."

  Khalia flinched. She couldn't help but be overwhelmed by images of them eating Chinese food, drinking coffee and planning until it was late, and then falling into bed together to repeat it the next day.

  "Of course," she said.

  "During the work day? Adam cleared it."

  Her eyes widened. "He did?"

  "With some reluctance." His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile.

  "I bet," she muttered.

  He looked over again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay at home by yourself?”

  Khalia snorted. “Dominic, I’ve always been alone at home. This isn’t the worst thing that has happened to me.” That was true. When Jeremy had died there had been no one to comfort her. The closest thing had been good old Barjinder and his wife, who had brought her food once, and been incredibly accommodating at work.

  They pulled up in front of her dark house. Dominic walked her inside and while she took off her coat and stood at the door, looking around the entry and the dark kitchen, he walked through the house, adjusted the thermostat, and peeked in the fridge.

  “Hmm. I’ll bring you some milk,” he said.

  “No, it’s okay.” She crossed her arms across her chest and stared at the table. “Just go. I’m okay.”

  He looked over his shoulder and his straight expression changed, just a little. If she hadn’t known him, and at one time spent so much time fascinated with the play of his features, she wouldn’t have noticed it. Sadness, mixed with absolute exhaustion.

  “I’ll bring you some,” he said. He walked back to the door and slipped past her, his wool coat brushing against her arm. His spicy scent teased her nostrils.

  He opened the door, smiled weakly at her, and went out. She watched him through the peephole. Her eyes ran over the hard line of his shoulders, under the high collar and black wool coat. MFP. MFP. See? They all look exactly like that. Too thin, though. He’d be out of spec.

  “You would have rejected me without a second thought,” he had said.

  Yes, yes she would have. Khalia lifted her chin and turned away from the window.

  __

  The milk clunked down on her table before Khalia looked up from the book she was pretending to read. She’d forgotten that the door was unlocked.

  Dominic raised his eyebrows and gave the carton a quarter turn. “How do you feel?”

  She surveyed him. It was only twelve-thirty, but his face was strained and pale. Oh Dom, you look so tired.

  Don't.

  Khalia threw down her book and got up off the couch. “Tired and bored. I’ve considered putting on my coat and going for some wine, or something—anything. But it’s too cold.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’ve got nothing to do, and no one to talk to…”

  Shut up. Remember who you’re talking to.

  "So I'm ready to go to work," she finished lamely. She picked up the carton of milk and carried it toward the fridge.

  “Here.” Dominic reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a loaf of bread and a bunch of bananas. “I don’t know what normal people eat. I’ve never bought milk in my life.”

  “Huh?” Khalia looked back.

  “I drink soy or almond milk. A vestige of Caspian, I suppose. I don’t like real milk.” He smiled slightly but his eyes remained dull.

  "Oh." Khalia shut the fridge door and leaned against it. She eyed Dominic, who stood near the door, still in his coat, his shoulders hunched as if he was still cold. "You can come in. I can... make coffee." She turned away before he moved, and pulled the grinder down from the cupboard. She heard the shuffle as he pulled off his shoes.

  "I'd like that," he said softly, "It's abysmally cold, far too cold for this time of year."

  Instead of their usual positions, kitty-corner from each other at the end of the table, they sat at opposite ends. Dominic propped a tablet computer up in its case, and passed a folder of papers across to her.

  "The inquiry into the MFP's... assault on me is finished." Dominic opened the folder and pushed one of the sheets toward her. "In the interviews, I suggested that there might have been a breach of trust with the MFPs."

  "Was that based on something you observed?" Khalia frowned at the sheet of paper.

  He coughed. "I believe I may have caused that breach of trust."

  "When?" She glanced up, but his eyes were on his files.

  He didn't answer her question. "I proposed to continue with our social experiments with the understanding that we would maintain absolute trust with the MFPs and increase our security measures. Interestingly enough, they did revisit your case."

  "My..."

  "Your attack, seven years ago."

  She lifted her chin. "And what did you tell them?"

  "I said that, by my observation, not all operators maintain a professional distance and might have treated the delinquent MFP unkindly or even with hostility. It was learned behavior."

  Are you serious? Khalia scrunched up her face, battling curiosity and the desire to not act as if she cared.

  If Dominic noticed, he ignored her. "I recommended closer scrutiny on staff and a review of training. Due to the enormous success of our exhibition, both Barjinder and I are keen on pushing the social and team aspects of the training further."

  Khalia barely listened. What do you mean it was learned behavior? Where did you learn it?

  "I've brought our outlined changes for you to review." He passed another paper.

  She tried to read it, but finally the need to know won out. "Learned behavior. Is that true, or is that just garbage that you made up?"

