BEYOND EXTINCTION

by John Keeble

  "This is a vital stage," says Aini. "It destroys any lingering bacteria or debris from the previous humlet production. Before this process was introduced, we were losing more than thirty percent of our animals to disease during the next humlet production cycle. The ranches just can't afford that kind of loss."

  Mark can see the machine scanning the animal again and then a second nozzle, longer this time, forces its way deep into the animal, pauses briefly, and withdraws amid the animal's endless screaming, gasping and sobbing.

  I must escape. I can make it. I will survive!

  *

  Chapter 24

  Alice clamps her ear against Jack's chest, listening to the flutter of his heartbeat, not strong but steady, and then turns her attention to his open, staring eyes. The dilated pupils, black in the frames of his irises, are empty. There is no life in them. No clouds of death, either.

  I can save him! I can give him a shot of numenzene and he will sleep through this attack.

  She dashes across the room to a wall cabinet and rakes through the contents until she finds the numenzene, which is labeled: "For trauma." She used the drug in trials on numans pushed too far with genetic upgrades. It works. It can save him.

  She runs back, around Max who is standing with his front paws on the arm of the sofa as he peers at Jack. She breaks out the eye spray and quickly examines him again. He is staring, dead-eyed, unresponsive. She lifts the numenzene spray. In a moment he will be safely unconscious.

  "No," whispers Jack, sounding like a voice from the grave.

  "I must," she tells him. "It will protect your mind."

  "No!"

  "Why not?"

  "I can see the future. It's in the past. I can see it."

  "Jack, there are things you don't know. Let me give you this numenzene. It will help, I promise."

  "No! Help me sit back. Stay with me."

  Is this the end? Death? Or is he looking into the vast library of genetic memories coded into him?

  She helps him relax on the sofa, leans over and kisses his cold lips, then sits by him with her hands clasped over his left hand and wrist. The pulse is fluttering and weak but it is still there. Just about.

  *

  White Death's elbows are splayed on the table and his fingers interlaced under his chin. He looks past uneaten food towards Commander Sandro. The house is silent and unlit apart from the feeble light at their table. Neither wants the gruel of roots, a few vegetables, and some coarse home-baked bread served by his mother.

  Sandro, eyes deep in shadows, appears to be gazing back at him but White Death cannot be sure. Like everything else at this moment, there is no clarity. The conversation at Sandro's door, six hours ago, is like a dream without meaning. Now, after he has slept, they are at the table to negotiate but both are silent.

  We are both suspicious. We are both hopeful. I am in the position of power. I must speak first. Then I will judge him.

  "When we spoke at your door, Commander, you intimated that you can help my cause if I help you," says White Death, engaging his opponent as if in a game of nuchess. "I am open to a genuine arrangement that can benefit us both. What are your proposals?"

  White Death has played nuchess often, and he has negotiated often. The opening gambit is critical in both: it can set up the whole battle, the whole victory or the whole defeat.

  "It is too soon to talk of proposals," says Sandro, lifting his head a fraction.

  It is a modest pawn being edged forward, White Death acknowledges to himself. "We can begin with a discussion of the current situation," says White Death.

  "I am content with that," says Sandro. "Would you be content to begin with your evaluation of the situation?"

  Another cautious move by Sandro into numan2 territory. "The situation is clear," says White Death with more conviction than he feels. "The numan2 rebellion has secured all areas within thirty miles of here. All troopers have been killed, driven off or surrounded and isolated. Your forces have been defeated. You are my prisoner. This is my analysis. Do you agree with it?"

  "As far as it goes," says Sandro as he pokes at the gruel.

  White Death cannot believe that Sandro is ready to concede. What is he moving towards? "Are you content to give your assessment of the situation?"

  "Certainly," says Sandro jerking his head up. "Your analysis appears to be correct. I am content to concede your points, but a deeper analysis shows that although you may hold me prisoner, you are still in a weaker position."

