Solaris Rising 3 - The New Solaris Book of Science Fiction

by Ian Whates

  “Well, I like to think that I’m doing my civic duty. We need to find new cures for old illnesses, don’t we?”

  “Well, yes, but you’re risking your life for money for your grandchildren?”

  Milly smiled.

  “It’s not that bad. This is the sixth time I’ve done this. Groone is the first fatality I’ve ever seen.”

  “But you hear stories,” said Liza. “The strong batches. What if that’s what they’ve given us?”

  “They’re just stories,” said Milly. “Besides, there’s no problem if you live your life right.”

  “Live your life right?” I said. “What does that mean?”

  Milly took my hand in hers. She was plump and comfortable, she had the air of someone who’d figured everything out a long time ago.

  “Live your life right, Paul. If you do good things to others, then good things will happen to you. Now, who’d like some more coffee?”

  “Me, please,” said Solomon, laying down his console on the next bed.

  Milly was already heading to the kitchen.

  “Why are you here, Solomon?” asked Liza.

  “Free medical care,” replied Solomon. “I need an operation. I don’t have the money to pay for it. They’ll do it as part of the package” – he jerked a thumb towards the one way mirror – “and even throw in some reserved antibiotics to help with the recovery. Can I have two sugars in that coffee, Milly?”

  AT SIX O’CLOCK, Milly brought pack number 2 from the fridge. She placed it on the dining table. We all sat around, looking at it. There were five syringes.

  The video feed flashed at us.

  Disregard syringe number 2.

  “Is that the control?” asked Solomon.

  We looked at the video feed. No other message was forthcoming.

  Milly reached out and took the syringe marked 1.

  “You really don’t care, do you?” said Solomon.

  “I take care of people. I have good karma.” She peeled the seal from the syringe.

  “And we don’t, I suppose?” said Solomon.

  “This isn’t a zero sum game.”

  Liza picked up the syringe marked 2. There was a buzzing noise, a low raspberry. The video feed had changed.

  You were told to disregard that syringe. If you fail to follow instructions once more, your pay will be docked.

  “I’m sorry,” said Liza. “It was an honest mistake.” She dropped the syringe, moved her hand to the one marked 3.

  “Hey, that’s my lucky number!” said Solomon.

  “You take it,” said Liza. Her hand moved to the one marked 4. I took the one marked 5. It made no difference, of course. It was a purely random choice. One of them may have been deadly, one of them may have not. We had no way of predicting which.

  I held syringe 5 in my hand. There was no way of me knowing, but did the universe know? Was it already written somewhere whether I lived or died? Was that what Milly believed? She thought that her actions influenced the future. Did I?

  Plastic wrapping flickered to the floor.

  Go ahead.

  Milly did so without hesitation. Liza was watching her.

  “Go ahead,” said Milly. “You did a good thing.”

  Solomon hesitated. You could see what he was thinking. What would be the cost of Liza handing him syringe number 3?

  “You want to swap back?” asked Liza. They looked at each other, and they both laughed.

  Solomon’s hand shook as he injected himself. Liza and I looked at each other, gaining courage, and then we injected ourselves together.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said Milly.

  We sat, waiting. My arm was itching, I felt as if something burning was spreading through my body, but maybe that was just psychosomatic.

  “Nothing’s happening,” said Solomon.

  We didn’t answer. We didn’t want to tempt fate.

  “Who wants some coffee?” said Solomon. “I’ll make it. Shall I do dinner as well? Who wants a chicken salad sandwich?”

  Liza and I couldn’t meet each other’s eyes. Solomon had expected the women to wait on him since he had arrived here. The talk of karma had spurred him into action.

  “DOES ANYONE ELSE think this sandwich tastes funny?” asked Liza. “Or rather, that it doesn’t taste of anything? I feel like I’m chewing plastic.”

  “I didn’t want to say,” said Solomon, miserably.

  It tasted fine to me. I could taste chicken, I could taste fresh lettuce. There was the tang of tomato in each bite. I don’t know how long it was since I’d last tasted tomato.

  “What do you think, Milly?” I said.

  “It seems a waste,” she said, dropping her sandwich on her plate. “Real, proper food and I can’t taste it.”

  “It will pass,” I said. “I’m sure it will pass.”

  “You’re okay, aren’t you?” guessed Milly. There was no hiding the reproach in her voice.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I must have got the control dose.”

  “Don’t apologize,” said Liza. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You got lucky this time. Oh dear...”

  She closed her eyes and died. Just died, just like that. She didn’t fall unconscious, she simply rolled her eyes up in her head and slumped down in her chair, slowly slid to the floor. You could almost see her life evaporating from her.

  Solomon was on his feet, his eyes wide.

  “What the hell is going on!” he said. His voice was shaking. “What the HELL is going on? What are you doing to us?”

  Milly had her eyes closed, her hands were pressed together over her plate, she was muttering something under her breath.

  Solomon was over by the video feed bending over it, shouting.

  “This is a heavy dose batch! You’ve given us a heavy dose batch!”

