BEYOND EXTINCTION

by John Keeble

  "Alpha Squad. Pull back to the main defense line. Go!"

  He watches his troopers file off, shadows in the undergrowth, and he brings up the rear.

  "Commander, this is the Drone unit. There are three more mobs approaching the Center from other directions. Tactical data analysis indicates they cannot be stopped. We are issuing a warning to the Director."

  Sandro does not bother to reply. He can hear the first of the numan2 fighters coming for his troopers.

  *

  Patti watches Mark hungrily bite into the canapés and she wonders if he has any idea what will happen to them in the research laboratory. At best, they will be strapped into the euthanasia unit without anesthetics as the razor-sharp blade cuts back and forth with incredible slowness and precision. At worst, that drawn-out death will be delayed while technicians perform whatever tests they choose.

  "I'm sorry," she tells Mark. "I was trying to protect you by keeping you with me."

  Mark lifts his head and stares into the distance for a moment. She knows he is not seeing this numan palace of administration or the people populating it. He is somewhere she cannot follow but she can guess how bitter he must feel.

  "You did your best," he says finally, without looking at her. "At least we will have each other until the end."

  He returns to the canapés. She tries one, though she is too anxious – yes, too human anxious – to feel hungry. The under-taste is familiar, the same as the pmeat of FedUK. That does not surprise her. Numans and humans alike are sustained by pmeat.

  "I am pleased that you appreciate our cuisine, Miss Patti," says a uniformed administrator who has approached silently behind her.

  Her heart beats faster and her stomach flutters. "It's an interesting cuisine, sir," she says cautiously.

  "We make many things to flavor the pmeat. It is necessary because the pmeat is always the same. Over the past few decades, flavoring has become an art, a highly profitable art for those with aptitude and ability."

  "Do you allow humans to get rich with this art?" she says, expecting to hear that humans are excluded.

  "No one gets rich, Miss Patti. The profit is in winning powerful friends. FedOz numans are not permitted to get rich and humans work for their owners."

  "Owners?"

  "Yes, our ways are complex for someone like you from the primitive edge of our world. Here human animals are owned in the same way humans once owned nonhuman animals."

  She twists in her seat to see his face and read his uniform as they speak. Who is he? Numan4, obviously, but very unusual. He's huge, as tall as Ali, maybe even six feet, and revoltingly muscled. And his eyes! What a complete lack of taste and judgment. His eyes are flamboyant brown, far deeper than the numan4 standard, flecked with pale yellow and orange – and devoid of any rimming. If he can get away with that and hold an important post, he must be very clever.

  "Our pmeat flavors, especially the spices and herbs, are a route to preferential treatment by our civilization's elite," he tells her. "We could design and grow any food we desire but our laws say we must clear existing sources to improve the world environment."

  "I am more interested in who you are and what you are going to do with us," Patti says.

  "My name is Commander Aindrea. I have security responsibilities but my work is within genetic research. I am the Deputy Director of the FedOz Genetics Research Center."

  "May I ask how you know my human cover name?" Why is he looking at me as if I am an insect printed to disgust him?

  "Patti is no longer your cover name. We have changed all your documentation. You are now officially human and Patti is your processing identification. The Center's priest will take your soul in an Animalization Ritual tomorrow morning."

  She jerks round to face him. "Take my soul?"

  "Yes. It's a costly legal necessity."

  "You are going to make me die without a soul?"

  "Yes, of course. You should be grateful. The Animalization Ritual will end your obscene and sinful state of engaging in bestiality with your animal."

  "But I came here to work on emotional analysis. I am a specialist. I was offered important work in FedOz!"

  Commander Aindrea laughs unpleasantly. "We have had you under investigation – you, your children, and your associates – since you chose to accept our invitation to help us in FedOz instead of going into stasis in FedUK. What happens to you depends on what we think will best serve us."

