The Individuality Gene

by G Sauvé

  We keep going until we reach a dead end. No orders are given, but our dirty companions hop out of the wagon and start emptying it. The mining cart and the pickaxes are placed on the ground, but the torches remain attached to the wagon. As for the vehicle, it’s detached and pivoted using brute force. It takes a while, but both the wagon and the rokk are ready to depart. I understand the need for this strange maneuver as the tunnel is too narrow for the harnessed beast to turn around, but why bother doing it now? Why not wait until we’re done whatever task we’re expected to perform?

  One of our teammates retrieves the pickaxes and distributes them. Jonn and I each get one.

  “What are these for?” asks Jonn. I can’t tell whether he’s being difficult or if he truly doesn’t know what the tool is.

  “Dig,” he says. He turns to the nearby wall and starts whacking away at it with his pickaxe. His companion does the same, and soon the two are hard at work.

  Jonn stares at them for a while before dropping his pickaxe.

  “I’m not digging.”

  The man without a pickaxe picks it up and hands it to Jonn.

  “Dig,” he says.

  Jonn shakes his head. He discards the tool once more, but the man retrieves it yet again and hands it over.

  “Dig.”

  Jonn refuses to take it until the robot aims a glowing palm at him. He doesn’t seem happy, but he grabs the pickaxe and starts pounding away. I do the same, and the robot lowers its arm.

  We’re safe. For now.

  The first few hits are so jarring I almost drop the pickaxe. It takes all the strength I have just to keep it airborne. I glance at Jonn, only to find him hammering away with great zeal. Cracks appear in the stone each time his tool makes contact with it. Rock fragments go flying in all directions. But most impressive of all is the fact that Jonn is already drenched in sweat.

  “What are you looking at?” he grunts when he notices me staring.

  “Nothing.” I tear my gaze from him and get back to work.

  We labour in silence for a while before Jonn starts complaining.

  “Why isn’t he working?” he asks, nodding toward the only member of our team who doesn’t have a pickaxe.

  I glance at the man. He stands nearby, immobile.

  “I don’t know.”

  We keep working, and I soon lose track of time. Has it been minutes or hours since we started? I can’t tell. All I know for sure is that my arms feel like Jell-O, and my head is pounding.

  After a while, the fifth member of the team starts doing his part. As it turns out, his job is to retrieve the stone fragments we dislodge and place them into the wagon. I watch him work for a while before I notice the robot staring at me. I get back to work.

  I keep hammering away at the stone wall until one of the men stops mining. He drops to his knees and starts digging through the rubble. I don’t understand what he’s up to until he reveals a glowing gelatinous blob.

  “Can I see?” I ask.

  He presses the blob to his chest as though worried I’ll steal it.

  “Don’t worry. I just want to look.”

  He reveals the strange orb.

  It’s a spherical pouch filled with gelatine. At the center of it stands a large glowing crystal. The intensity of the glare is muted by the gelatine, which allows me to identify the glowing mineral as similar to the ones producing the light by which we have been working for the past few hours.

  That explains why we’re being forced to dig this tunnel. The robots aren’t interested in our progress. All they care about are the crystals. Sure enough, the man walks over to the robot and hands it the gelatinous blob. The automaton inspects it then places it inside the mining cart. The man goes back to work, and I do the same, though my mind is no longer on the task at hand.

  I think back to one of our first conversations with R’ha. I don’t remember the exact details of the exchange, but I clearly recall him mentioning the Kra’lors came to Earth determined to exploit its minerals. R’ha called them ros’tal crystals and claimed they were a potent source of energy. Given the intense glow of the ‘tals I have encountered thus far, it’s safe to assume the two are one and the same.

  Not only does that prove Avalon’s claim that our actions in the past kept the humans from evolving, but it also allowed the aliens to take control of Earth. While I have yet to see a single Kra’lor in this time, I’m convinced they’re the ones who created the robots.

