by Eliza Green
The tunnel ended and the Central Core began, a large space used for various purposes. Elise had set up educational workshops here to teach the young Evolvers about Indigene history and how the Central Council had come into existence. At one end were several alcoves. Symbols marked the back wall of each alcove to indicate the lesson: hunting practices; different rocks (insignia, gamma, omicron and omega); skills training—telepathy, speed, empathy, or learning how to heighten the senses yet to unfold. Underneath the symbols, the Evolvers had used a mixture of powdered rock and water to draw on the wall. Elise studied the handful of drawings—numbering too few in her opinion. Some adults, who’d survived the original blast on the surface thirty years ago, had chosen not to reproduce.
Elise passed by one alcove to see Arianna, a friend of Stephen and Anton’s, inside. She was teaching a group of young Evolvers about life above ground and safe hunting practices. Elise had pushed for this class after the capture and murder of one of their Evolvers a year ago. Arianna’s mother had died during a futile attempt by some independents to resurface. Other females had cared for Arianna after her mother’s death, but Elise had always felt a strong connection to her. Like her, Arianna was an empath.
When Arianna spotted her she left her class. Elise tensed up as she approached her.
‘Elder, did you want to join us?’ said Arianna. Some Indigenes preferred to use their voices over telepathy.
‘Not today. I have other things I must tend to.’ Elise turned to go but Arianna’s hand on her arm stopped her. Dizziness hit her. She reclaimed her arm and the dizzy spell passed.
‘I have something I wish to ask you.’
‘What is it, child?’
‘Where’s Anton?’
Her question set Elise’s heart to pound. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I know something’s wrong. I saw Stephen racing through the tunnels earlier and he wouldn’t speak to me.’
‘I...’—Elise worked hard to regain her composure—‘There’s nothing you or anyone else needs to worry about.’
‘I’m a strong empath, elder. With great respect, I can sense you aren’t being truthful with me.’
She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.
Elise walked away, glancing back. ‘I must be somewhere but there’s nothing to be concerned about, I promise.’
She twisted her hands together as she passed by another alcove. A lone female was teaching Evolvers about the scientific properties of the different rocks that made up their district. One day they would harness the power for themselves.
Elise stopped to listen to the class.
‘The Indigenes have learned how to work with the planet. The rocks on Exilon 5 possess a power that works with our physiology. You too will learn how to utilise that power. We created the tranquillity caves to tap into the gamma rock’s amplification properties and bolster the power of the Nexus. We not only use the Nexus to draw power from each other and to heal but to communicate in a way that is impossible in this physical terrain.’
Yes, the Indigenes were destined for greater things. Elise had seen new changes within Stephen. A quick peek into his mind had revealed his fragility—natural, given the stress he’d been under—but also a separate set of conflicting emotions. She appeared to be the only one sensitive to Stephen’s inner fight against them. She had managed to access the part of his mind troubling him right before he’d blocked her.
Stephen’s mind was in the early stages of transformation. His neural pathways had altered; he was a changed Indigene to the one who’d left here two weeks ago.
A dangerous idea struck her as she stood by the entrance to the alcove. Transformation or adaptation rarely happened without a threat to survival. Fear usually triggered a threat. No matter how scared Stephen felt, Anton must be going through a worse hell. Her fear doubled as she worried that Anton’s heightened fear could awaken a new skill he didn’t know existed.
The tutor’s words blurred into white noise, and Elise’s mind wandered again. An image of a female superimposed over the students’ solid forms snapped her back to reality. The woman, with pale freckled skin and shoulder-length auburn hair, stared at her. She wore a white blouse tucked into the waistband of a pair of black trousers.
Elise jolted from what must be a hallucination. Yet the apparition walking towards her looked so real. It forced her to step back.
‘Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Are you listening to me?’ said the woman.
Air rushed out of Elise’s parted mouth when the apparition touched her. Warmth spread to Elise’s skin and she jerked her arm away.