  "Do not play games, Commander," says White Death. "State your analysis or end this meeting."

  "I am not playing games," says Sandro, raising his head far enough for White Death to see his eyes. "Your analysis needs to be set in a bigger picture. You have control of this tiny area but my high command knows this and can annihilate every person throughout your area if it so chooses. Do you accept this?"

  "It sounds plausible, but the whole of FedUK is probably in the same state. Why would they choose to attack here?"

  "Two reasons," says Sandro, staring into White Death's eyes. "I am important to them in ways you need not know. And, quite simply, we have enough troopers and weapons to subdue the whole of FedUK when the time is right."

  Can I believe him? "Then why did they let us take the Center and capture you?"

  "Let us leave that aside," says Sandro. "If we work together, in time you will understand that political dimension. It is important at the moment to know that numan4 military commanders have the resources and determination to end the rebellion when it suits them."

  White Death's incredulity shows on his face.

  "Your position is far less certain," says Sandro, his head erect, his gaze unwavering. "Our intelligence indicates the mobs have disparate loyalties and leaders. It predicts that the mobs will slip out of your command and go different ways. In other words, there will be violent anarchy. Is that happening now?"

  "It is too early to say," replies White Death, trying to strengthen the lame reply with a hard stare. "Rather like your claim that numan4 forces can attack here."

  Stalemate. The two nuchess players, the two life and death negotiators, are immobile.

  "In a situation where the survival of numan2 communities depend on law and order, you would benefit from numan4 help," says Sandro. "In this area, a partnership between numan2 rebels and numan4 authority could benefit both sides, with civil rights guaranteed as part of a peace deal. From that point, we can expand the pacified area with you, the highly respected White Death, leading the peace plans."

  But will you honor our rights when you have control over us? "I can see possibilities," says White Death, an invitation to Sandro to advance his argument. "Do you have the authority to negotiate such a deal?"

  "I have the power to help you build a new order – and the power to kill every numan2 and animal in the entire region if that is my best course of action."

  "Then you are too dangerous for us to allow you to live," says White Death, signaling to his fighters sitting in the shadows.

  *

  Mark is alarmed and confused. Aini left him in a building just out of sight of the scrag ranch hotel. His anxious eyes search around. Where is Aini? Why isn't he here?

  A hundred or more male humans mill around him. They are excited. This is the first stage of their journey to Dream City.

  Six brutes funnel them towards a gate to another area shielded from view. The brutes are pushing, tugging, one uses his animal tickler. A chill of fear turns excitement into trepidation. No one wants to go through the gate but the brutes are forcing them.

  Mark trembles as an anguished cry whips back from the other side and he asks anyone who can hear, "What's happening?" No one knows. Frightened eyes swivel everywhere. This is not what they expected.

  Mark's heart pounds, his mouth dry. Where is Aini? I have to escape. A handler moves towards him. Mark tries to back away but the crush of other animals makes a solid wall of flesh. The handler looks dangerous: a blank, workmanlike face,
animal tickler in his left hand, the right outstretched to grab Mark's ear.

  The handler drags Mark by his ear to the gate. "No, no, I don't want to," bellows Mark but a kick sends him through. Two new handlers, stinking of fresh blood, seize him and drag him to a table.

  "Ahhhh!" he gasps as a big yellow tag is punched through his ear. He rears back but the handlers are ready. The terror is too much and his bowels empty into his trousers. The stink hits him immediately. The whole place stinks of blood, animal waste and terror.

  The handlers slip a noose over his head, tighten it around his neck and expertly sheer him of his clothes. He stands naked, dazed, terrified, shaking violently as he is hosed down.

  Another handler takes his halter, roughly pulling him to a vehicle and pushes him in.

  A thought explodes into Mark's mind. His arms and legs go mad, his pain is forgotten, and he jerks free. He is escaping. He is running to where he can see the light, the fresh air, freedom, the safety of the outside.

