Tankbread 2: Immortal

by Paul Mannering

  “No, she’s just upset that I’m running things here now. She knows that my ways are better, but she thinks I’m a godless heathen and that really rubs her up the wrong way.” Donna seemed pleased that she irritated Sister Mary.

  The chapel had been converted into a functional laboratory. Else stopped inside the door, the plastic sheeting draping over her shoulders, a sense of panic tightening around her chest. Her breathing became a whispered hiss as she regarded the tubes, winking computers, swirling glass, and plastic tanks of viscous pink fluid.

  “You okay?” Donna asked, with a detached curiosity.

  “It reminds me of . . . where I was born.”

  “Well it should. I’ve spent months recovering what I could from the Opera House and Woomera facilities.”

  “Woomera was dark . . .” Else said, a fresh wave of panic washing over her.

  “Yes. We went back in. There were no survivors. They had crawled out when the lights didn’t come back on and the evols got them. Fortunately the equipment and computers were salvageable.”

  Else shuddered. The idea of going into the underground facility at Woomera, into that oppressive darkness, so thick it felt like heavy cloth wrapped around her head, made her dizzy and nauseous.

  “I have been able to continue my work, regardless of Sister Mary’s objections.”

  “You recovered clone embryos. You have the Courier’s viable clones,” Else whispered, the dream replaying in her mind with startling clarity.

  “Yes I did.” Donna regarded Else with new interest. “How did you know?”

  “He told me,” Else said.

  “Where is he? I could use another sample of his sperm.”

  “He died. Is he the father of my baby?” Else lifted the infant sleeping in her arms.

  Donna came forward and peered at the child. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’d need to do a full DNA analysis, but he does bear a resemblance.

  “I haven’t had sex with anyone else,” Else said.

  “Did you notice the patch under your arm?” Donna asked.

  “He found it, when we were together the first time.”

  “What color was it?” Donna asked.

  “Purple,” Else replied. “Why? What does that mean?”

  “It means he is the father of your child. We took his fresh sperm sample and impregnated you while the work was being done on your telomere terminator sequencing.”

  “Will my son be alright?”

  “A child with 50 percent of your DNA?” Donna gave a sour chuckle. “The kid will grow up to be a god.”

  “I hope I’ll be around to see him grow,” Else said, stroking the soft hair on the baby’s head.

  “You do understand what we did to you? At Woomera I mean.”

  “You made me into the evol-killing bomb that was meant to infect the Adam organism. Which is what happened. The Courier infected himself with my antibodies and gave his life so that I could have my baby.”

  “We also made you immortal. Removing the terminator sequences from your DNA. You will never suffer the same level of cell death as humans. You will never die of old age. The only thing that should kill you would be a lethal infection or serious injury.”

  “My son had a head cold,” Else explained.

  “And he looks like he recovered completely,” Donna replied.

  “Why are you making new Tankbread?” Else asked.

  “Tankbread? This isn’t Tankbread. We aren’t producing clones here to feed evols. No, this is about the original purpose of the project. Creating an improved human being. An entity without any of our weaknesses, the perfect soldier.”

  “Wasn’t that what led to the evols in the first place?” Else asked.

  “And I have learned from their mistakes. We aren’t looking at genetically engineering viruses anymore. This is about genetic manipulation. The antibodies in your blood will inoculate our soldiers. Then once field trials prove successful, I intend to start a vaccination program. Every living survivor will become poisonous to the virus.”

  “How many do you have now? Clones of him, I mean,” Else asked.

  Donna frowned. “Of the viable embryos I recovered, only two have survived through the adult development phase.”

  “Why not make clones of other people?” Else asked.

  “The Courier—what was his name?” Else shrugged and Donna continued. “Never mind. He had a particular survival talent. He was resourceful, a good fighter. How much of that was genetic and how much of it was environmental, we may never know. The key thing is that he had good survival genes. Cloning him is a good start for the new race of Australians.”

  “You shouldn’t do this,” Else said. “He died to destroy the Adam. You shouldn’t bring him back, not like this.”

  “I thought you of all people would want someone like you to spend the rest of your life with,” Donna replied.

  “He is with me, always. I can feel him. My memories of every moment with him are clear and I can visit them whenever I want.”

  Donna pressed on. “Wouldn’t you like new memories?”

  “They wouldn’t be the same. He was the product of his life experience, a particular person. The clones will just look like him. They won’t have his smile, or his personality. They will just look like him.”

  “And soon they will number in the hundreds, then the thousands. I’m working up a mix of zygote implantation into surrogate mothers and direct cloning in the Tankbread growth system.”

  “It’s a bad idea, Donna. You should stop now. Use your talents to save the living, not create new monsters.”

  “You’re only saying that because you haven’t met them.” Donna beckoned Else to follow and went to the back of the former chapel. Unlocking a door, she ushered Else through.

  She went in. The room beyond was dark and before she could voice her concern, an electric spark crackled and a jolt shot through Else, sending her tumbling to the floor. Her baby screaming was the last sound she heard before passing out.

