Luca

by Jacob Whaler

Twenty feet ahead of them, a small cylinder slides out of the wall. In mid-stride, Qaara takes aim with the pulse rifle and fires. The cylinder explodes into sparks. She twists and hits another one on the other side of the building.

  “Where’d you learn to shoot?” Jedd says.

  “Mesh-vids.” Qaara looks back over her shoulder. “And genmods don’t hurt either.”

  “What kind of genetic modifications?”

  “Too many.” Qaara stops at the end of the walkway, just before it emerges out onto a wide street, and presses her back into the building. “My parents were rich. They gave me the best.”

  “Too many cameras to shoot them all. Mercer is probably tracking us right now.”

  “How are you feeling?” Qaara says.

  “A little better. Still foggy.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “For what?”

  Qaara turns to stare at Jedd. “I thought you came to rescue me.”

  “I did, but—”

  “If you have a plan of escape, now would be a good time to share it.” She looks up through long eyelashes.

  Jedd can’t help but stare back. Her eyes pull him closer. He moves in, hands reaching for her waist, imagining the touch of her soft lips on his.

  So perfect.

  With both hands on his chest, she pushes him away. “Strictly business, OK?”

  Nodding, Jed’s face burns scarlet. “My plan was simple. Break into Genesis. Find you. Run away. Slip into the Tube and ride out past the Fringe.”

  “Well, we’re already to the run part. But I don’t think the Tube is our best option. Nowhere to escape if they find us.” Qaara gazes at the sky. “I don’t see any drones or airships. Maybe that wasn't Mercer looking for us after all. Could just be a routine police surveillance unit that flew by. Come on.”

  She grabs Jedd’s hand and pulls him onto the street.

  “Where we going?”

  “In the opposite direction of your plan. To the Wall.”

  21

  FUKUSHIMA

  Mercer paces the room, hands behind his back, slowly eating a lemon slice, eyes bathed in darkness. “Are you sure?”

  “No question. Facial and body analysis is conclusive. Qaara’s with the same guy.” The woman in the holo, wearing black leather as usual, swipes her hands across a bluescreen with a map of the City, video footage and bio-data. “Jedd Dexter, employee of Genesis.”

  “Former employee.” Mercer spits a seed onto the floor. “How could he have escaped two attacks by our security forces?”

  “Dumb luck.”

  “Dumb I can understand but not luck. There’s no such thing as consistent luck." The lemon peel drops from his fingers. “You have them both on video?”

  “Yes, for the moment.”

  “Send the feed to my quarters. I’m looking forward to watching them die.”

  A paper-thin glass screen floats down from the ceiling. Lines divide it into six sections, each with a different view of Qaara and Jedd running through the streets and narrow walkways of the City.

  “Looks like they’re heading for the Wall.” The woman drops a finger onto the bluescreen where it glows red under her touch. "I’m calculating the rendezvous point now.”

  “Why would she be trying to get to the Wall?” Mercer cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “I would have guessed the Fringe. If she's bent on escape, the Wall should be the last place in the world she’s trying to get to right now.”

  “Maybe she’s not trying to escape,” the woman says. "Maybe she has another plan. One more destructive.”

  “And I thought she was a smart girl.”

  “Maybe she already realizes she’s going to die.”

  “It is a fitting place for a public execution.” Mercer bites into another lemon and grinds it between his molars. “Let’s get it over quickly, before the Mesh wakes up. And be certain it looks like a random crime. Bad elements from the Fringe wandering into the City, killing one of our brightest in a thoughtless act of violence. There will be a funeral in a few days, for Qaara at least. The world will be distraught over her loss. I can see the headlines now. Inventor of Graff Meets Untimely End Near Wall She Designed. Or maybe Young Genius Slain by Scum from the Fringe. The perfect distraction before the coming storm.”

  “The Peruvian Mafia are very reliable.” The woman in the holo nods in Mercer’s direction as she exits. “They always get the job done.”

