Against Gravity

by Gary Gibson

  “Angkor Wat? No, we’re helping to preserve it – the surrounding area as well. Strictly speaking, this is Angkor Thom. It’s a little way from the main complex. My colleague Marlin brought you here by the passages that link them.”

  “And you built all this new stuff?”

  “Not at all,” Draeger replied. “A substantial part of the complex was built about four decades ago as a military biochemical research facility. Without the involvement of any of my subsidiary interests, I hasten to add.”

  “Really? You’re saying this used to be some kind of military base?”

  “Long before I was on the scene, yes. Cambodia was hit badly by the knock-on effects when the Pacific Rim wars turned nuclear. After we’ve left this place, as we one day will, there will be no sign at all that we’ve ever been here. Everything we’ve brought or added to Angkor Wat is based on sustainable technology. The new buildings are designed with a maximum lifespan of just forty to fifty years. After that, if for any reason we’re not here to do anything about it” – Draeger smiled as if to illustrate how ridiculous such a notion was – “the jungle will reclaim them.”

  Draeger sounded like a salesman who hadn’t yet got to the main pitch. Kendrick spotted a bottle of Wild Turkey nestling by the freshly squeezed fruit juices, and without asking permission he poured a finger into a tumbler. He drank it down and felt a different kind of warmth flow through him. Dutch courage, he decided, was better than none at all.

  “But you didn’t need to build here,” Kendrick pointed out. “Surely a lot of the people working with you are prime targets for kidnap and extortion even in Cambodia, let alone in other nations nearby.”

  “Terrorism is a fact of modern life,” Draeger replied. “But it’s not my main concern. Cambodia has made good use of our expertise and knowledge in recent years.”

  Kendrick nodded. He had to keep cool, find out what Draeger wanted – what had been important enough to ferry Kendrick all the way out here.

  “But working here isn’t without its dangers, is it?”

  Draeger’s expression remained carefully noncommittal.

  Kendrick continued: “In some ways, it’s more a case of circling the wagons than of genuinely integrating yourself into the local economy. Cambodia is benefiting from your presence, sure, but there’re a lot of countries in this part of the world who wouldn’t want anything to do with you.”

  “Circling the wagons – I like that. It’s a phrase you’ve used in quite a few of your articles, isn’t it?”

  Kendrick opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, caught off guard.

  Draeger nodded. “And everything you’ve just said is pretty much the same as you wrote in many of those articles. I know what you think of me, Mr Gallmon. It’s true that since the US collapsed as a unified entity finding our way in other parts of the world has not been easy. I’m sure” – he raised an eyebrow – “that’s an experience many of us share.”

  “But why here?” Kendrick insisted. “Why the middle of a jungle? Why not choose a city?”

  “It’s a matter of philosophy. The beliefs of the people who originally built Angkor Wat have certain resonances with my own view of the universe. Perhaps you’re familiar with some of my ideas?”

  “Only a little. But then, I’m not a mathematician.”

  “You don’t have to be. Mathematics is just a way of expressing universal truths. You don’t need to be a mathematician to understand those truths, only to prove them.”

  “All right, then, so why did you build the Archimedes? To find God, as some say?”

  Draeger laughed. “I can’t imagine where you heard such a ridiculous notion.”

  “During the Wilber Trials, it became clear that you built the Archimedes in order to satisfy President Wilber’s religious . . . impulses.” Draeger shook his head and chuckled, but Kendrick persisted. “You stated during those trials that you realized Wilber was schizophrenic even before his arrest. But that didn’t stop you building the Archimedes for him.”

  “This is all very entertaining, but isn’t it time that you asked me what you really want to ask me? There’s nothing I could tell you about the Wilber Trials, standing here, that you couldn’t find out from any number of records concerning those trials.”

  “All right, then: why did you bring me all this way? What’s the purpose of my trip?”

  Draeger studied him calmly. “What I want, Mr Gallmon, is information.”

  “Information? Of what kind?”

