by Eliza Green
Sit or stand. Those were her choices. She chose the former, because Serena had told her to blend in.
Johan joined her and dropped his plate on the table. He glanced at her, then at the sandwich on his place.
Isobel unscrewed the small plastic top off the neck of the pouch. She detached the straw on the side, jammed it into the hole, and sucked up the blood. The cold temperature made her shudder. She forced herself to swallow its tangy flavour. Had synthesised blood always tasted this bad or were her tastes changing?
‘This room used to be a lot bigger,’ said Johan. He played with the human food on his plate.
She asked him a question telepathically, but got no reply. So she asked it out loud.
‘Do you remember coming to Exilon 5 on a ship like this? You know, after your alteration?’
‘Vaguely.’ He picked up the sandwich and examined it. ‘I think they only use these ships for cargo runs now.’
‘Makes sense, I suppose.’ Isobel stared at Johan’s sandwich, intrigued by his choice. ‘Has your appetite changed?’
He tore off a piece. ‘Do you see the way the military looks at us?’
‘Yeah, with contempt.’ Isobel forced herself to swallow another hit of blood.
Johan shook his head. ‘No. The other ones.’
Isobel frowned and looked around. She saw who Johan referred to: the extra personnel in the room. Male and female humans dressed in green fatigues, holding small screens. ‘They’re taking notes,’ whispered Johan.
‘Of what?’
‘On who has fully changed and who hasn’t. Who converses out loud, who uses telepathy. Who stands, who sits. Who orders human food, who picks the blood bags.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a theory. Which is why I’m eating this sandwich, to confuse them.’
Isobel noticed those in green fatigues paid the most attention to Indigenes who both stood and drank from blood pouches.
Johan popped the bread into his mouth. ‘This human food gives me stomach cramps. I haven’t changed much in appearance, but you look more human. Except for your eyes.’
Isobel understood now why Serena had told her to sit in public. ‘You’re trying to blend in. That’s why we’re talking out loud. You think they’re cataloguing us?’
Johan nodded and tore off another piece when one of the green fatigued military looked in his direction. He ate it and Isobel saw the effort it took for him to swallow it. ‘How does it taste?’
‘Disgusting.’ Johan made a face that only Isobel could see. ‘And yes, I think they’re interested in us. Obviously, someone has told you to be cautious, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting.’
Isobel tilted her head. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘It’s clear the changes have worked better in you than me. You can pretend better than I can. Don’t think you’re immune from their attention. From the moment you entered the room, they watched you to see what food you chose. It must drive their curiosity more that a devolved human would still crave blood.’
Isobel’s heart raced. A devolved human. Was that what she was to outsiders now? Maybe she’d made a mistake in her food choice. ‘Are they watching me now?’
Johan smiled, but it looked fake. ‘Yes, but they don’t know what to make of you. You should still be able to read them, reversal and all.’
Isobel set the blood bag down. ‘I hadn’t thought to try. I was preparing myself for when we got to Earth.’
Johan eyed her blood pouch. He pushed his plate and barely eaten sandwich to one side and stood up. He marched over to the food counter with the blood bags and grabbed one from a military hand. He sat back down again. ‘Screw it. Let the humans think what they want.’ He sucked hard from the neck of the pouch. ‘You got someone waiting when you get back to Earth?’
Isobel nodded. ‘A husband. Haven’t seen him since... you know, before the change.’
‘Yeah.’ Johan looked off to the side as if distracted.
‘Where are you headed?’ said Isobel.
‘The East Coast of America. You?’
‘Me, too.’
Johan nodded. ‘Do me a favour and don’t let on you still have your abilities. You may look different but I can still feel your strength, especially when you try to get inside my head.’
‘Sorry.’ Isobel picked up her blood pouch and sucked on the cold contents. Serena had said the same thing to her. Hide your abilities.
What had changed back home?
