Free World Apocalypse - Genesis

by T. K. Malone

“Quite the contrary. Molly’s been monitoring the situation, and she thinks she has a reasonable theory. Molly?”

  Molly jumped up from beside Byron and dumped herself down in the mud by Connor, then leaned in toward him and whispered, “I think that’s Zac’s child and Saggers has been bringing the boy up, but—and this is where it gets feisty—I don’t think Zac knows.”

  Connor laughed, “Impossible. Zac never left the city, for a start.”

  “How do you know?” Byron asked. “What about all those smuggling routes you told me about. Perfectly feasible that he could slip out.”

  “And you think he had a thing with that woman?” Connor asked.

  “Yep,” said Molly. “Trust me, I can read folk. That’s why Saggers don’t want to tell him.”

  “But,” Kenny muttered, “it’s all irrelevant gossip, because Zac must have been scraped like the rest of us—so, no kids.”

  “Ah,” said Byron, “and that’s you believing a Free World lie—one perpetuated merely for equality’s sake.”

  “Eh?” said Kenny.

  “The so-called scraping was merely a way of collecting sperm. The injection to make males sterile was phased out years ago, once the desired psychological effects had rooted. No, the cutting of the female tubes was really—” Connor followed Byron’s now distracted gaze. The boy was walking around the fire and straight toward them, leaving behind Saggers and the woman, who were now in a heated argument.

  “Are you Connor?” the young lad asked as he dropped to his knees in front of Connor.

  “Yes,” Connor told him.

  “My mommy’s Connor?”

  Connor looked from the boy to Molly. She bit her lip and nodded encouragement at him.

  “That,” Connor said, “depends on who your mommy is.” But already, Connor was imagining the impossible.

  “My mommy’s called Teah. We haven’t seen her since the men came.”

  Connor felt his tears well again. “Yes,” he whispered, and the boy fell into his open arms, somehow familiar, and for a moment, Connor was lost in the embrace as though they’d become one. It reminded him of the feeling he’d had when Zac and he had embraced earlier, when Connor hadn’t wanted to let go. Though his eyes were closed, he sensed Saggers and the woman approaching. When he opened them, he saw the woman had knelt down before him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “He should meet his father,” Connor said, but when he looked over the fire at Zac, his brother was now staring at them.

  “Why…” Connor sniffed back his words. “Why haven’t you already—”

  “We were waiting for the right time,” Saggers told Connor. “It just never showed up, not until now.”

  “Do you want to meet your pa?” Connor whispered in the boy’s ear, then realized he didn’t even know the lad’s name. He looked up questioningly at the woman.

  “Clay,” she whispered, her own eyes now full. “She called him Clay; said she couldn’t make her mind up which one of you she loved the most, so named him after both of you.”

  Connor nodded, then whispered, “Clay, you wanna go and meet your father?”

  When Clay nodded, looking somewhat bemused, Connor got up and pulled him back into his arms. “Thank you, Ethan,” Connor said. “And…”

  “Hannah.”

  “Thank you both for looking after him.” Connor led the boy over to Zac, who was now shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his hands together, clearly nervous. He shot Billy Flynn a look then lifted his gaze to the stars as they neared. But then Clay stretched out his arms and reached for his father, who pulled him in as he attempted to stifle his sobs.

  “Are we gonna find my mommy, Dad?” the young lad innocently asked, and Zac could only nod, his lips trembling as he fixed the gaze of his glistening eyes on Connor.

  2

  Connor’s Story

  Strike time: plus 10 days

  Location: Promontory

  Connor jerked awake. Zac was standing over him, silhouetted by the bright moonlight.

  “You awake?” he asked, his tone one of forced amusement. “I need you to meet someone, but first I gotta explain a few things.”

  “Who?”

  Zac dropped to his haunches. “The man who wants you dead, that’s who.”

  Connor sat up, rubbing his eyes, though Zac’s words had instantly cleared his head. “Dead?”

  “Not here,” Zac said. “I’ve found just the place.”

  Zac led him across the small lake, the stepping-stones glistening silver in the night, and then along its farthest shore. They climbed a series of rocky ledges until Zac hauled himself onto its top, reaching back and pulling Connor up.