  “Unlike our own Genesis security forces.” Mercer’s eyes narrow as his gaze fixes on Qaara, hand in hand with Jedd, the filth from the Fringe.

  He relaxes into the leather sofa in the dark room, alone, eyes on the screen. His fingers find a thin glass of blue liquid on the side table and bring it to his lips. Warmth floods his nervous system, bringing a sense of expansive clarity.

  In the moments before Qaara and Jedd die, Mercer lets his mind wander.

  Evolution.

  An inexorable force. Unstoppable. Relentless. Nature in pursuit of complexity. A way forward for life.

  In a few days, as life is destroyed, the process of evolution for the entire planet will finally be wrested from nature and come under Mercer’s direct control.

  He is the product of genetic engineering. Evolving from pond scum, Homo sapiens have reached the point where they have stolen the reins of evolution from the blind forces of nature and now directly determine their own genetic future.

  Mercer will soon take the logical next step: direct human control of evolution.

  After the Cloud hits, all life outside his bunkers will cease to exist, extinguished by a flood of acid. In its wake, only he and a group of carefully chosen humans will remain. But instead of the blind forces of evolution taking over this time, Mercer himself will be in charge. Like Noah’s Ark, his bunkers are already stocked with the basic plant and animal species to reboot life on an accelerated schedule.

  With a cutting edge genetics laboratory as part of the bunker infrastructure, they will take experimentation on human subjects far beyond anything that has been done so far.

  All of it under his control.

  By the time the Cloud swings through the solar system in another 3.5 billion years for its periodic cleansing of Earth’s life, humans will have banished death and evolved beyond recognition. They will have learned to harness the power of the Cloud for themselves.

  All thanks to Mercer.

  It’s tempting to think evolution has chosen him for this destiny, but he knows better. He owes his position to no one and no thing. He chose himself. With all the resources of Genesis at his fingertips, he’s been preparing in secret for years, ever since his father was eliminated.

  Perfection is Mercer’s goal, and perfection he shall have.

  Scouring the world, he carefully looked for the perfect place to build his network of bunkers, the kernel of a new civilization. And then, after exhaustive research, he found it.

  Fukushima, Japan.

  Forgotten by the world since the nuclear accident that saturated its land and water with radiation nearly a century before, it had become a wilderness of abandoned towns. Fields that once blossomed with buckwheat were taken from the families that had worked them for more than a thousand years. The fields were buried under three meters of dirt dug up from the old reactor site, all part of the Japanese government’s attempt at cleanup.

  But the cleanup effort was soon abandoned.

  Like every other country, the economy fell into ruins when the rains stopped. The unemployed soon outnumbered those with jobs. Riots took over Tokyo. The government fell.

  And China stepped into the vacuum.

  Corruption became rampant. Fukushima turned into an international toxic dump, nominally administered by a new Japanese government under the control of the Chinese. In exchange for huge payoffs, government officials allowed anyone to unload industrial refuse at will on the once pristine countryside. There was no longer any need to process toxic waste. Corporate profits, including those of Genesis, soare
d.

  Nobody lived in Fukushima but a generation of squatters who’d left the chaos and upheaval of Tokyo and its unemployed masses in the wake of the Chinese takeover. They sought a new life of freedom and solitude. Thousands had flocked to the area, encouraged by the new government, told it was safe after almost a hundred years without inhabitants. Communities sprang up overnight, living a life of subsistence agriculture and complete freedom.

  Mercer smiles to himself.

  It was a good way to dispose of the undesirable elements of society. Easy and entirely legal.

  Within a decade, the squatters discovered the devastating truth. The radiation was still there, burning in the water and soil on which they grew crops. Most of them perished from cancer and internal organ failure.

  But there was one fascinating fact that Mercer found in his research.

  Many of the children born in Fukushima, a whole generation, were strangely healthy, exhibiting no ill effects other than an unusual form of schizophrenia, an artifact of radiation-induced genetic mutation.

