Animalis

by John Peter Jones

  More Animalis had come to the cargo truck, pulling Hank away from Jax’s view. The world started to shift as Jax was lifted away from the ground as well. He tried to move his jaw again, and felt an icy tingle somewhere on his face. Lips. He could feel his lips.

  Narasimha’s voice followed him as he was carried. “Do I need to keep both of you alive? Or do each of you know how to use the pyramid?” Her voice caught. “What are you—Your lip, human. You must have been changed. I’ve never seen someone move so soon after the shock.”

  The rough pad of a finger rubbed over Jax’s lips. He wouldn’t have felt it, but the icy tingles multiplied with the pressure. Did the lioness know what the pyramid was, then? What was she saying about being changed by it? Hank had said you would die if someone tried to change your DNA, and neither of them had used the pyramid.

  “Take them to the plane with me. Make sure they’re secure,” she said to one of the other Animalis surrounding them.

  A blindfold slid over Jax’s head and the world went black. Narasimha stopped talking. The sounds of the Animalis carrying him, grunts, mumbled Russian … It was all that was left to him. And a chittering. Moxie? He tried to listen for it again. Grunts, mumbles, the slide of fabric. If Moxie was here, could Grimshaw and Hodge be as well?

  The sounds around him stopped. He was closed up inside something. Was Hank still with him? It was impossible to tell.

  Minutes later, he regained feeling and muscle control. He was being moved and bounced around in something. He tried calling out, but Hank wasn’t with him, or was unable to speak.

  Movement, shaking. Someone unstrapped the harnesses that were holding him against the floor.

  “Don’t struggle, and I won’t shock you,” said a snorting voice.

  He struggled, and was shocked again.

  When he found his senses, he was in a standing position, held against a wall by tight straps. He could hear movement nearby, but couldn’t see anything. Everything was a perfect black, which meant he had a blindfold on.

  “What is your name?” asked the deep, penetrating voice that he had come to know well now: Narasimha.

  “Mnnnaaah,” Jax said, letting out more of a moan than a word, along with a dribble of saliva. The rest of his body was tingling and starting to tremble with fiery tremors from the shock.

  In a flash, the blindfold was pulled from his head. His eyes stung in the light. Narasimha stood in front of him. He saw nets, boxes, and maybe a cargo hold behind her. It looked like the inside of a plane. Jax tried to turn his head, but it was strapped tightly to the wall.

  “Jakth?” said a higher-pitched voice to Jax’s right.

  Jax pushed his eyes as far as they would go in that direction and saw the outline of someone strapped to the wall beside him. The figure had a sharp nose and chin, and was wearing an outdated coat. It had to be Hank.

  “Yes. The two of you together,” Narasimha said.

  “We have permission to jump from the tower.”

  Jax strained his eyes to see who was talking, it sounded like the warthog.

  Narasimha turned and bowed her head. “I’m ready,” she said. She seemed patient and controlled through the interruption. After a moment, she turned back to Jax and Hank. “Humans used to think they were the only creatures that could demonstrate self-control. Did you know that? It was what they glorified themselves with. And if a man couldn’t control his behavior, he was a beast, a mongrel, giving into his animal nature.” She started to strap herself into a harness for the takeoff.

  Jax tried to test the restraints. His fingers could wiggle, but his hands were held together tightly behind his back with a strap that also held his wrists together.

  “Animals. Mindless,” she continued. “Only kept alive for as long as they were useful to a human. Are you my animals, human? Do I have the self-restraint to keep you alive only for as long as I can use you? And then what? Eat you?”

  “Don’t,” Hank said with a lisp.

  “What would be so terrible about having a meal? We all have to eat. Some species are meant to be hunted. Humans are my prey.” Her voice broke into a self-amused laugh.

  “Please,” Hank whispered. “Please don’t eat us.”

  Narasimha took in a deep breath, listening to Hank plead. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a smile.

  She had left their mouths free to talk, so … it was part of her plan to have them talking? If so, what was she trying to do? They weren’t being taken back to the arena or else they wouldn’t be preparing for takeoff. She wanted them to help her use the pyramid. What was Hank doing? Was he honestly so scared that he was losing his wits? Or was he trying to manipulate her by bringing out her arrogance?