  "It is absolutely true." Dominic leaned toward her and clasped his hands around his coffee mug, behavior that often suggested a rant was soon to come. "That is exactly what happened."

  He said no more. Khalia squirmed in her seat. "Okay, I'll bite. Tell me what happened."

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Professional curiosity."

  His eyes flickered, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly up. "Imagine an MFP fresh from the biocrib. He has never opened his eyes, never felt cold. He emerges into blazing light and cool air, and is put in a bed alongside ninety-nine other new MFPs. He is cold, his senses are overwhelmed, and he is afraid. He is the size of an adolescent, but is innocent as a baby, and without power of speech. He cries."

  Khalia bit the inside of her lip. He's playing me, trying to get my sympathy.

  Dominic's eyes grew stormy. "And an operator slaps him to shut him up."

  "Oh God," Khalia muttered. She could see that happening. Adam would do that.

  "And say over the next few months, the MFP is hit or slapped on more occasions and learn
s that the people in gray are mean, and that the people in white coats just poke you and prod you and embarrass you. And say that one of those people—I suspect you can guess which one—tells you in explicit terms what your destiny is. And then, say, you witness another MFP being choked by an operator—"

  "Okay, enough," Khalia held up her hands, "So it was learned behavior and we should really be watching our ops more closely. I get it. So you figured out that violence was a way to get what you wanted, and realized that I was easy to overpower, so you escaped. You did it alone, but these MFPs worked together. We trained them to work together. How do we ensure that there is no breach of trust?"

  "The operators I handpicked are trustworthy," Dominic pushed the coffee mug away and looked her in the eye, "I chose them because I observed how well they interacted with the MFP1s. Still, we will need to work with the op training department on this one and put in place both behaviors that will inspire trust, and also defense maneuvers in case this happens again." He frowned and leaned back. "The human mind is a strange thing, and who can say what breaches trust? The simple fact is that until now we have viewed the MFPs as more simple-minded than they actually are, as if there was absolutely nothing going on in their heads." Light came into his eyes, just then, and he looked away.

  Khalia shivered and wrung her hands under the table. Great, just great. Going to work would be so comfortable now that she had to think of if the MFPs were conspiring against her. Heck, that had been the entire year after the MFP – Dom - had attacked her years before. Even a couple years later, Jeremy thought it hilarious to tease about the MFPs conspiring against her. “Did you ask 201 and 202 if they planned this together, or if they came up with their plan on spur of the moment?”

  He pursed his lips and appeared to consider his words. When he spoke, his words were deliberate. “No, it was premeditated between 201 and 202. They are friends.”

  "The training worked almost too well." Khalia brushed her hand across her chin. “There were never any indications that the MFP1’s formed any sort of bonds.”

  “They can.”

  Oh yes. You, right? Some bond that was. Khalia got up so she wouldn't have to look at him, and crossed the kitchen to put the kettle back on to boil.

  She heard Dominic push his chair back and stand. “The first MFP I stole from Caspian was an MFP1.”

  “How many have you taken?” She spun around.

  Dominic’s eyes narrowed. He stood beside the table, but as he spoke he took a step forward. “That isn't for you to know. The first MFP I took now lives with a couple in the worker district. His name is Sebastian. He’s like a little brother to them. He reads every bit of literature he can find, but he prefers science—medicine.” He took a step closer. His expressionless face had transformed. His eyes burned with intensity.

  Khalia tried to back up, but the fridge prevented her.

  “Listen,” he said, “Sebastian came to my attention because he attempted suicide, Khalia. He slashed his wrist with a scissor that he stole from an operator.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be possible?” Dominic took another step. “You read my thesis, or at least you claimed you did. Suicide is the highest cause of death among post-production MPs. What makes Sebastian so different from the humans who commit suicide every day. Haven’t you ever considered killing yourself?”

  “Many times!”

  They both froze. She hadn’t meant to say that.

  The hard line between his eyes softened, and melted away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I didn’t.” Khalia crossed her arms across her chest and looked away. Truth was, she’d attempted twice—once before Jeremy died, and once about a month after. Both times she’d chickened out and gone to the hospital.

  She could feel Dominic’s eyes on her.

  “MFP201 and MFP202 gave themselves names,” he said quietly. “202 is Saber, and 201 is Ryker. Ryker is anxious because Saber is still inside Caspian. Khalia…” He ran out of words, and Khalia looked up.

  He was standing only two feet away from her, one hand slightly raised, like he was going to touch her.

  "What?" She flattened herself against the fridge. "What, do you want me to tell you that we're just alike? That you're human?"

  "Damn it, I am human!" Dominic's hands clenched in the air. "Look me in the eye and tell me I'm not!"

  “No!" Tears spilled out of her eyes. "I can't!"