  Milly’s eyes were open now. She was looking at Liza’s body, slumped out on the floor. Poor old Liza. There was a flake of chicken at the corner of her mouth, her thin wrist emerging from her cuff, her fork on the floor just beyond her hand. Milly touched her hand to her throat.

  “You’re killing us off, one by one!” A rattling, banging noise. I watched Solomon hammering on the screen of the feed. Words appeared there, fuchsia words.

  This was not planned. Something has gone wrong.

  I felt the fear grip my heart, I saw Milly touch her hand to her throat again.

  “What do you mean, something’s gone wrong?” shouted Solomon. “What the HELL do you mean, something’s gone wrong?”

  The words took a moment to appear. Someone was typing those words in a room somewhere, I guessed. Someone was being told what to say.

  This was not planned. This is an unforeseen reaction. This is a...

  The words paused on the screen for a moment, and then they vanished. Then new words marched across.

  We are analysing the initial batch of injections now. We’re testing a new course of antibiotics...

  Of course they were. They were always testing a new course of antibiotics.

  “To hell with your course of antibiotics!” shouted Solomon. “This test is over. Let us out of here!”

  “Paul, I feel so...” Milly coughed. She sounded hoarse, she was still touching her throat.

  I took her arm. “Sit down, Milly. I’ll get you a drink.” I filled a glass with water. Milly sat at the table with her head in her hands.

  “Why can’t you let us out?” Solomon was pounding at the hard plastic of the screen. I looked to see the last message being overwritten by marching fuchsia letters.

  We can’t let you out until we know what’s gone wrong. What if you are infectious?

  “What if we die in here?”

  That was the risk you took when you entered the room. The words hesitated, someone’s conscience must have been pricked. I’m sorry.

  “You’re sorry!” Solomon didn’t seem to have noticed that Milly was shivering. I put my arm around her and I felt the heat she was giving off.

  “Solo
mon,” I said. “Ask them what I should do about Milly.”

  There was no need for him to ask. The words were already scrolling across the screen.

  Keep her calm. Keep her cool. Drink plenty of fluids. The next injection may cure her.

  “The next injection?” Solomon laughed. “No way are we taking the next injection! And don’t even think of trying to stiff us on payment. You messed up! You owe us in compensation.”

  You will be well compensated. But you don’t understand. The remaining three injections must be taken, for your own good.

  “For our own good? Why?”

  Because you have introduced the antibiotic strain into your body, and left unchecked it will eat you up from the inside. The remaining three injections are intended to bring the course to termination.

  Solomon looked at me. I shook my head. I didn’t believe the words, either.

  “Bullshit!” shouted Solomon.

  It’s true. You know we have to tell you the truth. It’s in the contract. We can keep secrets for the sake of the double blind test, but we cannot tell lies. That would be unethical.

  “Unethical? Two dead and you’re worried about being unethical!”

  This is not unethical. Farming is not unethical.

  “Farming? What do you mean, farming?”

  You read the contract. Farming. Agriculture. The cultivation of animals, plants, fungi, and other life forms for food, fibre, biofuel and other products used to sustain human life.

  He stared at the screen, absorbing the words. People were dying due to a lack of working antibiotics, and now we farmed humans in order to sustain human life. I never thought of that before. I suppose that, according to the definition, what was happening to us was a form of agriculture.

  “Am I dying?” asked Milly. She was shivering now, her whole body shaking with the cold.

  “You’re all right,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “We’re not cattle!” said Solomon. “You can’t treat us like this.”

  We’re not treating you like cattle. We’re trying to save you!

  “I won’t take the next injections.”

  Then you’ll die.

  “Which syringes are the safe ones? Which have the lowest doses?”

  They’re all the same.

  “You say that now! Before you said that everything was random!”

  This is a double blind experiment. We’re only just finding out the full facts ourselves.

  “Will we come to any harm if we take the next injections?”

  There was no answer.

  “Will we come to any harm from injecting ourselves again?”

  No reply.

  I DIDN’T SLEEP that night. Neither did Solomon. I could hear him shifting in his bed, I could hear him muttering under his breath. Swear words, words of hate directed at the people beyond the mirror, directed at the life that had left him here.

  I could hear the soft snoring of Milly. Her earlier illness hadn’t shaken her faith in karma.

  “Hey, Paul.”

  I pretended to be asleep.

  “Hey, Paul. I know you’re awake.”

  “I don’t want to wake Milly,” I whispered back.

  “She’ll sleep through anything,” said Solomon. “Paul. Are you going to take the dose in the morning?”

  “Probably. Why not?” I said.

  “Because they’re lying to us. You know what I think, Paul? I think we’ve got a death batch.”

  I shivered at those words. That’s what my cellmates had said to me, when I told them what I’d done. I put their words down to jealousy. In a few days I would be free. They would remain locked in prison...

  “You hear what I said, Paul? It’s a death batch!”

  “No way, Solomon. There’s no such thing. Why would there be a death batch? What would they gain by killing us?”