  “Information concerning Labrats. Specifically those, such as yourself, who spent time in Ward Seventeen.”

  Kendrick took a deep breath. “You know exactly why I’m here. Smeby claimed that you had a cure, that you could . . . get rid of my augmentations. I want to know if that’s true.”

  Draeger nodded to himself and took a sip from his own drink. His gaze wandered towards the vast mural.

  “Entirely correct, Mr Gallmon. Entirely correct.”

  Exact date unknown: 2088

  The Maze

  As soon as Stenzer had shut the door on him Kendrick was hustled down several steep and narrow flights of stairs. One of his two guards slammed another door open and he was dragged into what appeared to be an underground garage.

  He could see only one vehicle, however: a regulation-green truck parked near a steep ramp leading upwards. The subterranean space was dark and chilly, the damp air filled with the powerful stench of petroleum. Kendrick was marched directly over to a bare concrete wall studded with dozens of bullet holes. Against that part of the wall with the greatest number of pockmarks stood a plain wooden chair.

  It wasn’t the first time this feeling had come to him but, looking at that chair, Kendrick knew with absolute certainty that he would never escape the Maze. So he did not resist as his arms were pulled harshly behind his back and bound. A blindfold was placed over his eyes and he was shoved down roughly onto the wooden seat.

  He heard shuffling, thick breathing, a metallic click. Something cold and heavy pressed against his temple.

  He waited long, agonized seconds.

  More seconds passed. Someone sobbed – a wretched, guttural sound full of horror. At first Kendrick didn’t realize that it had come from his own throat.

  The pressure against his temple lessened and he heard footsteps: two pairs of feet shuffling around nearby. The blindfold was pulled roughly from his head.

  Kendrick blinked in the sudden light. One of the guards brandished a pistol, its barrel now pointing towards the ground. After an eternity seemed to pass, he placed it back in its holster. The other guard untied Kendrick and he was taken back to his old cell.

  There he lay, shivering and semi-delusional, until the next morning when the whole procedure was repeated. He was taken again to the underground car park, bound to the chair and blindfolded, and the muzzle of the gun was placed against his temple. To his shame and horror he wet himself, his bladder voiding as he sat waiting to die.

  The next morning it all happened again.

  What was the point where you went insane, Kendrick wondered. Was it a recognizable boundary like a road sign, something that would mark the transition? And if he lost his sanity – something he had more than enough time to ponder – would he even know it?

  He returned to the basement one last time. This time, as the door into the garage was slammed open by his guards, Kendrick heard a muffled explosion.

  He looked over and saw another prisoner bound to the same wooden chair. The man’s body was half-twisted off the seat, his legs slumping towards the ground, his arms still secured to the back of the chair.

  Kendrick could see that the other man was dead. Blood poured from an enormous wound in his skull, forming a rapidly spreading pool at his feet. Two other guards whom Kendrick didn’t recognize stood over him.

  This is it, he thought. Everything else had just been a long prelude to this. This is finally it.

  Somehow he found the energy to at least try to fight against his two c
aptors, but in his physically weakened state it was worse than useless. He waited helplessly while the corpse was unbound and allowed to slump to the concrete floor. The other two guards proceeded to drag the body by the feet towards the truck that was still parked near the ramp.

  Kendrick had little difficulty imagining his own slack torso being flung in there. The other two guards then departed with a nod and Kendrick was left with the men who were finally to be his executioners.

  “Your turn now, sweetheart,” one of them said, drawing his pistol and gesturing towards the chair. As Kendrick turned towards it, the other guard kicked him hard in the buttocks. Kendrick landed in the pool of blood and gagged at the stench of it. A hand grabbed him roughly by the neck, hauling him up and pushing him onto the seat.

  This time they didn’t bother to blindfold him.

  Kendrick waited to die.

