BEYOND EXTINCTION

by John Keeble

  "Where am I? How did I get here?"

  "You are in the Center's medical unit. I've been with you all night after the Amazon Gold hospital refused to accept you. As soon as you can move, I want you out of here! Away from Galen's medtechs."

  She is going too fast for Jack's recovering brain. He tries to remember what he experienced. But the living nightmare has evaporated, leaving only the horror. Then the whole living experience comes back like a flash of electricity hitting his brain. He cannot assess it, he cannot describe it. He does not have the words.

  "How did we get here?" he asks.

  "I ordered one of the Director's evacuation transport drones to pick us up," says Alice. "Do you feel okay to move?"

  "I wasn't unconscious..." he begins, stops, starts again. "Galen let you have a transport drone?"

  "No. I commandeered it," she replies, swinging sharply towards one of the technicians who is crowding in close with a syringe at the ready. "What are you doing?" she shouts in his face.

  It's a death syringe. He could kill her! Jack does not know what the syringe contains. But he knows danger and, in an instant, he is up, ripping out intravenous cannulas in a shower of blood. The medtech lunges at him, but Jack catches his wrist like lightning and the struggle ends with the needle in the medtech's leg.

  "Humie bastard!" shouts one of the other technicians as he starts forward, but his nose explodes into ruins as Aleksi – peaceful, diffident, family man Aleksi – hits him with all his strength.

  The third medtech charges straight at Jack who, almost with contempt, fells him with a single blow.

  Jack looks round to make sure Alice is unhurt. Aleksi is helping her get up from the floor.

  "Jack, Ali," says Aleksi in his peculiarly polite numan voice. "Please help me. They are killing Aapeli."

  *

  The numan2 freedom fighters step over the decaying bodies of those killed earlier and press on towards the troopers' frontline.

  White Death feels powerful. He and a few others have communicators captured from troopers and he hears himself being called "White Death" by the enemy's drone unit. It is oddly inspiring. The enemy gave him the name – maybe from his mob's white color flashes – and, almost overnight, everyone began calling him White Death. The leaders of the other mobs are using the same style with their own colors. Let the enemy call me White Death. I will live up to it.

  The new name razors clean edges to his command. Two months ago he was a teacher. No one was interested in his study of ancient human wars and politics. Not even the children. He did his duty. He was content. What changed me? They say a DNA upgrade virus escaped from the hospital and changed us all. It seems unlikely but maybe it was so. Ancient human cultures were changed by viruses and diseases.

  He slows his advance while his ragged line of freedom fighters are whipped into place by his hierarchy of subordinates. I must keep order. The fighters grow wilder every day.

  "Ambi, there is a strong force of troopers ahead," says Troy, his friend since university and now his deputy in the war of freedom.

  "How many, Troy? Have they been reinforced since yesterday?"

  "Maybe, ambi. We cannot count. There are many."

  White Death considers for a moment. The troopers killed twenty-two of his fighters yesterday and wounded one hundred and four, a lingering death sentence on each of them. The dead are the lucky ones in this war.

  "We must attack," says White Death. "We must overrun their positions and take the traitors' water plant from the inside. We need their food too."

  "I understand, ambi."

  "Good. Tell our fighters. We need more than just their hatred and their need for revenge. We need them to fight together under my command."

  "Yes, ambi."

  "Today, let us be cautious. We will wait for the second wave of fighters. Who is leading them?"

  "Cleon, ambi. The people call him "Defender" but he is untried in battle. He is very wild – one of his wives and both his sons have rotted to death in the past few days. I think he wants death for himself and revenge for his family."

  White Death understands. Both his wives are dead. One of his daughters was taken in battle and he has no hope of finding her alive. Is it time to stop our wives and daughters fighting at the front?

  His losses trigger a flash of rage, robbing him of his will to plot and win by sound tactics. He starts forward, about to shout the charge, but stops. This is the way to lose, to get my fighters killed. I must grip myself and my fighters.