  “Don’t you get it? They use human bodies to grow things in. They inject us with diseases and then they use us as farmland to cultivate white blood cells. All those white blood cells your body used to fight the diseases. Okay, maybe you die, but they still get to harvest those cells, those strong ones that fought the disease and almost won... They can use those cells in other people. You think we’re farm animals, Paul? No way! They’re not that interested in us. We’re not the farm animals, we’re the farm!”

  “Shut up, Solomon,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

  “You hear what I’m saying, Paul. You know I’m right.”

  I WOKE UP next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon and good karma. Solomon had laid the table, Milly was frying breakfast. Solomon handed me a cup of steaming coffee as I sat up.

  “Next dose at 9,” he said.

  I didn’t taste my breakfast. Only Milly seemed to enjoy the meal, chewing at her food with a plump complacency. Soon enough it was nine o’clock. Milly brought the next pack of syringes to the table.

  Disregard packs 2 and 4.

  Solomon swore when he read the message on the screen.

  “I thought they were all meant to be the same,” he said.

  The remaining three are.

  “They’re lying,” said Milly. Even she didn’t believe them now. She reached out for a syringe and then paused.

  “I was going to choose number three,” she said, looking at Solomon. “Do you want it?”

  “It makes no difference,” I said. “It makes no difference if this is random.”

  “It worked for Liza,” said Solomon. “Or it would have done if I hadn’t taken it from her. You have number three, Milly. Paul, you go next.”

  I took syringe number one. It didn’t make any difference, did it?

  Solomon took number five.

  “I’ve got grandchildren as well,” he said. “I’ve never seen them.” He looked towards the wall. “If anything happens to me, I want the money to go to them. Not to my idle, no good daughters.”

  He took a deep breath, placed the needle on his arm. He didn’t push it in.

  I looked at syringe number one. What was in there? In a couple of minutes I’d know.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said.

  Milly took a deep breath and injected herself. Solomon did the same.

  “Come on, Paul,” he said.

  I looked at him.

  “Take it, Paul. Come on.”

  “Take it.”

  The needle felt cold as it went in.

  “That feels different,” I said.

  We all looked at each other, examining each other’s faces for clues.

  “I feel okay...” said Solomon, carefully.

  “Me too.”

  “I feel okay.”

  We waited.

  “Perhaps they’re telling the truth,” I said. “There is no death batch.”

  “Do you feel cold?” asked Solomon.

  “The room’s cold,” said Milly. “You’re being paranoid. Everything’s okay. We’re on wind down now. Everything will be fine. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Solomon looked at me.

  “What!” said Milly. “What! Why are you staring at me? Tell me! There’s nothing the matter with me! I feel fine!”

  Solomon spoke first.

  “You’re drooling, Milly. Wipe your mouth.”

  “Drooling? I’m not drooling. I’m...” She touched her mouth, felt the saliva there. Her eyes erupted with tears.

  “I’m not crying,” she said, saliva spilling from her mouth. She was sweating now, sweating profusely.

  “I’ll get a towel,” said Solomon.

  “I’ll be fine!” shouted Milly. “I’m a good person. I’ve got credit.”

  She spat the last words out. She was blushing now, crying and blushing and drooling.

  “I... Oh hell... I... I... oh... oh...”

  “Paul. You’re drooling too.”

  I wiped my mouth and looked at my hand. Silver saliva trailed in strands.

  “I feel fine otherwise,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. Solo
mon looked okay.

  “Milly got the strong dose,” I said. “I got the middle. You got the placebo.”

  Milly’s clothes were soaking with perspiration. She pulled off her top, dropped it to the floor with a wet squelch.

  “Cattle,” said Solomon, looking at her.

  “We’re not the cattle,” I dribbled. “You’re right, Solomon. We’re the farms. They try planting different crops in us, and some of the crops thrive, and some of them ruin the soil.”

  I looked at Milly, pink and naked and dripping with sweat and saliva. She was moaning softly to herself in the middle of the floor. My clothes felt disgusting. Wet and heavy. I began to strip off.

  I felt so odd.

  “Solomon,” I said. “If anything happens to me...”

  “PAUL’S DEAD,” SAID Milly.

  Solomon lay back on the bed.

  “I know. I heard him go.”

  “Why didn’t you move his body? You’ve just left him lying there on the floor.”

  “What’s the point?” said Solomon. “We’ll all be dead by the morning. This is a death batch, isn’t it?”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “Why are you really in here, Milly? I don’t believe it’s for your grandchildren. You’re in here for the same reason I am, for the same reason he was.”

  He pointed to Paul’s body, naked and glistening on the floor.

  “I didn’t kill them,” said Milly. “I’d never harm them. It was an accident. My grandchildren were my world.”

  “I believe you,” said Solomon, tapping at his console.

  “I chose to come in here because I knew I’d be safe. I’m a good person. This will prove it.”

  “It’s certainly been the case so far.”

  She frowned.

  “Isn’t that Paul’s console you’re writing on?” she said.

  “It is. Paul asked me to take over his log if anything happened to him.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess he just wanted them to see the end of his story. I guess he wanted them to see him as a person and not just a container for their diseases.”

  Solomon bit his lip.

  “I hope I get to finish it.”

  He looked at Milly.

  “If I don’t, will you write this up? For me and for Paul?”