  * * *

  Else crawled back to consciousness. Her mouth and throat felt like she had swallowed desert sand. Everything ached, from her bound wrists and ankles to a sharper pain from deep inside her lower abdomen.

  The room was dark and silent. She lay on a carpeted floor, naked and thirsty. Senses straining into the darkness, she whispered, “Baby?” A flood of panic washed through her. Not again. Never again would anyone take her son away from her. She had promised him that. Else flexed her arms and legs, forcing the cord binding her to bite into her skin.

  “If you have hurt my baby, you are all going to die,” Else muttered. She couldn’t stand; the rope ran from her ankles up the back of her legs to loop around her wrists. Her legs were bent backwards at the knees, preventing her standing up. Instead she rolled across the room, feeling for anything other than the dust on the floor and the smooth paneling of the walls. Growling in frustration, Else wiggled into the corner of the room. Pushing herself up, she ignored the swirling pain of pins and needles that erupted through her legs. Standing now, hunched and supported by the wall, she doubled over, feeling her arms strain against the cord as she lowered her head and flexed her knees apart. The rope pulled tighter with each movement. Exhaling, Else pushed her head between her knees, curling herself up until she could barely breathe and the rope between her ankles and her wrists brushed against her nose. Wiggling her face, she snagged the cord with her teeth and began chewing on it.

  * * *

  Else came to, her head pounding and the stars on her retina spinning in a nauseating cycle. She remembered being doubled over, chewing on a rope, the pressure building in her head until she fainted. That, she decided, would explain the headache and disorientation. Gritting her teeth she straightened her legs, feeling the cord strain and then at the edge of her endurance the rope snapped. Else shuffled backwards on her rear, working her body through the circle of her arms, feeling her shoulder joints pop until she had her hands in front. She attacked the knots at
her wrists with renewed enthusiasm. Once they were undone she started working on her ankle bindings.

  Five minutes later Else stood up, rubbing her wrists before feeling her way along the wall till she found the door. It wasn’t even locked.

  Opening it carefully and peering out into the chapel, she froze as Donna’s voice came to her across the room.

  “Initial analysis of samples taken from subject indicates that her ova are a key source of the missing genetic material. When fertilized with the clone spermatozoa the resulting zygote has the genetic markers that indicate immunity to the Adam virus. The question remains, why is it not possible to simply clone Else’s cells and re-create the savior units in her image? Testing of Else’s infant child indicate that he has extremely high levels of effective antibodies. Whether this immunity will fade as he develops his own immune system or whether this will be a permanent feature of his blood serum remains to be seen. Harvesting of sufficient stem cells to begin a new line of clones is scheduled. This will be followed by an autopsy to determine differential organ structure.”

  Donna stopped talking and clicked a handheld tape recorder off.

  Else picked up the Taser gun that Donna had stunned her with and pressed it against the back of the woman’s neck. “You have one sentence to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you. Think very carefully about what you choose to say.”

  “Kill me and you will never see your baby again,” Donna responded promptly.

  The Taser crackled against Donna’s skin. She convulsed and crumpled to the floor. Else dragged Donna’s limp body over to a gurney, lifted her onto it, and strapped her down. Flexing one hand, she slapped the bound woman across the face. Donna mumbled and her eyes snapped open.

  “Where is my son?” Else asked.

  “In the nursery.” Donna moved and then realized she was restrained. “Hey! Untie me!”

  “Where is the nursery?”

  “In the first dorm room upstairs.”

  Else turned to walk away and then stopped. “Your clone work. It’s dangerous. Don’t you understand? The Adam virus, it is in everything. You can do so much to rebuild the world; don’t fuck it up by making new monsters to hunt us to extinction.” Still naked, she walked out of the lab, closing the door behind her, shutting off Donna’s angry shouts.

  The dormitory was easy enough to find. Else remembered it from when she had stayed at the convent of Saint Peter’s Grace previously. The dorm was like a hospital ward, with a row of beds on each side. A room at the end closest to the stairs now contained cots, baskets, and incubators. When Else looked in, most of the baby stations were empty. Her baby was asleep in the middle of a cot. Else left him there and went to the nearest cupboard. Opening it, she took out clothes and dressed quickly, searching two more closets to find boots that fit her comfortably.

  Gathering up her baby and securing him in a blanket sling around her chest, Else headed to the top of the stairs and then froze. Voices raised in anger erupted from the level below. From the sounds of it, Donna had been rescued.

  Else headed along the dorm. The window at the end led to an outside staircase, a fire escape. She opened the window and hurried down the creaking metal stairs.

  The sun was setting in the west, leaving Else unsure of how long she had been unconscious and tied up. Had it only been a couple of hours? Or had an entire night and day passed?

  Armed women were coming out of the convent building, spreading out in a search pattern. Else started running, getting to the compound wall and then moving along in its shadow. The gate had closed, so Else jumped on the back of a parked wagon and with the baby heavy against her front she jumped. Her hands caught the edge of the top ledge. Her knees slammed into the white stone blocks, shielding the baby from the impact.