‘Elizabeth, dear—it’s me. Where are you going at this hour? It’s so late,’ said the female.
‘What do you want?’ hissed Elise. The woman continued to speak but Elise could no longer hear her.
‘Elise? Elder, are you okay?’ Another voice came through strong and clear just as the image vanished.
Arianna stepped into her line of sight. Elise shook her head. ‘What happened?’
‘I’ve been calling you,’ said Arianna. ‘The young are asking for one of your stories. You seem upset. Are you okay?’
Elise forced a smile. ‘Yes, yes. I just zoned out for a minute. I’m fine.’
She followed Arianna back to her alcove and sat cross-legged on the floor, while the young Evolvers gathered around her. She started with one of her popular stories, about the early hunting practices of the Indigenes.
The image of the woman refused to go away.
No. I am not fine.
4
Charles Deighton stood in a darkened doorway, a safe distance from the Indigene who was waking up from a drug-induced slumber. A roving camera hovered beside him in the World Government’s medical facility, while two doctors waited for his further instructions. He clicked his fingers and the camera moved towards the entity, like a puppy eager to please its master.
His breath caught suddenly; his new lungs winded him more than usual. Tomorrow he would call his surgeon, to see if anything could be done to improve the air flow. For as long as he had money, he would keep buying his way to a longer life.
The creature finally opened his eyes and looked around. The Indigene, a male who called himself Anton, could only move within the confines of the metal straps and clasps. Deighton admitted to knowing little about this Indigene’s generation, unlike the earlier version he’d helped to create. But of one thing he was certain: this Indigene was stronger and faster than the original iteration. The impenetrable rooms beneath World Government headquarters were the only place Deighton trusted to hold the entity.
A burst of brightness filled the darkened room as the camera got closer. Deighton felt nothing for the Indigene who squirmed beneath its harsh glare.
‘Shut it off...’ Anton grunted. ‘The light... it hurts my eyes.’
Deighton snapped his fingers and the light dimmed by two thirds. The camera backed away from the table and rejoined the CEO in the doorway.
‘Go to the end of the hall and wait there,’ he commanded. The camera did as it was instructed.
Excitement replaced his apathy; a talking Indigene was far more interesting than a sleeping one. He rubbed his hands together and spoke to the two doctors. ‘Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?’
‘Yes sir,’ said the male.
Deighton wheeled round to stare at the female. ‘Well dear, don’t be shy. What do you make of this?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Exciting, sir.’
Deighton stared at her until her gaze shifted from him to the floor.
‘I’m good at reading people, did you know that?’ His quintessential English accent still packed a punch after all these years. ‘And I can tell you’re lying to me. Lucky for you though, I’ve more interesting things to occupy my time.’
The female lifted her eyes as far as his bony chest and nodded.
‘I think it’s about time I reacquainted myself with our guest. You two wait here until I call you.’
Deighton walked f
orward, dressed in full formal attire—black suit, crisp white shirt, bow tie and cummerbund. He loosened the tie and released the cummerbund from around his thin waist, draping it over his shoulder. He smoothed his thick, black hair into place, humming a tune as he neared the prisoner—a Frank Sinatra song ‘My Way’. The antiseptic wash he’d practically bathed in that morning to disguise his poor body odour settled in his nose. Daphne Gilchrist had pointed out the odour to him that morning. Keen not to offend anyone at the elite board members’ annual conference dinner, he’d scrubbed himself raw with the high-grade antiseptic wash prior to dressing.
He replaced the words of ‘My Way’ with a tuneful hum. Stopping a short distance away, he laughed.
‘I just love that song. Have you heard of Frank Sinatra, dear boy? Involved with the mafia, if the reports are to be believed. The lyrics are so meaningful, don’t you think?’
The Indigene just stared at him.
‘What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?’ Deighton hummed again to distract himself from his rising irritation. Anton’s eyes were fixed on him as he paced around the table, hands behind his back. ‘It’s so good to see you again. I hope we’re treating you well.’
