Sons of Earth

by Geralyn Wichers

  “Where are you going?” she slurred.

  “Just to get my phone. I’m not leaving.” He picked his pants off the floor and fished the phone from the pocket. He climbed back in the bed and kissed her on the cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  After that, no promises.

  He propped himself up on his elbow, back to Khalia to block out the light of the screen, and to block her from seeing any of the images. He unlocked the phone and brought up the pictures.

  MFP205, chest peeled open.

  Casey sprawled on the ground, a bullet through his head.

  He let the bloody images burn into his brain. He let the anger boil up like bile in his throat.

  He might not be able to do much, but he could make sure that Caspian couldn’t cover this up.

  "You will see." He gripped the phone so tight his knuckled popped, and stared at the image of Saber, dead on the brown grass. "You may deny it, but you will not shut your eyes."

  __

  Khalia awoke. The streetlight still shone through her window. It was early, before her alarm. Dominic’s arm was around her waist, his face in her neck, breath warming and dampening her skin. He was finally relaxed, asleep.

  She lay as still as she could and relished his warm body beside her. Half an hour passed before Dominic stirred a little and sighed.

  “Mm…” He lifted his head. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Khalia fumbled for her phone. “Five-thirty.”

  “Oh.” He rolled over and brought her with him, on top of him. He lifted his head to look straight into her eyes. His dark eyes were sleepy, but intent on hers. “Khalia, I've got to go.”

  “Dom…” She’d known this was coming. She’d felt it.

  “I’ve got to make some arrangements.”

  “You have a… a plan, then?” she said.

  “I can’t tell you. I need you to be able to honestly say you didn’t know my plans.” He struggled a little more upright. “But what it will mean is that I’m going away, and probably not coming back.”

  She wanted to scream no! No! But the look in his eye stopped her. There was a certainty and a conviction there that could not be denied. Her eyes burned with tears. “I wish…”

  “I wish we could have more time together,” Dominic said. “I’d spend my life with you if I could, but I can’t let this go. I have to finish this.”

  Khalia dropped her head to his chest. He stroked her frizzy hair. It was curling again.

  “I’m going to leave you an address and a phone number for Oakley,” he said,“In case things go south for you. This is going to be big, and who knows what they investigate.” He kissed the top of her head and rolled her off of him.

  She sat up and swiped at her eyes. “I’ll be okay. I always have been.”

  Dominic sat up and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself, Khalia. You’re not okay. I wanted… I wish that…” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

  Khalia turned so she wouldn’t have to look at him and dropped her feet onto the floor. “Can I… make you eggs?”

  He choked. She turned. He was crying.

  CHAPTER 22

  Khalia slipped off her gloves as she passed through the turnstiles into Caspian’s familiar hallway and sighed. It’s just an ordinary day. You have to pretend it’s just an ordinary day. You don’t know anything.

  Adam rushed past just as she entered the lab. “Khalia, did Dom say anything about not being here?” His face was taut with stress already. His forehead was wrinkled all the way up into his receding hairline.

  She shook her head. “No, he never told me anything.”

  “Okay… well he’s not here and he hasn’t called.” He began to walk away. “You can manage, right? Sebert’s on my ass.”

  “Yeah.” Khalia pulled on her lab coat and grabbed her travel mug off her desk. Barjinder’s coat was on his chair. Next to hers, Dominic’s desk was as neat as he always left it. One half-finished report lay open, waiting for him to return. She picked it up and scanned it. She’d be finishing it, after all. After coffee. She turned and headed out toward the cafeteria to refill her mug.

  She sensed something was up as soon as she walked in. Operators and office-workers were scattered at the tables, and every one of them was staring at the TV. She turned.

  The TV was muted, but the marquis under the newscaster blared: “Leaked photos incriminate Caspian Genetics”. The camera switched to Dominic, at a press conference.

  “Is that Vermeer?” Jennifer stopped beside her, a coffee mug in each hand. “That’s Dom!”

  He stared at the gathered reporters with the same confidence he had displayed at every conference. His eyes were bright with intensity. The subtitles spelled out what his mouth was saying. “According to official company statistics, 237 Manufactured Fighting Personnel were killed last year. These were designated for death because they were too light, too heavy, too smart, or because they had been injured and it was not worth rehabilitating them. Or because they were prototypes, and though there was nothing wrong with them, they were not needed. MFP205 was such a prototype. His brothers, MFPs 201, 203 and 204, were stolen from Caspian genetics and now live normal, productive lives. They have names. They have friends. Sebastian is an MFP, who attempted suicide rather than be sold as a soldier. He was rescued, and now is the beloved ‘little brother’ of my dear friend. He is a history buff, and can quote Plato word for word. Yesterday, two people were caught stealing MFP202 from the facility because he was scheduled for death. They were caught by Caspian guards and, rather than being given a trial or proper justice, were shot and killed. What is the difference between the dead MFP and the dead man? The dead man leaves behind a beloved wife and little brother. The dead MFP leaves behind a dear friend who was waiting for his safe return.”