  Shunned and feared by the rest of the country, constantly bombarded by voices, the children were unable to live in normal society. The government abandoned them to institutions where they could be studied and, ultimately, forgotten and discarded.

  Much like Fukushima itself.

  It was no longer a priority. Nobody cared any longer about what happened in that forsaken corner of the planet.

  And that made Fukushima the ideal place to build his bunkers. Mercer bought a large tract from the government for a hundredth of the land’s original value.

  Project LUCA was born.

  Mercer never told Qaara that he had others doing research on the killer molecule. He never told her a lot of things.

  Experiments with the killer molecule confirmed the good news. It breaks down all forms of matter, including radioactive and toxic industrial waste.

  It will cleanse the land of Fukushima, restoring it to its former pristine condition, leaving behind the perfect launch pad for a new civilization.

  Relaxing back into the sofa, Mercer stretches out his legs. It’s not easy being humble when you’ve thought of everything.

  Mercer’s new world will have all the advantages of the old and none of its problems. Technology and culture will be preserved in the memory cubes he’s amassed. Holo machines, laboratories, bluescreens and a local version of the Mesh are already waiting in the bunkers. Centuries-old rivalries will be swept aside as billions die in the coming devastation. War and fighting will cease. No need for religion. No need for government or laws. Competition for resources will cease. Only the best of Homo sapiens will be given shelter in his bunkers to weather the storm, all selected in advance by Mercer, all of them products of genetic modification.

  All imperfection will be cleansed from the Earth.

  Mercer had hoped to share his work with Qaara. With her intellect, she, of all people, should understand and appreciate all that Mercer has done to save humankind and catapult it forward along a new evolutionary path.

  But, inexplicably, she rejects it all.

  Taking another sip of the blue liquid, he relaxes deeper into the sofa, eyes on the holo.

  Watching her die will be the perfect way to launch the new era.

  22

  SMOOTH TUBE

  To the Wall?

  The more Jedd runs, the more he thinks about where they’re going. He can’t shake a nagging thought: Is Qaara leading him to certain death?

  “Why are we going to the Wall? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jedd takes great pains to say it in a friendly tone of voice. "Mercer is here in the City. He wants me dead. Maybe you, too. Shouldn’t we be running in the opposite direction? Away from the City?”

  Darting across a narrow street, Qaara shakes her head. “It’s our only chance.” She twists, points the pulse rifle and shoots out another camera above their head.

  Maybe she’s crazy.

  With his strength mostly recovered, Jedd pulls Qaara to a sudden stop. “Look, I don’t have any genmods, and I wouldn’t presume to be half as smart as you, but I’ve been in a few fights in my life, and experience tells me that it’s never a good idea to have your back against the wall, especially not the Wall.”

  “Like I said, it’s our only chance.” Qaara glances past Jedd’s biceps up into his eyes. “We have to be at the heart of the City. That’s where we’ll attract the most attention.”

  “Attract attention?” Jedd must have missed an important part of her plan. “Right now we don’t want to attract anyone’s attention, especially not Mercer’s. What we want is simple. Escape with our lives. Disappear. Hide out. Get away.”

  “Not yet. Maybe never.”

  “Huh? Isn’t that the point?”

  Shaking her head, Qaara puts her hands on Jedd’s chest and pushes him hard against the glowing glass exterior of a building. She fixes her stare on him.

  “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I had a feeling you were different.”

  “I am different, but—”

  “You heard everything Mercer said to me, right?”

  “Yeah—”

  “Then why don’t you understand? There’s nowhere to run." Qaara takes a step back, and her arms go wide. “In a few days, the Earth enters the Cloud. All life will be destroyed, including you and me. All we can do now is tell the world. That’s our first and only priority. People deserve to know.”

