by John Keeble
*
Galen takes the drone up, away from the chaos on the ground, and heads north. His "passengers" are unwinding in their seats, calming themselves and adjusting to an uncertain future. Galen tries to invoke his numan4 mind control to slow his heart and his mind, but his racing emotions are too strong. Only a military cruiser can harm us now. And the regional cruiser squadron was deployed to FedAm two weeks ago.
Predictably, Jack, Ali and Max are sitting together. Jack and Ali are talking too quietly for Galen to hear. Aleksi is tending Aapeli. The two guards are sitting motionless, waiting for orders, still armed. They will be useful when the time is right.
Maybe his chance will come when he tells them the true state of the world. They may consider him a prisoner but that can be reversed in a flash.
The 360-degree view screen shows the drone rising fast through high, wispy clouds, though Galen seems to be the only one noticing. He cannot think of anywhere safe from numan2s and out of the military's control.
His mind is racked by doubt and fear. He and his staff developed the DNA upgrades to control numan2s and distributed them to hospitals worldwide. He used his own simulation program to correct successive designs by Ali's team. The rebellion might be my fault.
Is it possible that the upgrade-installation viruses and faulty DNA upgrades were passed from patients to communities? He doubts it: this is the kind of elementary problem that is routinely avoided. Unless...
Galen tries to control his anxiety but his mind spins into his problems with human emotions: the jealousy that made him hit Ali, the fury that drove him to destroy the simulation computer, the useless hours of indecision, and the need for revenge. Now I am even thinking in human terms. Am I infected like the numan2s?
He sneaks a sideways look at Ali, always his favorite wife when they were young, always his closest ally and supporter in the years of serving numan science. Ali's head is inclined close to Jack's: they are breathing the same air, sharing the same intimate space. Both have their hands touching Max, a tight trinity – and he, Ali's husband, is cast out, held prisoner. I'll tell Jack about Ali and watch him suffer.
"Research Transport Drone Delta 4645, your journey is not authorized. State your last port, your next port and your complement." The brisk World Drone Control voice fills the air and everyone looks up as if the speaker is in the drone with them.
"Answer it," Jack tells Galen, his eyes carrying as much command as his voice.
"This is World Council Member Galen aboard RTD4645," says Galen, noting Ali's eyes open wider in recognition, finally, of his power. Would it have been different with Ali if I had revealed my promotion? The guards, too, are shocked: the troopers stare like genetically engineered ants chancing upon the second coming of Father Dick.
"This is a secure channel, Commander Galen," the drone controller says. "You can state your command code to confirm your identity."
Galen pauses for a moment. He looks around the drone cabin. Even Max is watching him and listening. At one time, he controlled them all but now they are enemies.
"Drone control, I am in an insecure location," he says. "I request an Alpha Three procedure for identification of World Council Members. My identification mirror is registered."
"Stand by, Commander Galen."
Galen expects Ali or Jack to fill the silence but they, like the others, are content to watch and wait.
"Galen, my old friend, how are you?" comes a voice, unidentified and unannounced.
"Aini, I am as content as possible," replies Galen. "Are you content?"
"No one here is content at the moment," says Commander Aindrea.
"You have hopes?" asks Galen.
"Our research is progressing," says Aini. "We have hopes of solving the numan instability but the live research texts from you have not given us the data we expected. The latest, Miss Patti, was worthless… Galen, where are you and where are you heading? Why are you in the drone? Who is with you?"
"The FedUK Center was overrun—."
"Yes, I know," says Aini. "Subcommander Dalen" – Galen stiffens: the use of Dalen's title is a clear warning – "sent a security update a few minutes ago. The Center was captured. All your medtechs, genetic engineers and researchers were murdered. The military reports that you deserted your staff and escaped in a stolen research drone."
"I deny any charge of deserting my command or my staff," says Galen formally, acutely aware of seven pairs of eyes and ears registering every syllable. "I am a prisoner of a group led by Jack Janus and Commander Balen."