  “Where are we going?” Connor wanted to know.

  “Saggers showed it to me earlier,” Zac told him. “I’m going to show you what isn’t there anymore, show you what The Free World left us.”

  Connor followed him as he strolled along a stony path until Zac drew to a halt and sat on a rock ledge. “This looks out over the remnants of Black City—of course, you aren’t gonna see fuck all tonight, but that’s kinda the point, isn’t it?”

  “The point?”

  “No lights, Connor. Don’t you remember? Twenty stories tall, thirty, whatever the blocks were. Little squares of light all set against a black background. Don’t you remember the bloom of light in the night sky? And the red, blinking lights over every grid block. All gone.”

  “Sticks said Billy Flynn and you went into the city. How’s that even possible?”

  Zac shrugged and pulled out a pack of smokes. Lighting one, he passed it up to Connor and then took one for himself. “We had suits. Six of us went in—me, Billy, Noodle, Loser, Laura, and Switch; five came out—Switch didn’t make it. If you want to know what’s left, think your worst thoughts, and even then you’ll be a million miles away. Everything’s gone—just twisted, charred and broken debris. That was Oster Prime’s bargain.”

  “Bargain?”

  Zac scoffed. “Bargain,” he ruminated as he ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s for another time. Listen, I take it you’ve noticed the soldiers with us.”

  “The ones dressed like you and Billy.”

  Zac nodded. “And Noodle and Loser.”

  “You look badass.”

  “Hmmph, I’d rather have my leathers.” He shrugged. “Unless I’m in a firefight. This getup wins hands down then—you can almost walk straight through the shit. Seriously, Connor.” Zac’s voice was now filled with enthusiasm, “We just walked up through that army stationed outside the bunker and shot them up like they were targets.”

  “And that’s—”

  Zac laughed. “Yeah, it’s bad.” He nudged Connor. “But what a buzz. Anyway…”

  “Another time?”

  “Yeah, the soldiers—”

  “So...” Connor took a draw on his smoke. “So, Sticks says they ain’t feds, or the SDF. Sticks says they must be mercs.”

  “Mercs? Yeah, that’s about right. Only trouble is—I can’t quite work out what side they’re on.”

  “You said there was The Free World army and everyone else—so, if they ain’t feds, then they must be with us.”

  Zac peered up at his brother in the moonlight, and Connor noticed that he seemed confused, as though he truly didn’t quite comprehend what was happening, either. “Sure, there’s the preppers, and then there’s…” Zac stood and swiveled around, then fell to one knee and grabbed Connor’s legs. Looking up into his eyes, he appeared to be trying to see into Connor’s thoughts. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t know that he’s still alive? How in hell did I forget that?”

  “Who?” And now Connor’s heart was racing. His brother’s sudden change of mood had unsettled Connor. “Who’s he?”

  “Cornelius. Back there.” Zac looked down into the darkness below, “Back when Pauly was talking about Cornelius—that was our father he was on about. Connor, our father is alive.”

  For just a moment, Connor struggled with his brother’s
words. His father was nothing more than a distant memory—someone who’d just vanished when Connor was only five; someone no one in his family had ever referred to again, at least, not when he himself had been around.

  “But he…” was all Connor could say.

  “Listen, what he did... He went away—”

  “To prison—you never said, but there were records. I know… I know what he did.”

  “And he still has no remorse, no shame, but whatever he did, he’s still your father.”

  “Our father,” Connor whispered. “He was our father.” Connor pulled Zac back up. “What do you think? You knew him more than I did. When you found out he was still alive, what did you feel?”

  Zac sat back down and looked straight ahead. “The truth? Sick—sick like I’ve never felt before—and filled with an all-consuming joy.” He looked up at Connor. “That’s what I felt: revulsion and euphoria, both at the same time.”

  “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Zac hissed.

  “What’s he like now?”

  “Now? Now he’s liberated, now he’s finding his feet again.”

  “And is he a monster? Is he a monster like I was supposed to be?”