10
The old Deighton Mansion buzzed with excitement. It always got this way when a new shipment of Indigenes arrived. It had been seven years since the World Government had left and several months since a passenger ship had returned to Earth. Marcus watched an excited Enzo Agostini dole out orders. Marcus hated Enzo more than he’d hated his dead-end job as a cleaner. If only the World Government could see him now, how far he’d come. Maybe they wouldn’t have dismissed him out of hand.
Marcus gritted his teeth when Enzo mouthed off about how he expected everyone to do their jobs. No fuck-ups, he said. Gaetano Agostini’s little shit protégé could smash his car into a wall and die for all he cared. Christ, the lazy dictator only ever moved when the big prizes came in.
Gaetano? Now he was worth impressing. If Enzo ended up in a ditch, say, by accident, would Gaetano really miss his only son who did more partying than the rest of them combined?
Reports said ten Indigenes were on board the spacecraft headed for Waverley. Marcus didn’t understand why they returned to Earth only to serve under Gaetano in the old Deighton Mansion. But maybe—and this made Marcus laugh—they had no clue about what waited for them. He’d thought about the sunshine planet, Exilon 5, the place special enough to transfer only the most skilled humans while the rest of them languished on a cold and dark Earth.
But Marcus lived on a new Earth that had changed since the World Government left in 2166. When industry had ground to a halt after the outflow of business owners, when the balance of power had shifted, the criminals emerged from their darkened crevices.
The government had taken all the spacecraft and left the factions with no way off Earth.
Left them to die.
Marcus was one of the twenty-five-strong team who lived in the abandoned Deighton Mansion. Other teams in Agostini’s faction occupied similar World Government properties in the New York area that the World Government military no longer guarded. Most were overthrown, and in the end the military swapped loyalties and swore allegiance to the Kings—Gaetano, Alfonso and Erico.
Erico was killed by a rival faction, and Alfonso gained control of areas further south, such as Philadelphia and New Jersey. Gaetano controlled New York and the areas beyond.
This new Earth gave Marcus an opportunity to make a name for himself, to work his way into a position of power. What he lacked in book skills, he made up for in street smarts. The boring elite jobs like piloting and engineering had always been beyond him. The World Government had fucked those people over, trapped them in their world.
Not Marcus. Nobody could trap him.
The World Government didn’t like entrepreneurs with their own ideas of how things should be done. The aptitude tests had labelled Marcus a genetic reject and dumped him with other self-proclaimed entrepreneurs like him. More like fucking freeloaders. No talent, just brawn. Like Enzo. Living off his father’s wealth and with a different whore every night.
Marcus’ loyalty lay with Gaetano Agostini, the head of the Kings. Not with Enzo. Enzo could go fuck himself for all he cared. A worthless piece of shit. A lazy asshole handing out orders on how many cars to take to Waverley docking station to pick up the live supplies. Like Marcus couldn’t figure that shit out on his own.
Marcus knew how to count. Ten Indigenes. Three cars needed. If the World Government was still on Earth and he had to sit his aptitude test again, the machine wouldn’t decide on ‘cleaner’. It would say ‘front man’, ‘brains behind the operation’. Enzo, the fucking pretty boy, would score
high for knowing how to use his dick and for being a dick.
‘Marcus, take Carl, Jensen, Heller and Freddy with you.’
‘Yeah, Enzo. Sounds good.’
He resisted the urge to smash Enzo’s face in. Enzo was no genetic reject, just a psycho who never sat still long enough to take one of the aptitude tests.
And, yeah, assigning Carl to go with him? Shit, Carl went everywhere with him. And the others? He could have pointed randomly at men in the room and said, ‘You, you and you, come with me.’
That was all Enzo did these days. Never went out on jobs. Deemed himself too important to get his hands dirty.
If issuing a few obvious commands was all it took to be put in charge, Marcus could do the job. Except he would take it a step further and devise a brilliant game plan to impress Gaetano. But for reasons Marcus couldn’t comprehend, Gaetano loved his son, which meant Marcus had to fall into line.