  Jedd grabs the pulse rifle from Qaara’s hand. “I grew up in the Dead Zone. Lost my parents when I was just a kid. Got taken in by a gang of lawless thugs. Had to fend for myself. And what I learned is simple. How to survive.” He takes a step back in the direction they came from. “And the first rule of survival is pretty simple, too. Stay alive. We’re not going to be of any use to anyone if we’re dead. And that’s exactly what we will be if we don’t hide. Dead in a few minutes. Mercer’s tracking us. I’ve heard how he deals with people he doesn’t like. First, we save ourselves. Then, if we’re still alive, we can talk about telling the world.”

  “But what about all the people?” Qaara raises her hands to the high-rise buildings that line both sides of the street. “You're just going to let them all die?”

  “You want to know the truth?” Jedd takes another step away from Qaara. “I don’t care about them. They never did me any favors. Why should I—”

  “OK, just stop there. I get it. Typical guy. Only interested in saving his own butt.”

  “And yours.” Jedd reaches out to grab her arm, but she pulls away. “Now let’s stop arguing and get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late.” Qaara starts walking away. “Mercer's watching us right now. Probably from multiple angles. The City is covered with cameras. That’s why I’ve been shooting them. To get his attention. I want him to find us. I’d say we only have a few minutes until the execution squad comes after us. Before we die, before I die, I have to warn the world. At this point, it’s the only thing that will give my life meaning. Feel free to run away and save your own butt, but leave mine alone."

  She runs to the Wall, now in view at the far end of the street, leaving Jedd standing with the pulse rifle dangling from his fingers.

  He watches her run away.

  Qaara Kapoor. The woman with brains, beauty, money, fame, everything one could desire, now on the cusp of throwing it all away.

  Time for a reality check.

  He’s head over heels in love with her, just like everyone else. But his old survival instincts kick in. If she’s so intent on committing suicide, she’ll have to do it alone.

  He spits at the pavement, thinking of how perfect it all could have been.

  Turning away, Jedd jogs back toward the nearest Tube entrance. A plan is already forming in his head. He’ll head south, maybe to Florida. Try to forget about Qaara. Keep a low profile. Completely off-grid. Only travel at night. No jax or slate.

  He catches the sound of a car at the far end of
the street, going in the opposite direction he’s running. Slipping into a side alley, he presses his back against a glass façade and peers sideways as the black car shoots by, running silent with no motor tone.

  Its markings are clear. Dark windows. Lavish fringes of tiny silver bells run along its sides, garnished with bright red feathers. The horns of a large animal are mounted on the back. The doors have no outside handles.

  Peruvian Mafia.

  They operate big in the Fringe. Nasty fellows. Ruthless to the bone. No respect for life. Better at efficient murder than anyone else, even the Yakuza from Japan.

  They’ve come here in the early dawn hours, broadcasting their presence. And they’re heading straight for Qaara.

  Instantly, it all becomes clear.

  Mercer isn’t going to give Qaara the chance to stand at the wall and make an announcement to the world before he cuts her down. He’s going to silence her right now and blame her death on rogue elements from the Fringe. No one will question it. And then there'll be a big funeral. Qaara’s parents will be there. Mercer will probably speak.

  Just before the Cloud swallows the Earth.

  Everyone will be focused on the death of the inventor of Graff, too busy to care about anything else.

  Rage ripples through Jedd’s chest.

  As he stares at the passing car, his sense of self-preservation fades to a thin strand and then snaps.

  He turns and starts sprinting back to Qaara.

  The car draws closer to her. Three men wearing light armor jump out. Qaara slips into a side street and disappears from view. The men follow her.

  The car moves on, closer to the Wall. Shots from a pulse pistol ring out.

  Jedd pushes himself to run faster. He reaches the side street where the men pursued Qaara, expecting to see them standing over her dead body.

  But no one is there. Jedd hears more shots a couple of blocks away. They must still be chasing her. The Peruvian Mafia could have easily hit her by now. They aren’t trying to kill her, not yet.

  They’re herding her toward the Wall. Into a trap.

  Heart bursting, Jedd sprints on the shortest path.