  Pictures flashed onto the screen: an MFP, dead, chest cut open to remove organs. Another, a dead man lying in the snow, blood pooled around his head, and then, finally an MFP with blue eyes—Sebastian—in a headlock with the same man from the previous picture, both grinning like Cheshire cats.

  Khalia’s stomach heaved.

  The camera returned to Dominic’s face. He stared straight at the camera, almost into her eyes. “It has been said that MFP’s have no soul, that they cannot form normal relationships, that they cannot lead normal lives. I know this is false, because I am an MFP.”

  “Oh.” Jennifer said. “Oh!”

  __

  Khalia shut the door against the cold and dark and leaned against it. Finally the tears came.

  The uproar around Caspian had been tremendous, but all day long, Khalia had bent over her desk and pretended nothing was wrong. Then Adam and two of the HR girls had come.

  Did she know about this?

  No.

  Had she suspected him of stealing MFPs?

  No. She thought the building was secure.

  Did she know where he was now? Had he contacted her?

  No.

  But it wasn't over yet.

  She pushed herself off the door and wiped her nose on the nylon jacket sleeve. As she straightened, she realized there was an envelope perched on the corner of the dining room table. It hadn't been there when she'd gone to work.

  'Khalia' was written in blue, ballpoint pen on the front. She slipped her finger under the seal and the white paper tore open. It was a fat wad of cash. Hundreds. Probably… her hands shook... Probably ten grand at least.

  “Oh! Oh, dear God!" She dumped it on the table, and a piece of notepaper fell out. She picked it up between two fingers.

  “Khalia," it said, "I have loved few people, and you were the first. Dominic.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Khalia was the only member of the lab present when MFP2.2 emerged from the biocrib. She was the one standing before the bed as the glass lid opened, and the operators helped MFP206 sit up. As he sat, he looked right at her. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, and then in an instant his lu
ngs filled and he wailed.

  The operators jerked away and he fell, but Khalia sprang to his side. The cry died on his lips when she looked into his eyes.

  "Hey," she whispered. "Don't cry."

  His breath shuddered. His huge eyes were chocolate brown. So, so much like Dominic's.

  Dominic, who could be anywhere at that moment, if he in fact still lived. Tears surged behind Khalia's eyes.

  "You're okay," she stroked the MFP's face with her fingertips. His body slackened against the biocrib. "Bring the robe," she ordered. The two ops gripped 206's shoulders and made him sit again. Khalia draped the soft, black fabric around his pale shoulders.

  She leaned in close. "You are... human."

  EPILOGUE - 1 YEAR LATER

  "...continuing coverage of the protests outside Caspian Genetics, today. Anti-MP protesters clashed briefly with police before protest leaders brought the crowd back under control..."

  Justine shook out the t-shirt, scented with laundry detergent, and folded it into the basket. She didn't know why she kept watching the protests, but it seemed she couldn't pull her gaze away from the footage of the surging crowds, the signs, the familiar swarthy face of Tony Sebert, holding tight-lipped, terse press conferences.

  "How long?" she sighed, "How long, oh, Lord?"

  She bent down and pulled another of Sebastian's shirts from the basket. As she looked up, the camera panned the milling throng and settled on one figure. He carried no sign, in fact his hands were in the pockets of his dark coat. His collar was turned up against the stiff breeze. He turned his head and stared into the camera. His face bore the classical features of an MFP, and his dark eyes were arresting.

  "Seb!" Justine swung around, "Seb, that's Dominic!"

  Sebastian looked up from his textbooks. "What?"

  "That's..." Justine pointed at the screen, but the man was gone.

  ###

  Thank you for reading my book!

  I hope you were entertained and provoked to thought. If you enjoyed the story, would you please leave me a review on Amazon? I'd love to hear from you.

  Thanks,

  Geralyn Wichers

  About the Author

  Geralyn Wichers writes from Manitoba, Canada, where she gained her own manufacturing experience in the pharmaceutical industry.

  Geralyn lives by the motto 'Life is a grand adventure or nothing," and blogs her adventures in running, writing, learning, relationships (and general mayhem) at childrenofthewords.com. She also authored We are the Living, an apocalyptic love story. It is available in both Kindle and print editions.

  Connect with Geralyn:

  On Twitter - @GeralynWichers

  At her blog - childrenofthewords.com