He looks at Ali, waiting for her to respond. Is that contempt in her eyes?
"Galen, my old friend, let us not forget our past," says Aini. "You and I must remain friends; let us face this together."
"We must work together to regain control of the numan2s," says Galen, trying to calculate the risks of Aini serving the World Council, the research effort and the security forces.
"Some World Council elements are arguing that control has failed irrevocably – that we should pull every numan4 back to FedOz and let the numan2s and human animals die out."
"Yes, I heard those kinds of arguments before the Center was overrun. What do you think, Aini?"
"I am content for the World Council to decide," says Aini cautiously. "Here, our only success is tracking where this worldwide disaster began and how it happened."
Maybe they have found something to clear me. How can I be responsible for the destruction of the numan world? "What have you got, Aini?"
He registers the underlying pleasure as Aini says, "Everything points to the loss of control of our numan2s being caused by errors in genetic upgrades engineered at your Center, Galen. The World Council's finger of suspicion points at you."
There is a deep silence and stillness in the drone. Everyone waits for his reaction.
"I see," he replies, human-animal shock and numan4 caution freezing his reaction. "I will contact you again when I have a destination."
"No," commands Aini. "You will fly to—." His voice dies abruptly as Galen breaks the link.
"From elite numan4 to fugitive," says Jack. "Now you do have to find us somewhere safe to hide while we work out what to do."
"Nowhere is safe," says Galen, furious at Jack, but feeling a vindictive pleasure in shocking them. "The whole world is crippled with violence, starvation and dwindling water supplies. Only FedOz is regarded as safe but we cannot go there."
"Why didn't you tell me? Are my children safe?" shouts Ali.
Galen uses the human smiling gesture that he perfected at the Center and tells her, "Our children are safe. I sent them to FedOz a week ago. I doubt if you will ever see them again."
He hardly registers her flashing fists as she jumps up and attacks him. But he feels the power and pleasure of his fury and frustration as he lashes out at her – and terror as his arm is ripped aside in a whirlwind of Max's teeth.
*
White Death and his fighters, now gathered inside the Center's security fence, are stunned by their victory. They can hear the frenzy of killing and looting going on inside the domes.
"Where is Deputy Commander Troy?" White Death asks. "Someone find him and tell him to report here to me."
"Commander, Troy is dead," answers one of the fighters. "All his scouting party died. Most were killed by smart bullets when they approached the troopers' new defenses."
So Troy is dead. Friend, confidant, trusted ally, ready to lead the fight if I perished. Who will help me stop the madness now that we have won?
"All of you," says White Death, capturing them with his eyes. "Half of you protect the water plant. Kill anyone who tries to touch it. The rest, do the same with the pmeat store."
This is not how I saw victory in my dreams. When it all started, victory was planned as a time of justice, equality and goodwill among all numan2s. Gradually, in the day-by-day grind of violence and death, he had seen that justice, equality and goodwill meant little to most of the fighters.
Can I
hold the mobs together? Will they revert to their own loyalties and needs?
*
Chapter 21
Mark's vomit hits the roof and side of the limousine like a multi-colored blaster spray, the solids sticking where they strike and the liquid running down, streaking the formal numan4 silver grey paintwork with a slime ejected from the depths of his gut.
He chokes, brings up more, realizes that the spray has hit Aini too but he does not care. He retches again, one outstretched hand in the middle of the vomit on the limousine as he tries to steady himself.
The driver pulls a purple towel from the front seat of the limousine and thrusts it towards Mark. The sight of it, the color, clenches his stomach into another spasm and the liquid carrying soft solids ooze out of his mouth and down his chin, dripping in long strands like mucus onto his shirt.
"I'm sorry," he gasps, his breath gone, his stomach still heaving with nothing more to eject. "I'm sorry."