  *

  Aini relaxes in the back seat of his limousine. He feels replete, at peace with the world. He has had three good meals at the young female animals ranch and the staff have given him a leg and five kilos of lean body cuts to take home. He can freeze them and make them last until his next visit. Maybe I should have asked for some of the canapés from their staff kitchen.

  The limousine slows, giving way to a convoy of slag animal trucks speeding over the crossroads to the meat processing plant. Aini watches them with irritation. The drivers can see his limousine status and should give way to him.

  His spoiled mood claws his mind back to the reality of his working life. In an hour he will be immersed again in the numan2 crisis and the infighting at the research center. He will have to process his animal experiment data. The Mark Experiment. The novelty of the methodology might even make the peer-reviewed science networks. He wonders if he should have gone ahead with his original plan and had his animal dissected by the lab team. Just to protect his own back if anyone accuses him of not sticking to the letter of Center research law.

  For a second, he is distracted by the slag convoy's identification number on the last truck. Exactly on schedule, but going too fast. I must check the drivers' DNA texts. Maybe build in more sensitivity to damaging the animals.

  His thoughts click back to the Mark Experiment. He has never seen such clear prima facie links between mind, emotions, body interactions and the genetic strings controlling them. Maybe, finally, I can bury Galen and his inflated opinion of himself.

  He chuckles at his cleverness at fooling his test animal Mark. Getting shock readings by telling the animal that it was going to be slaughtered. That was a stroke of genius.

  *

  Alice is rigid in her chair watching Jack. She is comforted by Max's warm body leaning against her legs and she runs her hand, over and over, through the fur of his head. But Jack's empty, staring eyes fill her with fear for his life.

  "Your sister is calling you," sniffs Twinkle.

  "Connect," says Alice, picking up Twinkle. She is not in the mood for temperamental phone personalities.

  "Balen! Father Dick's joy to you. Are you safe and content?"

  "I am safe and content, for the moment," replies Alice. "Father Dick's joy to you. Are you safe and content?"

  "Yes, for the moment. Do you have possession of Jack and Max?"

  Alice glances uneasily at Jack on the sofa. Can he hear this conversation? She casually switches her phone off the speaker and lifts it to her ear.

  "Jack and Max are here with me," she says carefully, aware of what Dalen needs to know and what Jack should not hear. "Jack is experiencing another extinction episode. He will not let me give him numenzene. Dalen, I fear for his life!"

  "Be content. You can save him. You must."

  "It is so good to hear from you. How did you get my phone location?"

  There is a hesitation, too brief for a human ear, but she hears it. "My security clearance. I have been monitoring the search for Jack and Max. The spookpolice locked me out but those incompetents at the military left their back door open."

  "What the Dick do those military people do for training?" Alice says. "But if you have my location, then they do. They could be arriving here any moment."

  "You have a little time," says Dalen. "I have erased your location and inserted a false trail in their systems. They will eventually find out what I have done, and they will want Jack and Max enough to force answers from me."

  "Where are you? How dangerous is it for you?"

  "It's dangerous for everyone. Numan civilization is failing everywhere. The military is letting numan2 mobs take control on the ground. The World Council cannot cope. The Military High Command is about to take over."

  "So they threw the Center to the mobs," says Alice, incensed. "Damned military halfwits."

  "Balen, there's worse to come. Much worse. Do you know about the FedAfrica threat?"

  "No."

  "The military lost control of the rot death virus. It is sweeping across FedAfrica from the south and there are reports of it in FedArabia and FedEurope. Projections put mortality rates at one hundred percent. We cannot stop it."

  "Everyone dies?" she gasps.

  "Everyone. Every living creature. The virus is expected to arrive here in FedUK in about two weeks."

  "Dalen..."

  "The military will get to me before then," says Dalen. "I will make sure they cannot take me and that I shall not suffer four days rotting to death."

  "No!"