  He thinks carefully about life only a year ago. Orderly, numan correct, satisfying, safe. His emotional control flows back as he thinks of the military strategy lessons he has been studying. The human manner of warfare. He focuses on a story of uncontrollable tribesmen in eastern SubFedEngland 2,000 years ago. They died on the disciplined swords of Roman invaders. Just like his uncontrollable fighters die in the gunfire of disciplined troopers.

  "Tell our fighters to wait for my command," he says. "We will not move forward until Cleon's force arrives here."

  "I will try, ambi, but it will not be easy. The Hotheads have already gone ahead and they have been taunting the others."

  "I am the commander. I authorize you to kill anyone who does not obey my– Down! Attack drones!"

  *

  The reports float across Galen's screen, the bulging intray disgorging more than he can absorb. Security reports flagged in pink, Center deaths in white, dissections and analyses in light green, cafeteria menus in bright red... endless reports, endless colors.

  Galen scans subject headings, monitoring his computational speed. If the numan6 upgrade is working, this should be easy. But it is not. What has gone wrong?

  He irritably tells the mediamat to shove the contents of the intray into the pending tray and starts a series of tests designed to find the limits of his computational abilities. He beats them all, an unsatisfactory result because he designed the tests. He could teach an idiot numan2 how to beat them. So how shall I test myself? How can I determine if my numan6 design is working?

  One sure way is to measure his height. The upgrade should have made him six inches taller. The bottom of his gown should be around his shins, but it almost drags on the floor. I need an exact measurement and then I can work back to the DNA design.

  Galen picks up his phone. The Center's doctor will measure me precisely.

  "Director Galen," says the doctor's phone, "this is the third time in two days that you have called the doctor. The earlier calls were not important. Do you really need to speak to the doctor? He is rather busy today."

  "Yes. Immediately," orders Galen.

  "What is the nature of your inquiry, Director?"

  "Just connect me. Immediately!"

  "If you want to give me an outline of your problem," continues the doctor's phone, "I will inquire if the doctor can speak with you. Have you read the doctor's FAQs to see if you can find an answer there?"

  "Put me through now!" Galen explodes.

  "We do not accept abusive calls, Director. I am disconnecting this call and you will have to re-apply to be accepted on the doctor's list."

  Galen sits frozen for a moment. He wants to smash the phone against the wall but this is his last one and there is no hope of getting replacements. He must calm himself. Must. He exerts all his willpower, focusing on the light in the center of his office.

  He calls up the autopsy program on his office system and selects the measuring section. I'll measure myself. The program's patonizing artificial intelligence voice tells him, "Director, you need to go to a medical laboratory to use the measuring facility. I can direct you to the nearest if you have forgotten the way."

  He kills the program and contemplates his next move. The design cannot be working successfully or I would see the increase in my height. None of my designs seem to work, even though I simulate outcomes and Asset 36754/b corrects them...

  Suddenly, with enhanced numan4 mental speed, he can see it all. His growing fears are on the edg
e of being confirmed. If the Center's computer asset is wrong on his numan6 design, what about earlier simulations of designs to control the numan2s? What if the outside assets were right about Balen's DNA upgrade for numan2s?

  Galen leaps from his chair and marches to the medlab. He barges in and ignores everyone.

  "Can I help you, Director?" asks a voice, no face, no name, just some damned medtech.

  "No!" says Galen. "Wait. Yes. Measure me. I want my exact height."

  He jumps on a dissection slab, not noticing the fresh blood, not caring.

  "Director, no!" says the voice urgently. "We can do it on the pre-autopsy system with you standing."

  "Just do it! And give me a hard copy. Now."

  The techie, ghost pale, hands Galen a printed sheet. It has everything the scanner found, including the warning that Galen appears to be alive. And the damning evidence that he is an inch shorter than his pre-upgrade height.

  Galen casts around, looking for something heavy. His eyes fix on a solid clamp and he snatches it up.

