Genesis Variant (Genesis Book 6)

by Eliza Green

  ‘But you’re uneducated and scrappy. You lose your temper over the most ridiculous things. You are unstable.’

  ‘Who fucking said that?’ Marcus hissed.

  ‘You just did. Most people just get on with it, but you think everyone owes you something because you once held a shaky position of power on Earth. Well, here’s the kicker. You only got that position because the educated relocated here. You’re no match for them. To be somebody on Exilon 5, you’ll have to prove yourself.’

  Marcus gritted his teeth and kept the name he wanted to call Harvey to himself.

  One of the soldiers came over and spoke to them formally. ‘I’ll be taking you to the safe house. The shared accommodation is nothing fancy, but you’ll be comfortable. Follow me, please.’

  Marcus and his group followed the soldier out of the animal den and into a waiting vehicle. The soldier got in the front and laid a set of coordinates into the dashboard console. The self-driving vehicle drove away from the abandoned biodome and headed west along a road that left the city behind.

  The contrast between the developed city and the land beyond shocked Marcus. Inside, carefully constructed roads and iconic buildings sat next to green spaces filled with trees and flowers. Outside, it looked like the world had fallen away. Except for the odd mountainous range in the distance, the single road appeared to run straight through a flat, stony landscape. Marcus stared into the distance. If there really were other cities on Exilon 5, he couldn’t see them.

  The car turned left suddenly on to another isolated road and stopped outside a half-constructed neighbourhood, identifiable by the rows of unfinished houses in various states of build. From what Marcus could see, this build appeared to span an area covering approximately fifty acres. The vehicle pulled up outside a three-storey house made of brown brick—the only one that looked finished. The start of the city wasn’t far, maybe a mile or so.

  ‘You must scan your chips upon entry and exit,’ said the soldier from the front seat. ‘Your landlord is waiting inside.’

  Marcus got out and entered the house. It looked nothing like the Deighton mansion on Earth. The house, with its wooden floors, white walls and basic, grey furniture, looked more like Albert Lee’s tavern than it did a home.

  He missed the opulence of the mansions on Earth abandoned by those with money and power and occupied by the criminal factions. He hadn’t given up power to become a lowlife like the Waverley rejects he’d controlled there.

  Harvey stood beside him. ‘It’s not that bad. I’ve lived in worse.’

  ‘Not bad?’ Marcus looked around the place that reminded him too much of his rough childhood home in Hunt’s point. ‘This is a fucking nightmare.’

  ‘Cheer up; things could be worse,’ said a tall man who appeared from another room.

  The man had long, brown hair tied back in a ponytail and glasses. He looked around at the faces in the room.

  He pulled a bunch of envelopes out of his back pocket and shuffled them in his hand. ‘Welcome, everyone. We’ve been promised more bodies for a while now. This neighbourhood build is six months behind schedule.’ He handed everyone an envelope. ‘My name’s Ollie Patterson. These contain your assigned rooms, your schedule, when you work, when you eat.’

  ‘How much do we get paid?’ one man asked.

  ‘You’re paid in food and board.’

  ‘Shit,’ said the man.

  Marcus couldn’t agree more.

  ‘Get settled in. Work begins at 7am.’

  Ollie left the room and the group tore open their envelopes.

  Marcus opened his white envelope with a red dot in the left-hand corner. It contained a key to room four on the first floor, and a card with a holographic interface showing his schedule for the next day. He picked up the card and tried flicking the information on, like he would with a DPad, but only one screen existed. Then the schedule changed and something new popped up for that evening. It read:

  Meeting at 10pm. Flip the card over and wait at the red location.

  Marcus turned the card over and a map appeared of the building zone showing him his current location in green and another marked in red.

  The others headed off to their rooms.

  Harvey stayed behind and examined his room key. ‘Room 5. Looks like we’re beside each other. Isn’t that cosy?’

  ‘You can forget about coming into my room at night. I like girls.’

  Harvey glanced at the card in Marcus’ hand. ‘See you at ten. Don’t be late. And don’t scan your chip when you leave.’