The Indigene continued to stare at Deighton. The look in his eyes unsettled him; he resisted a sudden urge to change it. To inflict pain on any strong Indigene would probably hurt Deighton more, but how satisfying it would be.
‘What do you want from me?’ said Anton.
Deighton clucked his tongue. ‘Always in a rush... We have plenty of time to get to know one another.’
‘I don’t belong here. I wish to return to my home.’
He waved a hand around the underground medical facility. ‘Are we not treating you well here?’ The room was empty, except for the table Anton was on and a nearby trolley of medical tools.
‘If you remove the restraints, I’ll stay on as your guest,’ said Anton.
Deighton managed a smile, bringing his hands around to the front. Excitement and bitter rage ruled him daily, but he’d learned to control most of his urges in company just fine.
‘Absolutely not. You’d only try to leave, or harm me in some way.’
Anton twisted a wrist in the clamp. ‘How long have I been here?’
Deighton pretended not to notice. ‘Since we trapped you like the little rabbit you are? Oh, I’d say about four weeks now. Why, are you bored? We’re related you know, you and I—like brothers. Or perhaps great grandfather and grand-nephew would be more appropriate, given the age gap.’
A look of revulsion flashed on the Indigene’s face. Then he asked, ‘Have I been drugged?’
Deighton laughed. ‘Of course you have. How else would you be so cooperative?’ He leaned over his prisoner, keen to wind him up. ‘Can you read my emotions?’
The Indigene recoiled. ‘I can read some emotions, but not everything.’
‘You can thank the drugs for that. They dull your senses beautifully. How am I doing so far?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m being honest with you. You wanted the truth from me, but you didn’t expect me to give it. Does that mean we’re friends now?’
Anton’s eyes flashed down at the restraints. ‘Is this how you treat your friends?’
‘Not all my friends are as slippery or conniving as you’—Deighton straightened up, suddenly reminded of darker moments in his past—‘but several have come close to winning the title.’ He flashed his teeth—something he did when more than a smile was called for. ‘You’re different from the others—special. I mean you no harm.’
‘Don’t you? You’ve admitted to drugging me, you have me in restraints.’
Anger popped the safety lid off his emotions. He bared his teeth. ‘What an ungrateful specimen... a piece of filth. I bring you into my sanctuary and you treat me in this way? I helped to create you and this is how you speak to me?’ His body shook. ‘If it wasn’t for me—for us—you wouldn’t exist. Don’t you get it yet?’
Anton’s eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry. No offence meant. This’—he nodded at the restraints—‘is not bothering me at all.’
Deighton almost missed the flicker of change in the Indigene’s eyes—the one he’d been expecting. ‘Nice try, but I’m not buying the sincerity. Top marks for trying though. You almost had me convinced. You need to work on that delivery of yours. Perhaps there’s a little of me in you after all.’ Anton’s eyes grew large. ‘Don’t worry, there aren’t any of my genes in you. If there were you’d be a better adversary. Although, I should be offended that the thought repulses you.’ He shook his head. ‘Now, let’s forget our little spat and move on.’
He called the doctors into the room. Turning back to the table, he saw the Indigene squirm beneath the restraints again.
‘Don’t bother trying to escape.’ He leaned in close enough to breathe on Anton’s face. ‘Do you know what these are made of?’ He tapped the metal clasp with his fingernail. ‘Baronium and titanium. An alloy. But you probably already knew that. My doctors tell me you can see into our technology. Metals, equipment, that kind of thing. I know what you’re thinking. Baronium is an Exilon 5 metal so we don’t understand it yet. You’re probably seeing the tiny fissures because we didn’t heat and cool the alloy correctly.’ He watched his prisoner, waiting for a micro change in expression. ‘Under different circumstances, I’d be worried, but you won’t be here long enough to attempt escape.’
He straightened up and looked back. The doctors were approaching slowly, equipment in hand. He put his hand up. ‘Stay right there.’ They stopped two feet from the bed.