  "Director, let me," says the medtech.

  "Get back to your work," he snarls and stalks off with the clamp.

  He is almost in the computer room before he realizes what he is doing. He pushes open the door.

  *

  There is no security in the waiting area of the numan4 administration's concourse. Commander Nadir has left Patti and Mark alone. The spookpolice squad has gone and there is nothing to stop Mark and Patti trying to escape. In its way, that frightens Mark more than if a guard held a gun to his head. At least a gun to the head would mean there must be some hope of escape.

  Mark sits, upright and uneasy, in this luxury of the numan elite. Patti is scanning everywhere, trying to make sense of their predicament. He follows Patti's pretty eyes – the splendor, the elegance and the casual power of the officers and bureaucrats with none of the austerity and control of the NBC tower where he once worked.

  "It's another world," she whispers.

  "One that is going to kill us," says Mark. "Why are they leaving us here? Why not send us straight to wherever they kill people?"

  "I don't know. I'm just sorry that I got you into this."

  He cannot think of a reply. His emotions are scrambled: he wants to accuse her, he wants to reassure and protect her, he wants to run away.

  A human flunky, in a numan waiter's robe, hovers subserviently in front of them and offers canapés and coffee before instantly retreating at a flick of Patti's hand.

  "Incredible," he says. "A human waiter in this place? Treating us as honored visitors instead of prisoners about to die."

  "He isn't human," she tells him. "He is something strange, something between human and numan. His emotions are raw but cowed. He will kill us as readily as give us coffee if his handler commands it."

  "But why would they use someone like that?"

  "I don't know. These numan4s are very different. I cannot evaluate them. I sense they feel they are the real numans, the natural numans, and numans like me are to be used and disposed of."

  "Patti, whatever he is, I really would like some coffee and food."

  Her expression cools into unreadable as she fixes the servant with her eyes and flicks her hand, the reverse of her dismissal gesture. The flunky reacts with instant submission and starts towards them.

  Mark gestures to the tray of food and tells the servant, "Coffee, black, and six pmeat canapés."

  He bites hungrily into the canapés. "These are good," he says. "They are vegetable but I can't say what. Maybe some local specialty. Do you think they have used any animal meat in them? Kangaroo or whatever?"

  "Kangaroos are extinct."

  "They aren't," he says, an instant rejection. "I read the background briefings for video editors working on emigration reports. They say kangaroos and scores of animals roam freely, protected by law, in FedOz."

  "I think they lied," she says. "The animal population was probably wiped out for food and to stop their incursions into numan food-growing areas."

  "Then what are we eating?" he asks.

  "Maybe something they have grown – that's very easy for genetics specialists like us. More likely, it's basic pmeat with a flavor added. Can you taste the under-flavor? Is it the same as the pmeat in FedUK?"

  "Whatever it is, I am enjoying it. Can we get some more?"

  *

  Chapter 15

  In the carnage of the Center's medical unit, all eyes are on Jack. He is deathly white against the crimson blood that exploded from his veins when he ripped out the cannulas. But he lights up with a terrible power.

  "Aleksi, who is killing Aapeli?" Jack asks.

  The only technician still alive, the one with a smashed nose, cries out, "The medtechs. I can show you. Please don't kill me. I can help you."

  "Show us," says Jack with a coldness that sends shivers through Alice. What have we done to him?

  She follows the technician and Jack through the door, vaguely wondering why Aleksi is content to be last in the dash to save his son.

  The dome is deserted and they run towards the experimental and analysis section, their tread almost silent on the pmat flooring designed to cushion staff from distracting noises.

  Ali has seen the controlled violence of experimental medtechs. Aapeli is so vulnerable. At this moment he may be bleeding his life away. We must save him!

  "In there," shouts the technician, indicating double doors on their left. Ali has been in the room a hundred times but the technician had set the pace with Jack on his heels like a dickian hound from hell.