  He walked off before Marcus could ask him what the meeting was for. What happened at ten?

  ☼

  At ten minutes to ten, Marcus left his room. The directions that had disappeared right after he’d seen them had appeared on the back of his information card five minutes ago. They showed a path between his location and his destination. It looked to be two streets over—less than five minutes’ walk.

  The place was empty when he crept downstairs. A scanner sat by the door. The soldier had said they must scan their chips upon exit and entry. Marcus slipped out the front door without scanning his, as Harvey had instructed.

  The cool air felt weird on his face and panic hit him. Marcus groped for the mask he’d forgotten to bring. He searched his pockets, the ground. He clamped his hand over his mouth to limit the toxicity. It took a few controlled breaths and nothing bad to happen for him to remember where he was. He peeled his fingers away and drew in a little of the fresh air that made his lungs ache.

  Fucking idiot, Marcus.

  It felt strange, yet liberating not to wear a mask or check if his canister still had oxygen. The Indigenes, the ones the factions had put to work on Earth, had produced decent versions of the canister that were an improvement on the leaky versions given to the neighbourhoods.

  Marcus followed the directions, passing by unfinished properties he guessed it would be his new job to build. In the distance, idle machines sat behind wire fencing. He wondered what they were for. With no experience in construction and no clue how to use a hammer for more than bashing people's skulls in, he wondered how long it would take for Ollie to figure him out.

  But the more he thought about it, the more he admitted Harvey was right. His inability to read and write precluded him from many jobs. Before he became somebody, before the factions had risen to power on Earth, he’d been a genetic reject. Gaetano Agostini hadn’t cared if he could read or write. But this wasn’t Earth and he didn’t know where he fit in.

  Yet.

  He arrived at the location—an open-air storage area with bricks, roof tiles and metal girders—to find a group of men gathered at the metal fencing. A black vehicle waited. Harvey was already there talking with Ollie.

  Curious, Marcus moved closer to hear Harvey speaking to Ollie in Russian. He settled at the back of the group of seven men and listened to the language most black-market dealers on Earth spoke. The Agostini faction’s biggest rival gang had been a group of Russians with no empathy and little patience.

  Ollie and Harvey shook hands.

  Then Ollie pointed to the vehicle. ‘Everyone get in. We’re taking a little trip out of town.’

  Marcus sat in the back with the seven men, while Harvey and Ollie sat up front. Nobody spoke during the fifteen-minute journey, except for the two men up front who spoke in Russian to each other.

  The car pulled over and Harvey turned around. ‘Everyone out.’

  Marcus stepped out and looked around at the remote location. He hated remote places. He knew what happened there.

  Harvey and Ollie stood before them. Neither man had a weapon, but that didn’t mean snipers weren’t positioned to take them out. He hoped he’d done enough to convince Harvey to keep him around.

  Ollie spoke. ‘Those of you looking like you’re about to crap your pants, it’s not your time to die. So relax.’ Everyone exhaled, including Marcus. ‘You all know my name. The man to my left is John Caldwell.’

  Harvey’
s alias.

  Ollie continued, ‘John and I need recruits for a new splinter group to disband the peace treaty and this man—’ He pointed at Harvey. ‘—has identified each of you as suitable candidates. The treaty has done nothing to improve life on Exilon 5. The rich stay rich while the poor build houses for the rich. The ITF says this world has no class divide, but that’s not true.’ Ollie paced in front of their group. ‘The Indigenes have liberties we do not enjoy. For starters, they have permission to hunt and kill animals in special zones where the bigger biodomes exist. We are now the second-class citizens the Indigenes once were. Their zones encroach on human boundary lines and limit access to other areas we use. We are not permitted to cross their land. It’s like the land is hallowed ground. This is our world and we will no longer live by these restrictions.’

  ‘The class divide is like this.’ Harvey demonstrated with his hand. ‘The genetically-superior humans, International Task Force, Indigenes, animals, then us. You see how wrong that is? And some Indigenes feel the treaty is bad. Some see privileges going to a special few, namely elders and anyone with a special connection to those elders. To help change things on this planet, we’ve joined forces with the other side.’