  My mind continues to wander as I work, but my headache intensifies, and it soon becomes difficult to form a coherent thought. I even start sweating nearly as profusely as Jonn. Speaking of the grey-haired soldier, he’s now topless, his bulging muscles flexing each and every time he swings. I admire his dedication but find it foolish. Why bother working hard when your efforts go unrewarded? But I guess this is as good a way as any to vent his frustration.

  The day stretches on. Every once in a while one of our teammates unearths a ‘tal, but I can tell there’s no way we’ll fill the entire mining cart. Jonn grumbles something about him doing most of the work and not getting any of the credit, but I’m too exhausted to care.

  I keep working, focusing on each individual movement instead of the full motion. It distracts me, but it also keeps me from noticing the soft glow emanating from the rubble that stands at my feet. By the time I notice it, my pickaxe is heading right for it. I manage to deviate its trajectory, only to miss my foot by mere centimetres. Breathing a sigh of relief, I drop the pickaxe and start rummaging through the rubble. It takes a while, but I finally find the crystal.

  It’s huge. The gelatinous pouch is as big as my head, while the ‘tal it contains is bigger than my clenched fist. I study it for a moment before noticing the robot staring at me. I’m about to head over to it when an odd sound reaches my ears.

  I turn to the wall and watch, wide-eyed, as fissures appear across it. The cracks grow quickly, forming a large gash in the stone. From it erupts a geyser of water. It slams into me with the force of an enraged bull and sends me flying backward. I slam into the ground and momentarily lose touch with reality. When I come to, I’m lying in a rising pool of water. The cracks in the wall have grown even bigger, and water is now pouring freely from them. It doesn’t take a genius to understand what’s happening.

  The tunnel is flooding.

  Reconstructed Memory 2

  T hey’re growing people, thinks Kara as she takes in her surroundings.

  Dozens of odd-looking machines are scattered throughout the room that stretches before her. Large and metallic, the strange devices are marvels of modern engineering. They run silently, the intermittent bursts of blue light that erupt from them the only indication they’re operational. Well, that and the fleshy masses that come tumbling out of them following each flash of light. It’s not until she stops taking them in as a whole and focuses on the nearest machine that she recognizes the quivering masses.

  They’re humans.

  Unlike normal newborns, the manufactured humans are fully grown. Naked and covered in gelatinous goop, they resemble giant babies. Some are men. Others are women. All are bald and nearly identical. All squirm and cry.

  Manning each machine are two women. Equipped with a flat trolley, their job is to intercept the tumbling humans and ensure they don’t fall onto the floor. Most succeed, but every once in a while one of the newborns overshoots the trolley and skids across the floor. Whenever this happens, one of the supervising robots approaches and, lifting the trembling human, places it onto the trolley. Once it’s safely in place, the women push the trolley across the room and vanish into an adjacent chamber.

  Kara’s focus returns to the machines, and she notices the large glass tube standing next to them. Similar in size to the robots, the vertical cylinders are filled with a clear viscous liquid. Floating within is a human. Every once in a while a blue light erupts from the tube and engulfs the human. Its purpose remains a mystery until Kara notices its appearance coincides perfectly with the
flashes that emerge from the birthing machine.

  “Oh no!” gasps Kara.

  They’re not growing people. They’re cloning them.

  That explains why the manufactured humans are fully developed, and why they look so similar. Still, it takes Kara a while to accept what she’s seeing. By then she’s being led to the adjacent room, where a sight so shocking awaits her the mere act of cloning loses its shock value.

  The chamber is vast and contains endless rows of racks. In each of them is a human. They lie atop the flat, inclined surface, their arms and legs restrained by the straps that accompany it. Some are men while others are women, but all are naked. Some are bald while others sport shaggy manes, but all are restrained. Some are thin while others are fat, but all are clones.