‘Tell me what it is you do,’ said Anton.
The question caught Deighton off guard. He turned back around and searched the Indigene’s face for evidence of trickery he’d come to expect from their race. When he couldn’t detect any, he welcomed the rare opportunity to boast. ‘I’m the CEO of the World Government on Earth. The most powerful organisation in the world comprises twelve board members, including me, and together we control twenty billion human lives. Why do you ask?’
‘If I’m destined to remain here for some time, I’d like to know more about the humans that keep me captive.’
He perked up. ‘Oh, where to start?’ But something dulled his enthusiasm. ‘It doesn’t matter what I tell you. The drugs will make you forget.’
Anton flexed one hand in the restraint. ‘I hear you plan to transfer millions of humans to Exilon 5. Are you progressing well?’
The insincerity grated on his nerves. ‘Don’t try to act like us. It doesn’t suit you. The transfer is nothing that concerns you.’
‘Okay then, what about your childhood? Where did you grow up?’
Deighton shrugged; he didn’t see the harm in telling the creature a little about himself. ‘I was born in Surrey, England. My mother was an immigrant from Belgium and she married my English father for love. What a waste that was. It’s only a pity they couldn’t see it. Years of poverty followed their ridiculous pairing, not to mention my immense suffering. Do you know how stifling it is to be so creative yet frustrated at every turn by your parents’ lack of ambition?’ He looked away, keen to forget certain experiences. ‘As soon as I could, I moved out of home to travel the world. There, I met many influential people who shaped me into the wonderful caring individual you see today.’
‘So, when did you become CEO of the World Government? What does it do exactly?’
He looked back. ‘My dear boy, we are the glue that holds the fabric of society together. Our planet is dying. The World Government controls everything.’ Deighton smiled. He loved talking about his life’s work. ‘The Earth Security Centre makes sure you lot don’t arrive on Earth without me knowing. You’ve already met the International Task Force. They do all the grunt work—like monitor your activity and provide a welcoming party when you try to sneak in. It’s not easy carrying the burden around of what to do with the population.’ Poorly controlled rage bubbled to the surface. ‘We bring our peop
le the only alternative to dying on this fucked up planet. They can’t survive without us, so we control their fate.’
Anton looked surprised. That he did not expect.
‘Don’t waste your pity on them. The people of Earth are parasites. They’ve sucked the earth dry of resources. We board members must do what’s necessary to secure the survival of the human race. Those decisions aren’t popular with the general population, so we keep our plans quiet.’
‘So you condemn your race to die?’
‘Excuse me?’ Deighton pointed a finger at him. ‘You’ve no business judging me or my colleagues. You don’t know what we’ve been through, you piece of shit... Fucking hell and back. That’s where.’ He slammed his fist down on the edge of the bed, just missing the Indigene’s leg. He sucked in a new raspy breath as he worked to regain control. ‘Was that the answer you were looking for?’
Anton held eye contact. ‘It’s enough for now.’
Deighton took two deep breaths, fighting against the urge to cough—it would do his lungs no good. He clicked his fingers and the roving camera returned to the room.
Anton squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Get rid of it... Please... I—’
‘There won’t be any light this time.’
His prisoner twisted his wrist in the clamp. ‘Why are you recording this?’
Feeling much calmer, Deighton leaned in. ‘I want to look back on the special time we’ve spent together. Think of the recording as a keepsake. Plus, I’d very much like to study you and your emotions more, because I can see something just beneath the surface.’ He poked the side of the Indigene’s head. ‘It’s frustrating that I can’t read you. I want to know what I’ve missed. I’m curious, you see.’
He nodded to the white-coated doctors, who moved from their position a few feet away to stand either side of the bed. The female doctor held a syringe. Deighton caught Anton trying to free his wrist again.
‘We’re finished here. Do what needs to be done.’ He stepped back from the table to give the doctors full access.