  *

  White Death waits for reinforcements. All around him in the forest, fighters are taking their places, but the Hotheads are ignoring his orders and pressing forward. Some have already walked into proximity bomblets, a lethal mix of shard and rot death munitions.

  What tactics should I use now? Once past the bombies, should I commit everything, everyone, in a mad charge that will end in total victory or total defeat?

  A patter of soft sounds grabs his attention. "Drones!" he warns first-timers. Survivors of earlier attacks need no warning. No one ever forgets a drone raid and proximity bomblets. The raids are never dramatic: almost silent drone bombers and subdued thuds of intelligent microbombs belie the horror of these area-denial weapons.

  The screams of Hotheads pierce the air, but his specialists are watching the drones and marking safe paths for his disciplined fighters. All the same, White Death's heart is beating faster. He feels sick. And that enrages him more.

  "Advance along the safe routes," he shouts and hears the order repeated along the line.

  He moves forward. Death or glory. His fears and doubts have vanished in a surge of hatred and fury.

  *

  Chapter 16

  Galen is in his private office at the Center. He feels calmer, as satisfied by smashing the simulation computer as he felt when he punched Ali.

  "Director Galen?" sounds an urgent voice on the mediamat emergency channel. The officer's face is unfamiliar but his location is the Center's military control.

  "Why are you contacting me?" Galen demands. "Where is Commander Sandro?"

  "He's leading a snatch squad, Director. I'm acting controller."

  "What is the emergency?" Galen demands.

  "Our frontline units are being attacked by overwhelming numbers on four fronts. Our tactical projections predict that the Center will be overrun in less than fifty minutes. What are your orders?"

  "Your frontline units will fight to the last trooper. There is no room in the evacuation drones for security and ancillary staff. When the last of the evacuation drones has left, your force will fight its way to Dorchester. There is a military unit there."

  "But Director..."

  "Just do it!" says Galen curtly. "The system has your identification."

  "And your identification and orders are being logged on the Military High Command network. You—"

  Galen breaks the connection before the officer can complete his threat.

  He checks the time. Fifty minutes before being overrun. The reality of imminent disaster hits him. Can I get the useful researchers and live specimens out in time? He hits the emergency dump of Center files into his Wight Island military lab's system and then brings up his evacuation plan.

  The Center evacuation will work, but Balen, Jack and Max are a problem. He activates his secure link to military headquarters on Wight Island. I can manipulate those fools into using the research drone to pick up Jack and fly him to the Andes complex for dissection.

  *

  A deep, violent jolt hits Aleksi's mind as he sees Aapeli strapped to the dissection table, his head down, the blade red with blood.

  "Aapeli, we're here!" he shouts as he runs towards Aapeli. Jack is faster, and infinitely more violent. In a split second, Jack pounds aside the medtech near Aapeli and looks for a way to stop the machine.

  "Jack, let me!" shouts Ali, a step behind him and wielding a medical stand. In a desperate, fluid motion, she smashes the blade upwards while her other hand punches the emergency stop button.

  To her left, where the lab
oratory bleeds into more dissection tables, Jack faces another spookpolice medtech mustering the courage to attack and, six yards away, two security guards are running towards them.

  The guards have their guns drawn. There is no escape. For any of them.

  *

  Mark cannot come to grips with the numan way of death. He has been told, unemotionally, that he is going to be killed in some way that serves numan interests but he is being treated as a welcome guest.

  "I have instructed our catering staff to prepare a box of your favorite pmeat canapés for your journey," Commander Aindrea tells Mark as he and Patti sit in the administration waiting area.

  "Where are we going?" asks Patti, but Mark does not care. His mind is torn between the supply of canapés and the imminence of death. Are they giving us the condemned prisoner's last meal?

  "We will take you both to Facility 6348, which is in a research and processing complex about two hours north of here," says Aindrea. "Miss Patti, one of my digital assistants wrongly gave you an assurance that Mr. Mark would go where you go – I am honoring that but I need to produce some benefit to justify my action."