  Kara’s escort leads her deeper into the room. They pass row after row, each one revealing something new about the workings of the facility. The first shows women pushing trolleys atop which lie newborn clones. The first half of the row is full, but the other is empty. Half a dozen robots stand by the empty racks, lifting the clones and maintaining them in place while the women go about fastening the restraints. It’s such an inhumane sight Kara can’t bear to look for more than a few seconds.

  The second row reveals a line of morbidly obese clones. Their bodies have swollen to ridiculous proportions, rendering the use of restraints moot. Even if they tried, moving would be impossible. All they can do is lie and wait.

  How did they get so fat? wonders Kara until she and her robotic escort come across a group of women force-feeding the clones.

  They’re being fattened.

  Why would they do such a thing? wonders Kara as the robot guides her toward the women. They go about their business, oblivious to the atrocities there are committing.

  The automaton retrieves three items from a nearby trolley and hands them to Kara. The first is a large pail filled with what looks like a thick, red soup. The smell rising from it is so potent she nearly gags. The second item is a ladle. The third is a funnel.

  There’s no doubt in Kara’s mind as to what she is being asked to do, but she refuses to even consider it.

  “I won’t do it,” she says, crossing her arms.

  The robot remains impassive. Piling the items onto one of its large palms, it points the other at Kara. The yellow glow that emerges from it is enough to convince her to comply.

  “Fine,” she mutters as she takes the feeding supplies. Dropping the ladle into the pail, she sets it down and goes about delicately inserting the funnel into the nearest clone’s mouth. Once that’s done, she retrieves the pail and starts feeding the restrained man. She works slowly, allowing him to consume the soup at his own pace.

  This isn’t so bad, thinks Kara. By participating in the feeding, she can help alleviate the clones’ suffering. Of course, no sooner has the thought occurred to her than the robot grabs her wrist and forces her to increase the speed of the feeding. She struggles for a moment before realizing it’s useless. Playing along, she dumps a large amount of soup into the funnel and watches as she clone struggles to swallow it without choking. Once the feeding is complete, she moves on to the next clone. It’s not until nearly a dozen have been fed that the robot finally leaves.

  Kara breathes a sigh of relief and, making sure there are no robots in sight, stops working and turns to the nearest woman.

  “Why are we feeding them?” she asks.

  The woman doesn’t respond.

  Kara sighs and goes back to work. She works as slowly as she can, quickening the pace only when a robot comes to check on their progress. Once the entire row has been fed, they are taken to another, and the process starts all over again. It’s not until well over a hundred clones have been nourished that Kara notices something new.

  Newborn clones are being carted into the warehouse by the hundreds, but some are also being taken out. She watches as two women struggle to push a trolley atop which lies a fattened clone. A few more roll past before Kara decides it’s time to get some answers. She marches up to the nearest woman and tugs on her shoulder.

  “Why are we feeding the clones?” she asks, ignoring the woman’s blank expression.

  No response.

  “Why are we feeding them?”

  Still nothing.

  She grabs the woman by the shoulders and starts shaking her, but all that does is make her even more uncooperative. Pulling away, she goes back to work. Refusing to give up, Kara approaches another woman and taps her on the shoulder.

  “Where are they being taken?” she asks, pointing at the fattened clone that happens to be rolling past their row.

  The woman stares at the clone for a few seconds before speaking.

  “They’re ripe,” she says in a dull, emotionless voice.

  “Ripe? What does that mean?”

  “They’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To be prepared.”

  “I don’t understand. Prepared for what?”

  The woman doesn’t even hesitate.

  “To be eaten.”

  Memory 21

  W ater gushes from the fissures, blasting everything within range. I struggle to stand, but the force of the water is too powerful. It’s not until Jonn offers me a helping hand that I manage to right myself.

  “We need to get out of here,” he says.

  He’s right, but we can’t just abandon the rest of our team.

  “Where are the others?” I ask. I look around, but water droplets fill the air, keeping me from locating them. For all I know, the force of the current carried them away, and they’re already safe.