  “I terrify you, don’t I?” she said. “Why? Is it my eyes? Or my fingernails? That I’m stronger, faster, and more deadly than you could ever hope to be?” She closed her eyes, “Or is it that you cannot see my thoughts.” Her breath held the vibration of a deep purr. “I don’t know that you have thoughts, human. Should that terrify me?”

  “I have thoughts!” Hank said.

  “What do you need from us?” Jax whined. “Why did you keep us alive?” He tried to match Hank’s desperation, but he didn’t believe his own lie.

  “Do you have thoughts?” She looked at Jax when he had spoken, but ignored him to answer Hank. “Even when the Animalis were revealed to the world—walking, talking, thinking animals—humans continued like they always have, like mindless robots, enslaving and controlling.”

  “Australia didn’t control the Animalis—” Jax shouted to get her attention again, but he was cut off.

  “Australia wanted to increase tourism!” she hissed. “They didn’t say anything about the slaughter of tens of thousands of what they considered to be ‘unpredictable’ Animalis that flocked there for safety.” Her voice was like thunder. “In India, they welcomed the blessed cow Animalis. But in America … they were enslaved.”

  “There aren’t any—” Jax started to say, but he was cut off again. She was becoming more impassioned, but was that what Hank had wanted?

  “There are no cow Animalis in America?” she scoffed. The plane started to move, getting in line for the launch shaft. “There is no legal difference between a common heifer, and a mother cow Animalis. They perform all of the same functions that the humans want from them: birthing, milking, fattening. The farmers only look at the price tag. They’ll take the heifer if the price is lower.”

  Jax tried again, straining to catch another glimpse of Hank. As he struggled, the words sank in. Why was she talking about this? It churned Jax’s stomach. Was it true? After living only a short time with the Animalis, his understanding had shifted. The Animalis weren’t human, but … they weren’t animals, either.

  “What are you thinking now, human? That they are right to? That we should continue to be subject to the humans? That our tongues should be cut out, so you can no longer hear our protestations in your own language?” Her growl layered into her voice: “I am Narasimha. The man-lion. I defend those that cannot defend themselves.”

  The bones in Jax’s chest trembled from the deep vibration in her voice. So she thought of herself as defending the Animalis. Then maybe Jax could aggravate her more using that.

  “It’s your attacks that put the Animalis in danger!” he said. “You want to be seen as an equal with humanity? Then stop killing us!”

  Hank joined in: “Don’t kill us. Let us go.”

  Narasimha barked out a loud laugh. “I have the pyramid. And one of you knows how to use it.”

  “You keep talking about some stupid pyramid,” Jax tried to bluff, “but we don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Approaching the launch shaft,” the warthog’s voice said over a speaker.

  “I didn’t know what it was, when you came for it the first two times in Australia,” she went on. She wasn’t aggravated, just calm and unemotional. “But you made me think, maybe it was the pyramid you were after. That’s when I le
arned about the possibilities, that it could be the ultimate conduit of revenge. And when I saw you jump from the arena, I finally knew what it was.” She rested her head back. “Our key to survival, to genetic superiority, some say—the Ivanovich Machine.”

  The buzz of the electromagnetic shaft let them know they were about to launch. Jax felt his body squeezed in the wall harnesses.

  Once the acceleration had evened out, Narasimha unbuckled and walked out of view.

  “Now that I’ve seen your leg … Jax, was it?” Her voice bounced around the cargo hold of the plane. “Amazing. The foot is completely grown back. I know that one of you can use the machine. It doesn’t matter which one.” She came back into view. In her hand was a syringe. Her golden eyes moved between Hank and Jax. “You will do.”

  And she approached Hank, lifting the syringe.

  Chapter 22

  Atonement

  “No! What is that? No, please. Stop!” Hank cried.

  Jax could hear him struggling under the harness.

  “He doesn’t know. Neither of us know!” Jax shouted.

  Narasimha checked the needle. She was really going to inject Hank.