  "You are now Alice but, to me, you will always be my dear sister Balen. Be content in my death, Balen. I do it for you and the future."

  *

  Chapter 25

  I can see the sun and the sky, the grass! Mark bolts blindly for an open gate in the outside fence. He does not care that he is naked and unprotected from the burning sun. Panic grips him. His heart is pounding, his leg muscles are aching from the unusual stress. But he is making it. Only seconds now.

  He rears back, then blindly bolts to the right, as two brutes run from outside the gate. They have animal ticklers! He looks around desperately for anywhere to run, anywhere that is safe.

  "Whoa!" shouts one of the brutes as more close in from behind.

  They circle him, arms wide, ticklers held high and ready, several brandish halter nooses like lassos. Mark bolts towards the biggest gap between the brutes. They are running, ready to get him, but he is too fast, too desperate. I'm going to make it. I'm going to be...

  A lasso jerks his head back, and his whole body lifts off the ground as his escape abruptly ends. A tickler agony lightnings through him and he hardly feels rough hands dragging at his ears.

  He is on the ground, screaming, fighting. Another tickler seems to fry every cell in his body. His eyes explode in white light. He cannot breathe.

  Something is happening to him but he does not know what until he sees the animal truck and he is thrown in. He crashes onto the wood floor, panicking the other animals. "Whatyadoing?" brays one. "Don'thurtme," pleads another.

  Mark, shocked and aching, struggles to his feet as more animals are pushed in, crowding him into the agitated mass. More and more animals are forced in, their combined stink and fear gripping them like an invisible cloud.

  There is a scream as the door slams on the foot of the last animal loaded and the truck moves off with him shrieking and fighting to free his trapped foot.

  Mark is shaking. He cannot still his muscles. He cannot move in the crush of hot naked bodies. I can't take anymore! I have to get out. I have to get away. I'll fight. I'll kill them. I'll kill them all.

  *

  "Wait!" says Sandro, who is watching White Death across the table from him. His head is cocked slightly and White Death can see he is listening for the fighters' approach from behind him.

  White Death holds up his hand and the fighters stop but do not withdraw. He has made his point to Sandro: If you try to intimidate me, I will have you killed.
>
  "What do you want to say?" asks White Death, seeking smart-bullet precision but fearing he sounds like a rusty axe.

  "I can negotiate with the authority of the military command that will control the world in the near future," says Sandro.

  "Within the World Council?"

  "No," says Sandro, his penetrating eyes lancing into White Death, who feels, for the first time, a country nonentity in the presence of sophisticated power.

  "After the World Council has been brought down?"

  "Yes. How else? Do you want to negotiate a place in that world for your people?"

  What place? What can I accept? What will it cost me? "I am content to listen, Commander."

  "We can subdue all the rebel mobs," says Sandro, holding up his hand as White Death tries to protest against this unlikely claim. "Together, we can bring peace."

  Never! I can never put my faith in him. "Troopers know only war on the people. There can never be trust between numan2 people and numan4 military."

  The lamp's glow, already weak, dies. He hears his mother's hurried footsteps and she bumps awkwardly against him as she fills the lamp with vegetable oil they would rather eat.

  "Troopers are trained to kill," says Sandro. "I and my fellow numan4 commanders are trained to think."

  "What do you propose?"

  "We can subdue the rebel mobs," Sandro repeats and this time White Death waits impassively. "When we have done that, we will appoint civilian numan2 commanders and administrators."

  "Puppets!"

  "Yes, but we will give them some of the strings. The higher up the hierarchy, the stronger the strings."

  "Still puppets," says White Death, but despite his show of skepticism, a tingle of excitement runs through him.

  "At the top, it will be a partnership for the right numan2, though the military government will retain final control."

  "What do you need from me and my community?"

  "We want nothing from your community except that they live in peace and prosperity. From you, we want much. Our intelligence organization identified you as a possible FedUK Civil Commander."