  “We have to go,” insists Jonn.

  He’s right. If we stay any longer, we risk drowning. Already, the water has reached my waist, and it continues to rise.

  We’re about to make a run for it when a yellow glow advances through the watery mist. I fear the robot heard us talk and is coming for us, but it walks past without a single glance. Placing itself squarely in the center of the tunnel, it aims its palms at the wall and blasts it with yellow energy. A loud hissing fills the air, but it’s not until a thick blanket of mist engulfs us that I understand what’s happening.

  The robot is superheating the water, causing it to turn to steam. While impressive, I don’t plan on sticking around to see how things turn out.

  “Let’s go,” I say. I turn to flee but halt when I realize my friend is no longer with me.

  “Jonn!” I call out.

  All I hear is a muffled response.

  “Where are you?” I yell.

  Another stifled reply reaches me. Jonn sounds close, but I can’t tell which way to go. I could escape and hope he does the same, but I’m no longer the coward I once was. I’m not leaving without him.

  I wait. The steam lingers for a few minutes before dissipating. My surroundings emerge, and I catch sight of Jonn. He stands mere metres away, but so does the robot. The other members of our team are also present and accounted for. They look like they’ve just been through a carwash, but it’s a look that suits them. Their clothes are still in tatters, but at least they no longer stink. Like Jonn and me, they’re unhurt. Only one of us appears to have suffered from the watery assault, and that’s the robot.

  The automaton stands perfectly still. Its eyes have stopped shining, and only a faint glow emanates from its chest. Whatever powers it was nearly drained by the battle. And for good reason. The beams did more than turn the water to steam. They melted the rocks, causing the fissures to seal themselves and block the flow of water. Now more than ever, I realize how incredibly powerful the robots are.

  Jonn and I look at each other, then at the robot. I nod toward the exit, suggesting we flee, but my companion shakes his head. He nods at the robot, then points toward the pickaxe that lies nearby.

  He wants us to attack it.

  I shake my head, but Jonn is no longer paying attention. He tiptoes toward the pickaxe and picks it up. Continuing his journey, he comes to a standstil
l behind the robot and raises the improvised weapon. He glances at me, winks, and brings the weapon down.

  I wait with breathless anticipation, but the pickaxe never reaches the robot. A metallic arm shoots up and intercepts it moments before it reaches its destination.

  Uh-oh.

  Jonn and I exchange a worried glance. Moments later, all hell breaks loose.

  Reconstructed Memory 3

  I t takes a while, but the news eventually sinks in.

  Clones are food.

  Kara stares at the ladle in her hand, repulsed. She may not have known it, but she actively participated in the fattening of humans for the sole purpose of slaughter. The pail falls from her hand and clatters to the ground, but she barely even notices the brownish-red slop spilling onto the floor. Turning away from the clones, she takes a moment to process what she just learned.

  People are being cloned and used for food, but who is the recipient of said food? Robots don’t eat, so the meat can’t be for them, but someone had to create them. Whoever these people are, they require sustenance. And what better source of food than clones? Not only does it keep the human population from thinning, but it ensures the meat is tender and juicy.

  The only question that remains is: Who are these mysterious people, and why did they enslave the humans? While there are a number of plausible explanations, only one seems logical.

  Aliens.

  According to R’ha, Kra’lors care only about one thing. Ros’tal crystals. With the humans unevolved and forced into submission by the compliance drug, taking control of Earth would have been easy. That’s where things start to get confusing. Why bother enslaving the humans? Sustenance seems like a fitting explanation, but it doesn’t feel right. As for the robots, they must have been created to watch over the humans.

  There’s much Kara doesn’t know, but one thing she’s certain of is her unwillingness to participate in the mass murder of the clones. She scans her surroundings and hurries off, only to come face to face with a robot. Time seems to stop as she debates her next move, but it speeds up again when she realizes flight is the only option.