  “Do it to me! I can help you,” Jax said.

  It was all wrong: Hank was trying to bring out her animal side, and make her lose control, wasn’t he? Now she was going to inject Hank with something.

  She didn’t listen to either of them. The needle went into Hank’s arm. The plunger compressed. When she pulled it out, Hank spat at her. He screamed and cursed.

  “That’s not a full dose,” she said. “No, not like the one you gave to my Rema, my hyena. You remember Rema? She couldn’t say very much when we found her in that hospital. No, poor Rema will be crippled for the rest of her life. But she is strong. Not like a human.” Narasimha slid the syringe into a recycling duct. “If this doesn’t kill you, then I will give you the full dose.”

  Jax could hear Hank struggling in his restraints. Was it actually the same tormenting serum that Hank had given to the hyena? The straps would hold back the grotesque distortions his body would be trying to make. Jax could already hear him sucking in spasmodic breaths.

  “Aaahhhhh!” Hank’s scream rose to an unbearable shriek.

  Narasimha walked to the other side of the cargo hold and began manipulating a small section of a wall screen.

  “It’s the … DN … DNA. All in the … in the DNA.” Hank was starting to ramble.

  Jax caught another movement inside the cargo hold. Something white. It slid over a box and came across the floor to Jax. Of course it was Moxie. Jax felt both relieved and frustrated to see her. She was here again, miraculously, but could there be someone else with her? She stood and rested her paw on Jax’s leg. He started to struggle in the harness.

  “Please, Moxie,” Jax whispered. He kept watching the rest of the compartment, hoping Grimshaw would appear as well. “Straps. Chew the straps.”

  Moxie turned her head and then scurried back into the boxes. No, it was too much to hope for, but how had she gotten into the plane? Maybe this time she had only come to watch them be tortured and killed.

  Narasimha turned around from the wall screen and started to approach Jax and Hank.

  “No … controls,” Hank mumbled. “No way … to access the computer in the … pyr-pyramid. eeeeEEEEE—inside of yourself! The peptide … transmitters.”

  “So weak,” Narasimha said to Hank. Then she turned to Jax. “I would rather have seen you under the drug. Could you have fought it?”

  “Nara, our third warehouse has just been attacked,” the warthog said from where it stood in the doorway to the cockpit. “Krishna—he was killed!” it bleated.

  Narasimha snarled. “What?” She looked at Hank, then back to the warthog. With another growl, she turned and went into the cockpit.

  Jax heard the scratch of Moxie climbing over boxes toward him again. She came quickly to his side and began biting the straps.

  “Good girl, Moxie,” Jax whispered. “Hold on, Hank.”

  “Destroy … We have to destroy …” Hank looked like he could barely breathe from the tension in his body.

  The first strap ripped apart and Jax could feel his knees loosen. Moxie was quick to break through the second strap, and Jax’s weight pulled uncomfortably at the last strap around his head. He pushed with his toes, balancing, while Moxie climbed to tear at the last strap.

  Jax looked around the room for something he could use to stop Narasimha. A weapon, something. He saw a storage compartment in the floor, like on the rat plane, possibly some supplies, maybe a laser tool.

  The strap tore and Jax expected to crumple onto the ground, but gravity had released its grip on them. That meant the plane had reached its apex and was gliding through space. Now he didn’t need to support himself.

  “Moxie, can you get Hank?” Jax asked.

  Moxie rubbed her soft fur against Jax’s cheek before bounding over to Hank.

  Then Jax heard a sound from the cockpit. He had to hurry. The low gravity would at least help him move quickly through the cargo space. Jax leaped, and soared several yards. He could see the outlines of the compartment on the floor. He grabbed the handle and stopped himself before pulling it open.

  This was a much larger compartment than he had expected, holding several space suits, straps, nets, and shock sticks.

  The door hinges to the cockpit creaked; Narasimha would be coming for him soon. He snatched a shock stick, then launched through the air, pushing down on the hand grip and lighting up the shock stick along the way.

  The door to the cockpit swung open just as Jax reached it. But it wasn’t Narasimha in front of him.