  His taut face went slack in an instant and the fire in his eyes went from explosive to a low burn. "Khalia," he said gently. His fingers brushed along her temple, and down around under her eyes. She could hardly take the tenderness. “But you do see.” His lips caressed her cheekbone. “You do see.”

  “Don’t do this, Dominic.” All the while her hands found his body and clenched in his shirt. His skin warmed her icy fingers. Every warning bell was going off—that she was slipping, that she was giving in.

  In a titanic effort, she wrenched her hands away and pushed herself back against the fridge. “You’re just like Jeremy! Just like him! Free the working class. Let them into the academies. Let them vote. What’s next? In the end he hated me because I was smarter than him, and more qualified, and that I made it into the academies and into the profession that I wanted when he could only be a mechanic at Caspian. Never mind that I practically sold myself to get that position. In the end he would preach his political crap to me while he was fucking me!”

  Dominic’s face contorted between appalled and stricken. He sucked in a breath like he was going to speak, but she held up her hand.

  “So don’t, okay? Just go away.” She turned and put her back to him like a wall.

  Dominic spoke softly behind her. “If he was still alive, I’d kill him for you.” He picked up his coat and tablet. His footsteps receded toward the door. It opened and shut with a dull thud.

  __

  As Dominic stumbled toward his car, he felt drawn forward by a strange euphoria and chased down by a dogging depression.

  Oh, you're human now, are you?

  What had come over him? Why the hell couldn't he retain that ruthless forward motion that had brought him from the academy into the doors of Caspian? Why was he bringing her milk and bananas when he should have dropped her like she was carrying the plague?

  He thrust his hands in his pockets in time to feel this phone buzz. He held it up. The screen blinded him for a second as it switched on. Chassagne. Was he bringing him the next package or what?

  Go to hell, Dominic typed. His thumb hovered over the send button. He hit the delete key instead. Eight o'clock. Inside the station.

  He should be collecting all the money he could, anyway. He should be moving his funds overseas, into the account that was ready, with the I.D. and the history and the apartment that was ready for him to run to. He should be bailing on them all, right now. But Dominic knew already that he couldn't do that.

  CHAPTER 18

  As Justine passed along the corridor, she eyed the guards in the corner. Where once there had been one or two per long corridor, there were now two at each end, and a couple in the middle—armed.

  “Just a precaution,” the supervisor had said.

  But Justine had been paying close attention to the MFP’s, and among the MFP1’s there was not even a whiff of rebellion. They went on being their usual compliant self.

  MFP202, however…

  She glanced behind her and pushed the door open.

  Don’t act so guilty. No one knows anything.

  “Good morning, Saber,” she said softly.

  Saber, who sat with his knees to his chest in the corner of the bed, looked up at her. “Good morning,” he said hoarsely.

  She scrutinized him. He was growing well, taking on muscle. In the first two days after he had attacked Dominic he had refused to eat, but when she had brought him news of Ryker and their plan to free him, he had agreed to appear compliant, and do everything he was supp
osed to. He was a spectacular actor, playing the part of the vacant, obedient MFP perfectly whenever the scientists, other operators, or quality control personnel were around.

  Justine put the tray of the food on the table and picked up the wand. Saber held out his arm woodenly, and didn’t even look at her as she did the morning checks.

  When she was done, she put the food in front of him.

  “Eat it,” she ordered. “Eat it and listen.”

  He glanced at her and began drinking the nutrition shake.

  “Your rejection order has been issued,” she said softly. “Two weeks from now.”

  He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand.

  “I’m going to tell you the plan, and you have to memorize it, all right?” she said.

  Saber nodded.

  “At the end of next week you will go through your final round of physical and mental tests. After that, they will take a variety of blood and body fluid samples, and then you will be ready to be rejected. I will take you to the rejection room, where Dominic will be waiting. He is scheduled to perform the rejections, along with Lisa.”

  Yes, in spite of her performance the last time, they needed Lisa.

  “Dominic will take your rejection blood samples and cut out your tracking chip, and then Lisa will walk you out, and either Sebastian or Casey will be waiting for you. Sebastian is an MFP. He’ll look a lot like you. Casey is shorter, with dark hair and green eyes. He’s my husband. They’ll take care of you.”

  Saber nodded vigorously. She had told him all about Oakley, where Ryker was now living and thriving.

  “They will bring you to a place, where someone from Oakley will pick you up. It’s going to be very cold outside, but they’ll give you warm clothes.”

  “How cold?” Saber’s dark eyes intensified.

  “Colder than you can imagine,” Justine said. There was nothing for Saber to compare winter to. “Do you understand? Repeat it back.”

  Saber rattled it all back to her, rapid-fire, word for word.

  “Sounds good.” Justine smiled and touched his hand. “This will be over soon, Saber. I promise.”