  Then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. On all the previous occasions when he had been brought to the garage he had been too preoccupied to pay much attention to it. But now he became aware that an elevator directly across the garage from the stairwell had opened and several soldiers were coming out of it. A couple of them were engaged in hauling a large cart stacked – Kendrick was horrified to see – with yet more corpses.

  Exiting along with the soldiers were some men dressed in shirtsleeves, incongruous middle-management-looking types such as he had last seen in the days following his arrival. One of them glanced over sharply and shouted something to Kendrick’s pair of guards. The one who had apparently been about to blow Kendrick’s brains all over the wall lowered his gun from Kendrick’s forehead and stared round him with a scowl.

  The man in shirtsleeves stepped up quickly, seemingly unaware of Kendrick’s existence as he addressed them. “Sergeant, I thought we made it clear that we need more subjects for testing. Have any of the prisoners you’ve processed today been cleared through us first?”

  Shirtsleeves-man had a tall and narrow frame and wore a pale grey shirt fronted by a thin dark tie. His trousers were neat and pressed. Kendrick didn’t learn that his name was Sieracki until much later.

  The guard who had been about to execute Kendrick shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I’m not involved in the admin side. I’m just following orders.”

  Sieracki nodded. “Wait here.” Then he stepped several feet away from them and began to speak quietly into a slate-grey wand.

  He returned shortly. “All right. Your orders are countermanded. Make sure that no more subjects get processed until they’ve been cleared with us.” He pointed an angry finger at the sergeant. “Make sure you don’t forget that. I’m not going to put up with any more interference with our project, Sergeant Grady. Any more of this happens, I’ll come looking for you.”

  With that Sieracki returned to the other soldiers, who had now begun to lift the corpses into the back of the green truck.

  Grady stared after him, then turned and kicked the chair hard. Kendrick toppled off it, grunting as the side of his head hit the concrete wall. His skin felt sticky and slippery with someone else’s blood.

  His wrists were unbound roughly. Then Grady grabbed him by the neck, twisting Kendrick’s head around until he was forced to stare into the man’s face.

  “Look at me, you son of a bitch,” Grady spat. “Look at me.” He squeezed Kendrick’s jaw hard so that Kendrick found he couldn’t swallow. He lifted his hands in a feeble attempt to push Grady away but as soon as he touched the guard’s hands he was hurled down again.

  “Don’t touch me!” Grady bellowed. “Don’t ever fucking touch me.” The other guard grinned as if at a private joke. Then each of them grabbed Kendrick by an arm and started to haul him towards the same elevator from which Sieracki had appeared.

  “It’s shit like you makes me sick,” Grady shouted. “You and all the niggers and Jews and the rest of the scum. You should all be dead, now we got the White House. Instead they keep you bastards alive so they can play games with needles.”

  Grady shook his head disgustedly, then followed Kendrick and the other guard into the elevator.

  As they began a long descent, even though his life had been spared, Kendrick found himself filled with sick fear at what might yet lie below his feet.

  Grady turned to him and smiled. “Time they’ve finished with you, you’re gonna wish I’d pulled that trigger.”

  19 October 2096

  Angkor Wat

  “Smeby’s an Augment?”

  Draeger smiled at Kendrick’s confusion. “His augmentations turned rogue, just like your own.”

  “But he didn’t get them in the Maze – that’s what you’re saying?”

  “On the contrary, he paid to have his augments installed.”

  “I’ve heard about that kind of thing. It’s insane.”

  “Men like Smeby know the risks. There are substantial differences between the technology he carries within him and what you carry inside your own body. But, yes, there’s always a risk.”

  “So now he’s only got a few months to live?”

  “Had only a few months to live. Then he started working for me. Now his augments are in equilibrium with his nervous system. We can do the same for you.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me if I say I have trouble believing this.”

  “Mr Gallmon, what possible reason could I have to lie?”

  Kendrick shook his head. “Look, the nanotech used on us is designed to be self-evolving. No two Lab— no two Augments are quite the same in the ways their augmentations develop and grow, and that’s why there is no single cure. That’s why there can’t be any single cure.”