  “Nara!” the warthog grunted.

  The hiss of the electricity shot forward with Jax’s jab. Narasimha’s hand came from the side grabbing the end of the stick. Her body took the impact of the blow, shaking and convulsing. Her hand had clamped, out of control, to the shock stick. As her body jerked and twisted, the stick was pulled from Jax’s hands. The power shut off and it floated into the air.

  “No!” the warthog cried.

  It had escaped injury altogether, Jax realized. It grabbed the shock stick, and it lit up again.

  “Nara!” the warthog shouted. “No, get away!”

  It jabbed at Jax, and he moved away to get out of range. Narasimha’s body floated in the air.

  “I’ll flush them out!” the warthog yelled. It pulled the door closed, with Narasimha inside, and the sound of the lock clicked.

  Flushed out? Let them be sucked out into space? It wouldn’t, would it? But … didn’t Narasimha need them?

  Jax looked at Hank. Moxie had chewed through his straps, releasing him from the harnesses, and he was floating into the air. It seemed like the serum had started to fade, easing the painful expression in his posture. Jax needed to get the space suits, just in case the warthog was crazy enough to open the cargo bay door.

  Jax pulled two of the suits from the storage compartment and went to Hank. His breathing sounded as though it was starting to normalize, but Jax could still see waves of pain tensing up his body every few minutes. Jax pushed Hank’s legs into the suit first. Then he pulled the second piece over his head and arms. Once Hank was tucked inside, he sealed the suit together.

  The alarms began wailing through the plane and Jax felt his stomach churn. How soon before the doors opened? In case he didn’t have time to get a suit on himself, he helped Moxie crawl inside Hank’s suit. He put the helmet over Hank’s head and sealed it with a hiss.

  An icy wind began to tug at Jax’s skin. No—too late! The door was opening; the death of space was creeping in. He had his suit legs on when his fingers began to freeze. Arms in. He lost feeling in his feet. His gloved hands pressed the two pieces of the suit together. Might be sealed; he couldn’t tell in his panic. Helmet on. He shoved a dial on the front of the suit. Oxygen. He breathed.

  Jax bumped into the ceiling. His limbs had become rigid, and his mind was swimming in a
cloud of partially evaporated blood. But now the air inside the suit was staying, and he hadn’t died. Not yet. This might be their one chance to escape. Jax tried to grasp fragments of a plan.

  Where was Hank? He had been beside him, hadn’t he? Jax twisted, searching for the floating limp body of Hank, but he wasn’t there.

  Jax pushed off the ceiling to reorient himself. He saw a movement toward the tail of the plane and turned to see Hank floating toward the open cargo door. In a few moments, he would be drifting out into space. Jax didn’t time to do anything but act. He thrust his legs against the ceiling and shot down the length of the cargo hold. His plan hadn’t included taking their chances drifting into space, but even if he was able to get a cable or strap anchored to the ship in time to snatch Hank and pull him back into the plane, they would have to face Narasimha and her militants, maybe more torture, maybe the arena and death. Hank’s ramblings might have been enough for them to discover how to use the pyramid, and then it would be over for the entire human race.

  The pyramid—gleaming metal, nine feet tall, the four sturdy beams of the base strapped to the floor of the cargo hold—caught Jax’s attention. Take the pyramid! He couldn’t let it slip out of their hands again. If their bodies were going to burn a fiery streak in the atmosphere, then the pyramid was coming with them.

  Jax shifted his position to prepare to redirect his momentum toward it. He caught a section of shelving and sent himself toward the big metal pyramid.

  The vibration of the nylon straps slipping out of their holds shook Jax’s gloves. He had it free in a few moments. As he wrapped his arms around the big metal beam, Jax felt it: consciousness, life. The pyramid was alive. The feeling was strange to comprehend. It didn’t move, or react to his touch, but within Jax, he felt some awareness from the metal, reacting to him. The pyramid was cold and unmoving, but it was alive.

  He pulled, slowly dragging the heavy mass from its resting place. Once it was floating through the air, Jax held on. It was too late to stop now; Hank had cleared the lip of the bay doors.