Marcus touched the puckered scar on his neck that ran from ear to ear. A gift from Gaetano.
He flashed Enzo his best all-teeth smile and bowed. Enzo nodded in that smug, arrogant way that never failed to wind up Marcus.
He was done taking orders from Enzo, and being treated like a general dogsbody. Seven loyal years he’d given the Kings.
It was time for a change.
11
Isobel spent most of the two week journey questioning Johan about conditions back on Earth. He told her about the lack of government and industry, about the cities in ruins, but he’d refused to share the finer details. ‘It’s better if you see it for yourself,’ he’d said.
Isobel couldn’t wait to leave the ship behind and the extra attention from the military in green. It was exhausting, having to pretend she was nothing more than an empath.
The final day drew to a close and she waited in her sleeping quarters with her other nine roommates. Isobel lay in her open sleeping pod thinking about Alex when the nearby klaxon sounded. She gritted her teeth against the noise that screeched too loud for her superior hearing.
A female military officer appeared at the door. She stood with her hands behind her back until the klaxon stopped. When it did, she said, ‘The passenger ship has entered Earth’s solar system and we’ve just passed the outer-lying planets. You have ten minutes.’
Isobel jumped down to the floor, still wearing the mandatory grey World Government uniform. She packed away her possessions, including several tunic and trouser sets that she had yet to wear from home.
She waited for the others to assemble. The female returned and they followed her along the narrow tube-like corridors. Other Indigenes from different sleeping areas converged on their location. Nobody spoke during the trip back to the holding bay.
The spacecraft that had taken them from Exilon 5 to the main passenger ship waited in the hold. Anton had told Isobel the craft used to shuttle between the ships and the docking stations, and stayed at the docking stations when not in use. But now the crafts remained permanently on the ship. The military female stopped by the craft that had carried Johan and Isobel. She turned around.
‘Those of you headed for the East Coast of America, form a line here. Waverley is your one and only stop.’ Her tone was cold. When nobody moved, she clicked her fingers. ‘Now! Or I use the gun on you.’
Isobel joined the line for the Waverley craft while others joined a different line. She glanced behind her to see Johan stood a few bodies back. He nodded at her to which she responded with a tight smile. She turned back to the front, her stomach twisting at the thought of what waited for her on the ground, at Waverley. She’d never even heard of the place. Serena had said Waverley was the only operational docking station on the East Coast of America, located somewhere near New York.
She boarded the craft and pulled her seat restraints tight across her body. Johan sat a few seats away. As the craft moved out of the ship’s hold Isobel saw the grey and black ball of Earth. Apparently, the noxious air still required humans to wear gel masks. But she was no longer human. In her altered state, would her lungs cope with the high levels of carbon dioxide?
Isobel’s stomach lurched on the bumpy ride down to the surface. When the craft landed with a thud at the Waverley docking station, some of the more human-looking Indigenes threw up into the sick bags provided. But Isobel felt more anxious than sick. The craft doors opened and she stepped out, feeling ill-prepared for her new life. At least Johan was close. She absorbed her surroundings as Serena had instructed her to do. The docking station was one large room with a giant magnetic plate in the centre of an open-roofed space. She wondered how she’d ever find Jenny Waterson.
A force field shimmered where the roof remained open. The air didn’t taste noxious, but it didn’t taste clean either. She breathed in, slow at first, then more when her lungs adapted to her new environment.
The military female who had brought them to the hold stood to the front alongside two others holding battered, well-used Buzz Guns. She’d seen those weapons before; the military on Exilon 5 carried them. The female gestured with her gun to the group of ten. ‘Line up facing each other’s backs. Place your hands on the Indigene’s shoulders in front of you.’
Nobody disobeyed in the presence of the guns. A clanging noise in a nearby corridor startled Isobel. She shot an anxious look back at Johan who wore a stony expression.
Three military males entered the docking station, dragging what appeared to be several sets of metal shackles. What the hell’s this, Johan?