"Mark, my dear chap, it was my fault," says Aini happily, ignoring the vomit on his clothes and shoes. "I shouldn't have told you so abruptly. It is I who should apologize to you."
The driver, looking very human in his anxiety, pushes forward again, intent on helping Mark. But Mark shoves him and his purple towel away, opens the limousine door and gets his thin towel from his bag. He puts it over his mouth, his face, his eyes. I ate a baby and enjoyed it.
"Mark, you can use one of the empty houses to clean yourself," says Aini, firmly taking Mark's elbow and herding him off the street and into the nearest house. "We're ending a research cycle here and we have several houses empty."
Half an hour later, Mark emerges from the house. He is clean and clothed in shirt and pants – his size, but the same shapeless pastel cuts he had seen in the town center. He feels bereft, at a loss, something he cannot quite identify but which frightens him. They are taking control of me. I don't even feel like myself anymore.
The limousine driver grabs his ear and drags him towards the limousine. He wants to punch the driver but, with everything else that has happened, he accepts his fate.
The driver is a human-like figure, almost the brother of the woman who delivered his clean clothes. They are both unnervingly silent, treating him like... like... yes, like a farm animal. I feel like it too. A creature under the total control of another species.
When Mark looks up, he is relieved to see Aini casually striding towards the limousine. He is wearing his gown, sparkling clean from someone else's efforts. The limousine, too, is sparkling clean. The driver gives Mark one last thrust and runs to open the door for Aini.
Mark wants to snarl at Aini but he depends on him too much in this alien environment. "You did that on purpose," he says, his protest lingering in the air as a pitiful whimper. "You wanted to see how I reacted when you told me. Am I part of your research?"
Aini reaches out a slow, comforting hand to guide him into the limousine but Mark shakes it off and clambers in. It's all an act. Just a way of calming me. "Am I part of your research?" he asks again.
"Of course, my friend," says Aini soothingly. "Your reactions are fascinating and very helpful to my research. These times are more desperate than you can know. Our research center is the last one trying to find an answer to a worldwide crisis – effectively, we are trying to save numanity from chaos. I really do think you can be useful to us."
Mark's hopes leap. "Between now and when you slaughter me? Or can you save me?"
"Some of both," says Aini. "You will have to die but it need not be immediately." Mark's breath catches but he stays silent. "You reacted perfectly to learning the truth about what you enjoyed eating. I have the authority to use you in an experiment never before tried."
"What kind of experiment?" Mark asks. Can it be true? In a world crisis, why would they want my help? And why ask? I have no defense. I'm their prisoner.
"We've been accumulating data on you since you first brought yourself to our notice by taking an animal interest in your former companion, Miss Patti," says Aini. "We can use that emotions data, along with your primitive genetic construction, as a base matrix. We can expose you to controlled situations and, hopefully, match emotional responses to identify genetic trigger points. It's difficult for the uneducated, especially human animals with their primitive brains, but it's something numan4s understand."
Mark is lost. In his own world, he had been a man of competence, an individual, himself. Here I'm nothing. "If I say yes," he asks tamely, "you will not kill me?"
"We will kill you, of course. But not tomorrow. Not for at least a month. Maybe not for two months. You are only an animal but I'm a fair and numane man. I must tell you this: if we process you tomorrow, death will be relatively quick, but if you volunteer for my experiment – and I hope you will – your death, when it comes, will be like Miss Patti's death."
Death now, relatively quickly, or death in a month or two by being cut up alive for research data. Can I take the extra life and then cheat them by killing myself? If I'm alive, there's a chance that I can escape!
"Why ask me when you can do as you wish with me?" asks Mark.
"We need you to be calm and content without sedation," says Aini. "We need you to assist our research willingly and cooperate by remaining calm and registering emotional changes clearly."
Aini taps the driver's shoulder and the limousine eases forward.
"Can I think about it for an hour?" Mark asks, wondering if he can ask such a favor.