  Other side? Marcus looked around.

  ‘We’ve brought some guests to meet with you,’ said Harvey.

  Marcus couldn’t see much in the dark but he recognised their forms.

  He froze as he counted at least ten Indigenes. ‘What the fuck are they doing here? Don’t you know what they can do?’

  He stumbled back from their unchained presence. The last time he’d seen an Indigene it had been locked up in the attic of the old Deighton mansion, and Marcus had used a shock collar to keep it under control.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Harvey.

  Of course he did. Harvey had said he’d created them.

  ‘They’re here to help us. Our goals are aligned. We will find new volunteers to join our cause. These Indigenes will convince more of their kind to join our cause.’

  The Indigenes didn’t move but Marcus sensed their uneasiness.

  ‘Since the peace treaty and the creation of the GS humans, this planet has gone to shit,’ said Ollie. ‘We plan to stop the demise and return things to the way they were, pre-treaty.’

  ‘What do you want us to do exactly?’ said Marcus.

  ‘In their pursuit of GS evolution, the board members have created a void,’ said Harvey. ‘We will oust the ITF and replace it with a new police force that treats both the humans and Indigenes equally. And we will begin by discrediting Bill Taggart.’

  Marcus had no problem with that.

  ‘But to understand both sides of the issues we face, each of you will pair with an Indigene.’

  Ollie pointed to an Indigene, then to one of the men.

  One Indigene stepped forward, a tall freak with yellow-flecked eyes and a hard stare. He stopped in front of Marcus, towering over him by a couple of feet.

  ‘Looks like I’m stuck with you,’ the freak said.

  Fuck.

  8

  Stephen stood at the top of the Gathering room, a soundproofed meeting space used often by his elder predecessors and mentors, Pierre and Elise. The raised platform no longer existed. He and Serena had converted the room into a more informal space with a circular table and chairs to make their human guests feel welcome. Spare chairs were stacked against the walls to cope with larger numbers, but Bill usually capped the numbers of humans visiting the district at any one time.

  Stephen looked around the room. Pierre never would have permitted a group of humans to meet inside his district. Elise, who had been more open-minded, probably would have convinced him. It had been the biggest change under his and Serena’s command. He may be a pure bred born of two Indigenes, but Serena and others like her had once been human. It felt wrong to exclude people with whom Serena still shared a connection.

  The Gathering room had been Pierre’s idea, set up to discuss matters in private with a select group of representatives from District Three—and sometimes with other districts. Since taking up the role of elder—a label Serena confessed to hating—Stephen had operated an open-door policy on all matters.

  No more secrets. Secrets had led to cracks in their democratic society. Secrets had circulated rumours and challenged their way of life. And though splinter groups opposing the peace treaty had formed within other districts, Stephen had not heard of any recruits joining from District Three. He credited that to his refusal to exclude his charges from matters concerning everyone.

  But tonight was the exception, because Serena had insisted on it.

  The representatives were due to arrive shortly. Serena, Bill and Laura waited with him inside the room with its door closed while Anton and Arianna kept watch outside. Their role: to occupy the human group until Stephen was ready to receive them.

  ‘What we need now is a controlled group that can keep a cool head,’ said Serena. ‘If we open this idea out to everyone in the district, we’ll create mass panic.’

  Stephen rarely disagreed with her but this time it felt like the wrong decision. It surprised him when both Laura and Bill agreed with her.

  ‘I don’t like it, Serena,’ said Stephen. ‘I promised my charges—our charges—we would no longer keep secrets. Yet here we are whispering in private, just like Pierre used to.’

  ‘Keeping this discussion between us is necessary,’ said Bill. ‘We have no idea who among the districts is riling up the others, recruiting them for these splinter groups. If we don’t control the numbers in here today, we lose control of the rogue groups out there making a nuisance. Plus, we don’t know if your open-style democracy has helped or hindered the creation of those groups.’