  Zac scoffed, his rueful smile confessing his own confusion. “A monster? Aren’t we all? He’s ruthless, of that I’m positive. He’ll kill without mercy; I’ve seen that. But then, so will a soldier. Cornelius will kill to protect his own. A soldier kills because he’s told to, and a merc will kill for money. So, does that make our father bad?” Zac got up and put his arm around Connor. “Or is he actually better than all of them?”

  “But he killed…”

  “I know,” Zac said softly. “And try as I might, that’s something I can’t forgive him for.”

  “But you forgive him for other things?”

  “Brother, trust me, I forgive him nothing. Nor, now, do I judge him.” Zac lit another smoke. “When a few men have destroyed a world, how can you judge someone who hasn’t? What I’m trying to get at is this: was he right to resist them all the time? If we’d actually fought the government, actually resisted, could we have stopped it all?”

  Connor took a smoke. “Not a chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, of the nine million on the grid, nearly all didn’t even think. I can see it now—now I’ve seen a man crushed to death in a cave, now I’ve seen an enemy who was probably a friend have his throat cut. I see the gridders for what they were—for what I was.

  “The Free World got what it wanted in the end, a population that had finished questioning everything, that had finally got to the point where they just accepted what they were told. That was the grid, Zac, just fake news and fake burgers; a peaceful cocoon in which to live our lives and where we all thought we were something special, something precious. No, you would never have woken them; they were quite happy sleeping.”

  Zac took a drag on his smoke. “Is that you talking…or that computer?”

  Connor snorted. “You always get both with me, Zac—I’ve known that since she went dark for a while. Trust me, there ain’t nothing to fear from her.”

  Zac nodded. “And that brings us fair and square right back to the mercs and their leader, Renshaw.”

  “Who want to kill me…”

  “Yeah, they do.” He patted Connor’s shoulder, then grasped it to reassure him. “So, armies: Cornelius has got one—all the ex-cons; the preppers have one, and Renshaw’s boss, well, bosses, they have one—Irving and Walter Meyers. Odd couple. British. Only one little problem with this: we haven’t got a clue whose side Renshaw’s on. And then there’s The Free World. They have one, a big badass one.”

  “You’ve missed one out,” Connor said. “Assuming Banks is with The Free World, then you’ve missed out Croft and Sticks.”

  “Sticks has men?”

  “Croft—Croft’s his commander—he has about two hundred trapped in the bunker, looking for a way out.”

  Zac whistled. “Man, that would help some. I take it they can’t come out the same way you did.”

  Connor shook his head and told Zac of their escape.

  “Four-hundred-odd, and all trapped underground—that’s some twisted shit.”

  “Thing is: there has to be another way out—Charm escaped.”

  “But where?” Zac muttered. “Man, I wish I’d brought me some of Saggers’ whiskey.”

  “Got some right here, Zac,” Renshaw’s voice sounded out from the darkness. “Am I too early? Connor?” Renshaw drew near and offered Connor his hand. “Nick Renshaw.”

  Connor hesitated, then shook. “I believe you’re the man who decides my fate?”

  Renshaw laughed, passed Zac the bottle of whiskey and sat, facing them. Connor and Zac themselves sat down. “I think your brother has a say in that, but I’ll be honest, I expected something a little more…freaky; yeah, that’s it. I expected a freak.”

  “A freak? Like what? Foaming at the mouth?” Connor fidgeted uncomfortably.

  Renshaw shook his head. “Not so much mad as…muttering to yourself, maybe; saying things out of the blue—that sort of thing.”

  “You’d best not meet Kenny Holmes,” Connor muttered.

  “Who?” Zac interjected.

  “Kenny. The big guy. You had a word with Byron Tuttle yet?” Connor asked Zac.

  “Who?”

  “The old man, thin as a stick. Says he knows you, that he used to go into the bar.”

  Zac frowned. “Can’t remember him, but then quite a few gridders came through my doors.” Connor studied Zac for a moment, wondering if he was lying, or if he’d just been too drunk to remember. He passed him the whiskey. Zac looked at the bottle, took a swig and passed it on to Renshaw. “Foggy days, them; foggy, boring days. So, Renshaw, whaddya think? Is he a monster?”