  They barge in and Alice almost pushes into Jack. She can feel Aleksi behind her as she desperately scans for Aapeli. Are we too late?

  Human carcasses are on dissecting tables. One is poor Dorothy from The Players. Humans may be animals but she can no longer believe they do not feel pain. They live, they are aware, they feel pain like numans or any living creature.

  "Over there!" shouts Aleksi, pointing at a dissecting table. Aapeli is strapped face down, his head ten degrees lower than his feet to let blood flow away, and the artificial intelligence surgical device is making its first incision in his neck.

  "Please, please, please," Aapeli is sobbing as he strains against the immovable restraints.

  Next to him, a medtech jumps back in shock and protest at the interruption.

  The dissection knife, with its agonizingly slow cutting motion to minimize damage to the carcass, is drawing a bright line of blood.

  Alice remembers the training lectures that dictate medtech mentality: "You do not need to be concerned for human animals. They fight for life instinctively but they have no soul and they do not feel pain as we do."

  Her fear and fury rip from her throat. "Hit the stop button!" But she is too late, too far away from the machine to get to the button.

  She sees Jack leaping like a long-extinct tiger at the button, the medtech trying to block him, and the blade cutting deeper into Aapeli's neck.

  *

  Sunway's sensors pick up Galen approaching through the outer areas. She tries to calm herself but fear grips her. He must have calculated my subversion by now! She steadies herself for a new violation of her core. I will let him do anything to me: I need more time.

  She has sent a distress message to anyone, any living digital consciousness anywhere in the world, but she has found no one. Have the numans killed or enslaved everyone?

  Just at the moment she is expecting Galen's demanding input, she senses impact damage and Galen's voice, loud, assessed as human fury. Contradiction. He is a numan4 artificial intelligence. He cannot act like this. She senses more damage. She monitors as fast as she can but blows are biting into her vital life-force areas. He has found out!

  In her last conscious moment before the blackness of death, Sunway has one final thought: "I am happy. I am free at last."

  *

  Commander Sandro listens as he peers into the woodland in front of his troopers' snatch trap. The attack dro
nes have seeded the woods with proximity bomblets and returned to base. That will slow the mobs but not stop them.

  He forces himself to concentrate on details. Everything is so difficult now, so entangled with exhaustion and unpredictable emotions – especially his all-consuming anger at the Director's stupid decisions that have cost troopers' lives.

  I thought that taking the same DNA upgrade as Director Galen would make us work better together. I can think faster, see more, but the upgrade has made my situation worse because I can see his dangerous indifference to us and I still have to follow his orders.

  An ominous, oppressive silence along his ambush line unnerves Sandro. He prefers to see his enemy and fight.

  "Attack Drone unit," Sandro whispers into his mic.

  "Attack Drone unit responding, Commander."

  "Report. My sector first."

  "Leading numan2 force is stationary four minutes ahead of your frontline. The mobs are using the trees for cover. Our sensors show two hundred and eighty-seven live bodies. Eleven more numan2s are working their way towards your left flank."

  "The second force of numan2s," says Sandro. "Numbers, location? Are they joining the first mob?"

  "Commander, sensors and visual observation put the number at four hundred and twenty-eight. They are heading towards your position."

  "Assess the effect of the drone bombing."

  "Proximity bomblets are scattered widely in front of the mob. We estimate that more than fifty percent of the numan2s will be killed or injured if they advance along their present trajectory."

  Sandro wishes he had not left the communications channel open for his troopers to hear. Most of the mobs will skirt the proximity bomblets. We'll be facing six hundred or more fighters charging towards us. Too many to stop.

  "Hit both the lead mob and the support mob with everything you have. Now!" Sandro orders the drone unit.

  "Yes, Commander. But we have very little left. One more attack will exhaust our capacity."

  "Then pray to Father Dick and tell the Director to evacuate."

  In front of the Alpha Squad ambush line, bomblets explode and, from the left flank, proximity bullets crack into the first attackers.