  “But you have been taking a treatment that has nonetheless stabilized your condition.”

  “Fine, I admit defeat, you’re right. I never expected to find a cure.”

  “Maybe ‘cure’ is the wrong word,” said Draeger. “Let’s say technology moves on, and we have ways of helping you. Do you want our help?”

  “You said you wanted information about other Labrats. Why?”

  “You’re aware of the recent deaths among survivors of the Maze experiments?” Kendrick nodded. “There are elements within Los Muertos who see people such as yourself as a barrier to their goals.”

  “Are there? We’re not any danger to them at all, though I wish we were. Why start attacking us now?” Kendrick remembered Whitsett dying in front of him.

  “All right, we’ve been pussyfooting around this for too long.” Draeger put down his drink and leant against the arm of a couch, his arms folded. “I’ve recently become aware of a plan on the part of certain of your fellow Labrats to arrange a flight to the Archimedes orbital research platform. I can’t allow any such thing unless it’s under my direct authority. Otherwise I’d feel within my rights to take serious and drastic action to prevent what amounts to piracy.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Kendrick carefully, “that I’ve only just become aware of this myself.”

  Draeger glanced at him sharply. “You were in Ward Seventeen in the Maze, were you not?”

  “What about it?”

  Draeger glared at him, as if he was trying to work out whether or not he was being made a fool of.

  “Look,” Kendrick continued, once the silence had stretched out a little too long, “I don’t have the ear of any of these people. Some of them keep in touch but I don’t always go out of my way to reciprocate. Is that why you sent Smeby to Edinburgh? To spy on me?”

  “All right. I’m sorry, Mr Gallmon. We seem to be at cross purposes. Perhaps I’ve made some assumptions that I shouldn’t have. However, my offer still stands. I’m seeking information on certain people – Labrats – who are intending to infiltrate the Archimedes.”

  Kendrick laughed in astonishment. “You want me to spy on them?”

  “That’s not the precise word I would use. However, you are – or were – an investigative journalist, one with an excellent reputation.”

  “Who else have you made this offer
to?” Kendrick fired back. “How many other Labrats have you tried to persuade to spy on each other? Or am I really the first?”

  Draeger stared at him evenly. “Perhaps you don’t appreciate what I’m offering you. Your augmentations are killing you slowly, and I’m offering you the opportunity to live.”

  Kendrick tried to think of an answer to that. On the long flight to Cambodia he had found himself with too much time to think about the events of the past several days. What was it, he had wondered, that had driven Hardenbrooke first to extend the same promise as Draeger – of a way for Kendrick to live without fear of his augmentations – and then to attempt to kill or kidnap him?

  And, of course, he had overheard Hardenbrooke refer directly to Smeby. Now that he was here and being offered a miracle cure for the second time, it didn’t take a great leap of imagination to see the connection.

  “I wondered why you invited me out here, why you sent Smeby after me. At first it didn’t make sense why you’d show such an interest in me. But you did, and there had to be a reason for that. I was put in touch with an American medic called Hardenbrooke, by a man named Mikhail Vasilevich. Hardenbrooke gave me a series of treatments that seemed to halt the rogue growth of my augmentations in its tracks. He too talked about permanent cures.”

  Draeger listened impassively.

  “The next thing that happens, an old friend turns up out of the blue and tells me that I can’t trust Hardenbrooke, that he’s dangerous; that he’s pumped me full of something else along with the stuff that’s supposedly curing me, and which allows him or whoever he’s working for to gather information about me.”

  Draeger nodded appreciatively. “It’s an entertaining fantasy, but still only a fantasy.”

  “I don’t know that it is. What’s the real benefit to you of bringing me here and offering me a cure? An act of sheer charity?” Kendrick shook his head. “Of course it isn’t. You’ve already told me what you want in return. Otherwise why offer the cure just to me? Why not to all the other Labrats too? No, this way you get me to jump through some hoops for you.”