"Of course you can, my friend," says Aini. "Take all the time you need but don't forget your itinerary. Is there anything else I can tell you about what we do here?"
Mark is not sure that he wants answers, but from deep in the man he once was, he needs to ask. "What happens in NewLife City? Are those people drugged? They certainly seem like it."
"Not drugged," says Aini. "Just sedated to keep them calm and content. It is an experiment that has proved very successful and it is being introduced on ranches all through FedOz."
"What do you mean by ranches?" he asks.
"Would you mind slipping this on, my friend?" says Aini, offering Mark a small pmetal pendant on a chain. "Just slip it over your head. Make sure the sensor comes into contact with your skin."
Reluctantly, Mark takes it, holds it as if it might bite him.
"It's a sensor and transmitter," soothes Aini. "It transmits your physical, emotional and intellectual reactions. We use it from time to time on nervous human animals."
If that's what he wants, why not? Mark slips the lightweight chain over his head and almost instantly forgets the sensor lying against his chest.
"Thank you. You are such an obliging chap," says Aini softly. "Now, please, ask me any questions."
And will you lie or tell the truth? "What are you doing to the humans in NewLife City?" asks Mark.
"NLC is our free-range organic test ranch," says Aini. "And what is the purpose of any ranch? To provide livestock for food. We are numanely harvesting humans to save our overcrowded planet and disposed of their bodies by turning them into food. On the cruise ships, we assess each animal and decide how best to use it. Only the fit and healthy ones aged between twenty-four and thirty-six years are sent to free-range ranches like NewLife City – they make the finest meat which commands a high price on the markets. Those animals are the lucky ones: they fit numan4 preferences for cuts, texture and taste. Their meat is prized above all other mature cuts."
"You are killing thousands of humans, aren't you?"
"Our human animal eradication program has been running for a decade worldwide. There were eight billion or more human animals in the wild when we started. Now we are estimating in millions – the eradication is nearly complete and we will be free to switch to more varied food sources."
Mark stares at Aini. Billions of humans killed and eaten. It seems impossible but it's not. Humans killed and ate billions of nonhuman animals every year, polluting the world, making themselves ill.
"Mark!" demands Aini, his voice
sharp, incisive, cutting through Mark's mind, slashing the mush apart. "I'm telling you that your animal species is being eaten. Aren't you angry?"
And suddenly, he is angry. He catches Aini checking a sensor display woven into his gown. Aini looks up. Their eyes meet. His anger falters and he wonders when Aini will feed him.
"I think you will be a very suitable subject for my analysis, Mark," says Aini. "I can guarantee you seven or eight weeks more life if you cooperate in our research. Do you accept?"
*
Jack checks the time. It is four hours since their research drone left Abbotsford. He looks at Galen, whose arm is bloody from Max's defense of Alice and who is staring ahead at a screen showing nothing but blue sky. I could strangle the bastard but he's the only one who knows where we can hide.
"I think Galen knows where we are going. I could beat it out of him," Jack says casually into Alice's ear.
Jack, Alice and Max are sitting in the front row of the passenger seats, a thin aisle between them and Galen occupying the drone crew chair. Behind them, Aleksi is nursing Aapeli, who is sleeping fitfully and whose tossing and turning have made his neck bleed again. Behind Aleksi and Aapeli are the two troopers, sleeping peacefully as squaddies without responsibility after Jack took their weapons.
"I have no idea if Twinkle will work at this altitude," says Alice, looking for her phone, "but I might be able to call Dalen. She might tell us where to go."
"She'll probably tell us to go to hell," says Jack. "She's with the security forces, isn't she?"
"She's also my sister."
"Worth a try," says Jack, with nothing better to suggest.
He waits while Alice fumbles her phone from a pocket. It activates instantly.
"Thank you," says Twinkle with a sob. "I've been waiting for you to notice me."
"Twinkle, do you have a link to Dalen?"
"I have been waiting to talk to you. Something dreadful has happened!"