  ‘I don’t think it matters if you have an open or closed style, Stephen,’ said Laura, glancing at Bill. ‘Pierre operated a closed-door policy and many wanted to turn rogue then. The Indigenes will make up their own minds. Some will disagree with your open-door policy as much as Pierre’s closed one and use it to their advantage. But Bill is right. It’s too early to share our ideas. We need to control the message. Force the groups to reveal themselves.’

  Stephen relented with a sigh. ‘I just want to do what’s best for the district.’

  ‘Let’s begin this the right way and take it from there.’ Serena touched his arm and her influence reached out for him. But she didn’t use it because she had promised never to use it on him. ‘When we know what we’re dealing with, we’ll report back to the others. That’s both an open-and-closed-door policy.’

  Stephen smiled at the only Indigene who could make him see sense so fast.

  ‘Okay, closed door it is.’

  Commotion outside ensued. With that, Serena opened the door and said, ‘We’re ready, Anton. Bring them in.’

  Stephen fidgeted as ten Indigene representatives filed into the room and stood behind the chairs around the table. Ten humans followed and occupied the chairs. All ten had been selected by Bill and Laura, people who had both worked for the government on Earth and who’d silently opposed the treatment of the Indigenes. Now they wanted to do something to change that. Bill and Laura’s trust of them was enough for Stephen.

  The mix of male and female humans all belonged to an underground movement similar to the one Jenny Waterson ran on Earth. When the treaty had first come into existence, Stephen had been naive to think it would give the Indigenes equal rights on Exilon 5. Instead, the hunting grounds they had secured as part of the deal served only to reduce their activities to these controlled zones.

  But an important part of the deal had been fulfilled. They’d received files on their human origins and secured an agreement to reverse the genetic mutations of any Indigene who requested the change. The reversal treatments were carried out by former Earth doctors in specially built labs on the outskirts of the cities.

  Everything looked good on paper and in practice.

  But Bill and Laura remained sceptical about the deal that curtai
led Indigene’s movements more than it freed them. Bill’s taking up the role of Director of the ITF and Laura as chief communication officer had been an orchestrated move to keep control of matters. That’s how this group of ten humans had come to be—a group of intelligence gatherers under Bill’s command with eyes and ears in many places.

  Arianna followed Anton inside the room and closed the door. Anton nodded at Stephen, indicating his agreement with the privacy. In a district full of mind readers, Stephen had learned to read his friend’s signals.

  The humans shifted in their chairs and glanced back at the Indigene reps with hesitant, yellow auras who occupied the space around them. Prior communication usually happened in the central core with plenty of space and one side facing the other. This was the first time both sides had been in a room this small.

  Serena started. ‘Why don’t we go around the room and everyone can say the one thing that’s bothering them. Let’s start with our human friends first, followed by the Indigenes.’

  ‘Must they stand this close to me?’ one human said.

  ‘I don’t like how this one keeps staring at me,’ said another, glancing back.

  One Indigene with an intimidating brawn and height pinched the end of his nose and said, ‘They smell funny. And if they don’t stop thinking I’m going to kill them then maybe I will, just to shut off their thoughts.’ He stared at one shocked man. ‘Yes, that’s right, human. I can hear you.’

  Very few Indigenes could read human thoughts unless granted access, Stephen almost said. But then he caught the grins on his friends’ faces and smiled at the unintentional icebreaker.

  The human male held his hands up. ‘I’m grateful to be included in these discussions, but I have no wish to die today. I just want to make that clear.’

  ‘If I wanted to kill you, human, you’d be dead already,’ said the Indigene.

  The male slid lower in his seat. ‘Okay, just so we’re clear about that.’

  Laughter erupted on the human side. Silent laughter rippled through the mind readers. Both Anton and Serena smiled while a tense-looking Bill ran his gaze over the stony-faced Indigene reps. But the laughter had relaxed the Indigenes, a change so minor the human eye would not see it. Stephen nodded at Bill to reassure him.