  "Thank you," says Mark, though why he is thanking his executioner is a puzzle to him. It just seems right in this quiet, elegant center of power. Anything less would be impolite.

  "Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the transport, Mr. Mark?" says Aindrea, a question but no question. "I can tell the security officers to take you but, with your politeness and Miss Patti's former status, I think it would be more decorous for me to see you to the van."

  "Thank you," repeats Mark. "I think we would prefer that."

  Aindrea steps aside for them to follow him.

  *

  Chapter 17

  Ali's brain plots the medlab action: there is no escape but nothing is frozen in the sudden and bloody confrontation. No one has stopped moving. It is not a stalemate. There's still hope.

  She is at Aapeli's side, pressing her hand over his neck to staunch the bleeding. The blade has scored his spine. If it has gone too deep... Jack is next to her, one eye on the advancing guards as he rips open the restraints holding Aapeli against the table. Aleksi seizes Aapeli's hand, helping him struggle free, and shouts wildly, "You're all right. You're safe."

  The spookpolice medtech and security guards can see the wreckage wrought by Jack and Alice and they stand off with their guns ready.

  "Desist!" shouts the medtech, his finger on the trigger.

  Ali eyes him sharply. "I am Commander Balen, inhouse cover name Ali. I am Deputy Director of this facility. I am your superior in every way. Including my rank in the security police. You will desist and assist."

  Still they point their weapons at her.

  "You will desist and await the orders of the Director," says the medtech.

  So that's it. They're playing safe and calling Galen. "Ask the Director to come here immediately," she counters, stepping aside and leaving Aleksi to stop Aapeli's bleeding and Jack to lift him from the table. "If he is not available, consult with Commander Dalen at Security Central. She is responsible to the World Council for security here and she is an Associate Director of this facility."

  She assesses the response as the medtech and guards understand the implications: Galen, Balen, Dalen. They better get it right or they will be on the next boat to FedOz – if any of them escape the attacking mobs and get out of the Center alive.

  Ali moves away from the table, watching the guards but keeping an eye on Aleksi and Jack helping Aapeli on to a chair. Will they find the first-aid box?

  She expects the guards to assert their authority but they stand immobile, ready, and the medtech tells her, "You do not often come into my laboratory, Deputy Director Balen, and so you may not know that I am Nandro, recently appointed here as Senior Medical Research Technician."

  "My apology, Senior Technician Nandro," she says. "I know your name and your excellent reputation but I have not had the opportunity to personally welcome you to my research team."

  "I am sorry that our first meeting is under these circumstances but I am also a senior member of the security forces and I must tell you, under Security Order GMP918a, you will be shot if you do not follow my instructions."

  "I am familiar with that security provision," says Alice. "I can guarantee that no one will take any action, except to treat this numan child, until you can resolve this matter. Does Director Galen know you need his direct order on this?"

  "Actually, Deputy Director Balen, I do not need his authority to take whatever action I think necessary, but I am extending this courtesy because he is here and because your actions in the past have been exemplary," says Nandro. "We shall wait a few minutes to see if he wishes to make a decision. We cannot wait longer. The Center's perimeter is expected to be penetrated by numan2 mobs at any moment and key Center staff are evacuating in transport drones."

  Surprisingly, the junior guard axes into the conversation in his rough-trooper way to ask, "Sir, there's a rumor that security staff aren't being evacuated. Is that correct?"

  Nandro whips the guard with his eyes. "You will speak to me only when I require it. You will follow orders."

  Ali sees a flash of anger in the guard's eyes. Is the numan2 instability getting into the troopers?

  *

  White Death and his fighters pick their route towards the troopers' frontline. He hates the Hotheads for their stupidity but he hates the numan2 troopers far more. I will lead my force to a crushing victory even if I die in the attack.