  Pulling herself up, Else stood on the top of the wall. From up here, the ground looked a long way down. There were no convenient wagons to jump down onto. She took a deep breath and turned to face the convent buildings. Jumping backwards, she slapped her hands and booted toes against the sheer surface of the wall. In the three seconds it took her to reach the ground she left a smeared trail of bloody handprints on the wall.

  “Fuck,” Else muttered as she hobbled away into the rising darkness.

  Chapter 12

  Mildura lay in near darkness, campfires providing the only light source. Else slipped past the sentries, men and women armed with rifles and bows. It didn’t take her long to find the quarantine zone where her people were being kept behind a mesh fence, under armed guard.

  Moving carefully, Else took up a position where she could watch the two perimeter guards from cover. They followed a casual pattern that made it hard to establish a routine to their patrol. They stopped and chatted with each other before meandering off along the fence line.

  Else went to the darkest corner of the quarantine zone and hissed to get the prisoner’s attention.

  “Where’s Rache?” she whispered.

  The girl came forward, her mouth set in a furious line.

  “The fuck is going on here, Else? You said we would be safe here. This was a place where we would be welcomed. Instead we’re penned up like . . . like we’re still on the ship.”

  “I’ll get you out. You’re safe in there. It’s only for a few days, until they process you.”

  “What the fuck does that mean? Process?”

  “I think they want to make sure you are healthy and they want to write down who you are and what you can do to help around here.”

  “That sounds like bullshit,” Eric said, pushing his way through the watchful crowd that had gathered at the fence.

  Else looked both ways; the guards would appearing any moment now. “Keep quiet, do what they tell you. I will be back.” The baby started to grizzle in his sling. Else slipped away into the darkness without another word.

  She toured the town. Women and babies seemed common enough, so when she sat down to nurse the baby, very few people took notice. Those who did smiled at the scene.

  It became clear that there were two groups within the Mildura community. The first were the women and men that Sister Mary and her followers had gathered in the first weeks after Donna Preston’s arrival. They were marked with crosses, some painted on their foreheads or across the bridge of the nose. The others were what Else considered civilians, regular people. Men, women, and children of all races and creeds. They were building and surviving, accepting whatever laws and rules Sister Mary placed on them in return for some kind of security and maybe even a little bit of hope.

  Else found a building with a large room filled with beds. No one complained when she took an empty one and closed her eyes. Baby cuddled against her.

  She slept until dawn, waking up to feed the baby only once during the night. In the morning she found a communal bathroom where she could wash the baby and herself. Food was also communal, people gathering at trestle tables to help themselves to a breakfast of cooked eggs, large loaves of sliced bread, and fresh fruit.

  The quarantine people had food taken to them, which they ate without question or complaint. Else couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease. Donna’s plans were dangerous, and Else was never going to let her touch the baby again.

  After exploring the town, Else concluded that no matter what was happening here, the clone research and whatever projects Donna was working on, the people of the new Mildura knew nothing about it. They spent the day farming, building houses, and taking care of children.

  In the afternoon, two new survivors arrived. A man and a woman, both gaunt and looking half-starved. They shuffled into the quarantine zone and didn’t show any sign of life until they were offered food and water. They fell on the sustenance, cramming food into their mouths and drinking water till they almost choked. Else wondered how they had survived as long as they did.

  When darkness eventually fell, she made her way back to the quarantine pen. The gates were opened and the survivors from the ship were being guided out. They were all given a tag to
wear around their necks. It had their name, blood type, and a barcode on it.

  “Just until everyone gets to know you and we have some kind of medical record for each of you,” was the explanation.

  “So what now? We can go where we want?” Rache asked.

  “Absolutely. We recommend you stay within the community area. Wandering outside of the fences can be dangerous.”

  “We have survived all kinds of shit,” Rache said. “This place is like paradise by comparison.”

  “There are spare beds in the communal dorms. We’re building new houses at a rate of about one a week. They’re not much but it’s a start.” The survivors were escorted to the same long building that Else had spent the night in. She kept in the shadows, alert for any sign of the convent operatives. The people of Mildura didn’t seem to be looking for her or even know who she was.

  “Eric,” Else said, drawing him aside as the people filed past. “I’ve seen some things around here that might be useful for making stuff. Like what we used on the ship.”

  Eric did a double take. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why would we want to blow shit up around here?”

  “There’s more going on here than you think,” Else replied.

  “I know, stuff like hot showers, fresh food, a bed to sleep in.”

  “It’s more than that. Get Rache. Meet me over there, by the kitchen place.” Else slipped away, leaving Eric shaking his head and moving after the others.

  The temporary accommodation of the communal room was filled with the survivors. Most settled on beds with their children cuddled against them. Some simply sat on the floor with their backs against the wall and slept.

  Rache and Eric wandered around the community encampment; they found Else leaning against the back wall of a building used as a communal kitchen.

  “I need you to make something that will burn. Something that will burn really well,” Else said to Eric.

  “Anything else?” Eric asked.