  “Monster? Maybe that was the horror story, but tell me this: how do we truly know what’s in Connor’s brain. Could the AI be hiding under a mask of normality? Is it just waiting to spring up and end humanity?”

  “Doctor Charm said much the same thing,” Connor said, putting out his smoke. “He asked me how he could truly know who he was talking to, and I had no answer for him. Why? Because I haven’t got a clue. Let me tell you something about myself, Renshaw. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.” He offered his wrists up, as though ready to be cuffed. “There, is that what you wanted to hear? Has Sable made me aloof?”

  Renshaw hesitated, looking unsure. “I… I don’t know. Walter, Irving, they both said you’d be like that.”

  “Have you thought about the fact that I had my childhood ripped away—without explanation? Or that I found my mother dead on the kitchen floor and no one else was there? Or that I was taken away from my brother and into a third and entirely different life a couple of years after that? Teah told me once that I’d died in the sewers, that my heart had stopped beating. She told me that only Charm’s hospital could have saved me, that the intelligence called Sable had dragged me back from death.

  “So, sure, I’m aloof—I’m completely fucked up, and this AI you all fear so much is the only bloody thing that has kept me sane. I’d trust her, Nick… Renshaw—whatever you want to be called. I’d trust her over your Irvings, your Walters, your Oster Primes. I’d trust her over Josiah Charm.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Renshaw asked, in no more than a whisper.

  Connor picked up Zac’s pack of cigarettes. “Because she never left me.”

  “What?”

  “I set her free; in the compound, I set her free. My consciousness traveled with her—don’t ask me how. We left the compound, traveled under Black City and to what looked like a bridge.”

  “The fuse,” Zac muttered.

  Connor nodded, “Yeah, the fuse. She could have gone on. I sensed her straining to burst free of her shackles, but she didn’t. She blocked the way and withdrew.”

  “Why?” Renshaw asked.

  “And there is the true question, and so succi
nctly put: why?” Byron Tuttle said, and joined them, sitting next to Renshaw. “I watched you all make your way up here and thought ‘Byron, now, there’s a meeting you want to be at—there’s a meeting that might actually change the world.’ So, I bring with me yet more whiskey and smokes, and I suggest we try to come to some decision, because time is becoming critical.”

  At first, the three men silently regarded Byron Tuttle, as if his intrusion were unwelcome, but Byron appeared so at ease with it that they soon accepted his surprise appearance.

  “And?” asked Zac.

  Byron lit himself a smoke, took a swig of his whiskey and then cleared his throat. “Ever the expansive vocabulary, Zac. We used to have a much better discourse when you were blotto, but then I doubt you remember me, and that’s just fine—I was there to observe you, not the other way around. Tell me—straw poll—what really frightens you about the concept of artificial intelligence?”

  For some strange reason, all eyes settled on Renshaw. “Okay,” he eventually said, “I’ll play. How do we know it won’t kill us all?”

  “How do you know it will? How do you know it will evolve to a point where it can?”

  “What about that razor thing?” Zac said. “What was Irving going on about?”

  “Occam’s Razor. Irving Meyers, I take it—the man’s a hack,” Byron spat. “He uses his science for financial and intellectual gain. It doesn’t surprise me that a man like Irving Meyers would see only what he could use as an outcome. How can he sell fear when there’s nothing to fear? How can he gain influence protecting the world from that which seeks no dominion? Occam’s Razor plays no part in this, because the AI does not seek dominion.”

  “You mean, Sable doesn’t want to take over the world?” Zac asked.

  “What possible motivation could she have for that? ‘Why,’ as Mr. Renshaw rightly put it? An AI is merely an extremely efficient computer unless you give it motivation, and if you give it that, you’d better be damn careful of the parameters you set.”

  “So, what your saying is… What are you saying?” Renshaw asked.

  “Put it like this: when Connor was a gridder, he was taught to be afraid of the countryside, taught that he would die of a simple cold. But now? What now? He’s still alive. What if you, Renshaw, have been taught that AI will destroy the world? Ask yourself, what motives would those telling you that possibly have?”