  He can hear his own mob around him. The razor-sharp tip of my arrow. Mobs from other villages will attack on either side of his force, and support fighters will come along behind to replace the fallen and carry the captured water and food to the villages.

  White Death reaches the point on the edge of the woods where he should order the charge but something is wrong. An eerie silence shrouds the area. His fighters are waiting, puzzled and unnerved by the silence.

  Troy, White Death's friend and deputy, runs up to him in a crouch. "Something is wrong, ambi. It is too quiet. There are no drones. We heard Hotheads being killed by troopers to the south but then everything went silent."

  White Death pauses for thought. "Tell our fighters to rest, check their weapons and wait for my order to advance," he says. "Send runners to slow the second-wave mobs. Something has changed."

  He watches as Troy carries out his orders: trusted men of Troy's elite cohort sprint off to stop the mobs.

  "It is done, ambi," Troy tells White Death. He looks uneasy, increasing White Death's fear that they are walking into a trap.

  "Troy, take thirty experienced fighters and scout forward. See if you can detect what kind of trap has been set today." Am I sending them to their deaths?

  *

  Commander Aindrea likes Mark. He admires his strength in the face of certain death and he wishes he could save him. He would make a fine research animal or pet. Miss Patti is different: a creature who has betrayed her creation and who deserves contempt. Death and research processing will obtain the most benefit from her but Aindrea doubts that the yield will be worth the expense.

  Aindrea flicks away the waiting security detail and walks off with Mark and his female following.

  "Mr. Mark, I'm sorry you need to die," he says over his shoulder. "I tried to reassign you to growing food but you are too old. They wouldn't take you."

  "I thought numans could not feel sorry for anything," replied Mark.

  "We control numan2s worldwide by limiting what they can think and what they can feel," says Aindrea. "Here, at the center of the numan world, we limit numan2 staff but have no such limitations on numan4s."

  "I worked with numan2s in FedUK. The boss might have been numan4, I suppose, but no one ever said he was different. They got rid of me because I was human."

  Aindrea looks back at Mark. We probably all look the same to him.

  "You are very intelligent for a human, Mr. Mark. Do you have any questions? You mu
st resent your situation," he says, increasingly tempted to use Mark in his research.

  "There is one question."

  Aindrea slows to walk beside Mark. "Anything."

  "Pmeat. The flavors are fantastic – but some say pmeat is addictive."

  Aindrea laughs. "You want to know if pmeat is addictive? Yes, in humans it is addictive like tobacco smoking once was."

  "Numans eat much more pmeat than humans eat," says Mark. "Are they addicted more than humans?"

  This one is clever. It's a wasted opportunity to kill him. He's a perfect test animal. "Numan2s are addicted in a more subtle way. We build pmeat dependence into the genetic structures of numan2s – as long as numan2s have pmeat, they do not resent other foods being in short supply. Sometimes we strengthen the sedative content of pmeat to calm specific subjects, like you, or whole communities. We are trying it in the current numan2 crisis but the results are disappointing."

  He notes Mark's quick examination of everything they pass – and Miss Patti's lack of interest. They traverse the back corridors, through hole-in-the-wall doors, and finally emerge onto a sweeping stairway with glittering walls and natural projection lighting. The human animal loves this. To him, it must seem like a human palace rather than a route to the hell awaiting him.

  "Amazing," says Mark.

  "Standard construction for offices," volunteers Aindrea.

  "What about away from the cities and towns? The whole of FedOz must be taken by farms growing vegetables and cereals for the pmeat base that you send worldwide. Are the offices in other locations as luxurious as here?"

  Just for a moment, Aindrea is thrown off balance. "You are such good company, Mr. Mark, that I forget that you know nothing of what happens in FedOz. You will be joining the pmeat process on the day after tomorrow. Your curiosity will be fully satisfied. Miss Patti will be processed tomorrow by the research technicians. While that is happening, I can arrange a tour of the research complex for you. I think it will surprise you."