With her telepathy on the blink, she had no idea if he’d heard her.
She focused on the approaching men who attached the shackles to the first Indigene’s wrists and ankles, working their way down the line until they reached her. The bulk of the shackle weighed Isobel down. She tested its strength; it was a solid alloy. Given time she could probably break through it. But she wouldn’t survive a close range Buzz Gun blast in her attempts to escape. One human male fed a separate length of wire through each shackle until he’d linked all the Indigenes to each other. He stood back and pressed a button on a handheld device. The wire jerked and stung her skin as electricity passed through it. Isobel sucked air through her teeth and clenched her muscles.
The military female gestured with her gun and Isobel shuffled forward in time with her chain gang. They entered a new space with desks and barriers and the interior sparked one of her human memories. She’d been in a similar place in New York City; a station bigger than Waverley. Scores of humans had queued up at barriers to have their security chips scanned. But this quiet station lacked the same passenger numbers and activity. Isobel stumbled and gripped the shoulder of the Indigene in front of her. He tensed up and shook off her hold. Isobel used her arms to steady her steps and watched her feet.
The chain gang moved along a white corridor towards a barrier near the front of the docking station. Military personnel wearing dark green garb lined the corridor. As their group neared the barrier, Isobel noticed the new group of humans who waited for them. From their unofficial uniform of black trousers and black jackets, Isobel guessed these were not military. She caught a brief flash of their thoughts—a mix of excitement and hate—and braced herself.
A man in his thirties with an angry red scar stepped forward. He wore a short black jacket, black trousers and scuffed black boots. One of his colleagues called him Marcus. He focused on Isobel and she shivered beneath his dark gaze. His thoughts, sexual at first, became more business-like.
Marcus swept his glare across the entire group. Isobel dared not look at Johan wired up one Indigene to her left. What’s going on, Johan? Who are these humans?
The new law in town.
Marcus nodded at his men, then addressed the group of Indigenes. ‘Everyone needs to line up with their backs to me.’ His men produced Buzz Guns. Their weapons were black, clean and dent-free, unlike the battered ones carried by the military. A panicked Isobel turned her back on the weapon-wielding men. She could sense the unease, confusion and fear among the other Indig
enes. Was this an execution?
A little warning would have been nice, Johan.
She felt a small jab on the base of her neck. She tried to pull away, but the needle was already out. Johan, what are they doing? She could feel him trying to reply, but his words faded until she could no longer hear him.
‘Turn to the front,’ said Marcus. The others she’d been attached to turned and forced her around. Unstable electrical shocks bounced from the metal to her ankles. She kept still in case the electricity tried to run up the wire to the shackles on her wrists. ‘Those of you who can communicate telepathically will no longer be able to,’ said Marcus. ‘The new chip in your neck will prevent you from using that ability.’ So it was a dampening device? She hoped the rest of her abilities would not be affected. ‘Marcus is my name. Remember it, because you’ll answer to me from now on.’
What about her promised freedom? Was this a test?
Marcus clicked his fingers and one of his men brought a new Indigene to the front of their group. She wore a metal dog collar around her neck, and her protruding ribs and her sunken stomach suggested she hadn’t eaten in a while. Her eyes were dull and listless. Marcus paraded her in front of their group of ten.
‘You know what to do.’ Marcus sneered at the emaciated Indigene. ‘Your reward is in here.’ He tapped the side of his jacket.
She turned her attention to the group. Isobel could feel her probing her mind, testing her empath skills. Isobel understood now why Arianna had taught her how to fake it, for this moment and this test. With the dampening chip inside her head Isobel had little control over what the female did, but Arianna’s training allowed her to combat the mini attacks designed to test the strength of her empathic connection.
The half-starved female pointed at several in the line. Then she stared at Marcus’ pocket and licked her lips. He produced a blood pouch and she grunted like a savage. Someone snapped on her collar and she fell into line. Marcus dripped a little blood onto her tongue—just enough to keep her obedient.