Holo Sapiens

by Dean Crawford

  ‘We already know well the suffering endured by mankind from The Falling,’ he began. ‘The figures speak for themselves. More than six billion people dead with no cure in sight. The sickness pervades all mammalian species, leading to famine and disease stalking entire regions hand in hand. Were it not for our innovative fishing techniques our own island would have fallen long ago too. We remain one of the last bastions of humankind, facing insurmountable odds. I put it to you that we have been in this position many times in the past and have prevailed. It seems to me that to grant control of parliament and industry entirely to the holosaps is to figuratively sign the death warrant for millions of citizen’s lives, simply so the fortunate and wealthy few may enjoy an immortality free from the rigours of this disease. The action has little to do with compassion and much to do with selfishness and cowardice.’

  Tarquin St John bolted out of his seat as a rush of exclamations flooded the chamber, hundreds of eyes swivelling to stare in disbelief at the diminutive Hart. St John pointed his arm and finger at Hart as though he were aiming a shotgun.

  ‘You dare to insult me in the chamber sir?!’ His voice was loud and deep enough to make it seem as though it were vibrating through the very walls. ‘It is members of the holosap community who are out there in the world, right now, walking amongst the dead and the dying as they search for a cure for this disease! It is they who seek to protect humans, to protect us, and you call them cowards?!’

  Hart cleared his throat.

  ‘With all due respect Prime Minister, as you recently said yourself, holosaps cannot be infected with disease. There are also humans working alongside them, people who are facing genuine danger without the benefit of an upload to protect them, whom you seem not to have mentioned.’

  St John trembled with indignation, his arm still pointed across the chamber at Hart.

  ‘Do not dare to provoke outrage to defend your arguments, Hart. We have all spent years agonizing over how best to avoid this moment, ever since the first holosap was switched on. We know it’s unjust, we know it’s unfortunate and we all know that if there was any other way we would take it. But right now, here and now, we are fighting a rear guard action against a sickness that will consume us all if we do not act decisively!’

  ‘I agree,’ Minister Hart nodded. ‘But running away and hiding does not find a cure for The Falling, and nor does handing the reins of power to holosaps. They have no need of political influence or the need to manage their corporations and empires: that was why laws were passed prohibiting them from doing so, to prevent a class war between the living and…, the after–living. They are effectively as immortal as their name suggests and have nothing to fear from disease or famine.’ Minister Hart turned to address the chamber at large. ‘What message do you think such an act will send to the nine million people living within our city walls? That we’re handing power to several thousand people who are already dead? Do any of you really believe, given the tenacious history of our species, that those nine million people will simply give up their right to self determination, to democracy, without a fight?’

  The house remained silent and all eyes switched back to Tarquin St John. The big man faltered for a moment. It was Kieran Beck, seated behind him, who spoke.

  ‘What do you propose instead, minister?’

  Hart turned to the house speaker.

  ‘That we do indeed put the matter to a vote, but not here. We put it to a referendum, to the people.’

  ‘Pah!’ St John snapped. ‘They’ll never back the proposal!’

  Hart smiled. ‘But isn’t it the people that you purport to protect with your proposal?’

  ‘It’s not a matter of the proposal,’ St John rallied. ‘It’s the people themselves. They’re inclined to conspiracy theories and all manner of fantasies, projecting their politicians as uncaring of the human condition. History shows us that the people have never really trusted their leaders. They would reject the proposal on principle, not on any evidence that it is the best step for mankind to take at this juncture.’

  Hart smiled.

  ‘That, I’m afraid, is democracy. You do support democracy, don’t you Prime Minister?’

  St John’s features screwed up in distaste.

  ‘What kind of question is that?’ he uttered. ‘We’re standing here debating this, aren’t we?’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ Hart agreed. ‘But what of the nine million citizens who have no means of uploading? The population is outgrowing our resources. We must expand and yet we cannot because beyond the city walls lies assured and painful death. The people have no place to go, and by creating this bill you’re telling them that they’re no longer the main concern for politics. You’re telling them that they’re already doomed and that you’re putting holosap issues before theirs. Every word of your valiant speech, sir, is either incorrect or an outright lie.’

  St John almost combusted on the spot as he turned to the Speaker of the House.

  ‘This is not a house of insults and accusations!’ he raged.

  ‘Minister Hart has neither insulted nor accused,’ the speaker said, ‘at least in no terms more unreasonable than have you in your career, Prime Minister.’

  St John fumed silently for a moment as Hart inclined his head to the speaker and went on.

  ‘This bill is not about defending the rights of the holosaps, it is about taking away the rights of the human population from which they originated. It is no coincidence that the company which owns the rights to the technology, Re–Volution, also backs the honourable gentlemen’s political campaigns. Nor is it a coincidence that in the event of The Falling breaching our city walls many of you, gentlemen, have in place the means to take your own lives and those of your families and be uploaded as holosaps.’

  A rush of indignation staled the air, roars and waved fists flying like banners as Minister Hart stood his ground amid the tumult.

  ‘You can shout all you want,’ Hart spoke loudly enough for the amplifiers to carry his words above the protests, ‘but the truth is the truth. Is there any man here who has not assured his family’s safety in the event of humanity’s final collapse? If the survival of mankind is your true motivation, then should it not be clear that all surviving humans are gifted the opportunity to upload and save themselves?’ Hart looked around him and was rewarded with silence. ‘Of course not, because that would mean Re–Volution missing out on immense revenue and becoming a charitable institution, something that it would not want when other holosaps are able to retake the reins of their huge fortunes. Greed is what is condemning our fellow citizens, and I see nothing humane in that.’

  ‘Don’t lecture us on issues of humanity, Hart,’ he growled. ‘Just because you don’t want to upload should not mean that none of the rest of us should not have the opportunity.’

  ‘Actually, I do have a ticket,’ Hart replied, and then his face went cold. ‘I’d just rather use it when I actually died and not as an excuse to abandon those who remain alive.’

  ‘Nobody has done any such thing!’ St John raged.

  ‘No,’ Hart agreed, ‘not yet.’ He looked around him at his fellow ministers. ‘Gentlemen, if democracy dies here in this chamber today then so does humanity. The Prime Minister’s proposal is, in my opinion, nothing more than the corporate desire of Re–Volution Limited and an act of eugenic genocide, the favouring of one species over another without consulting the people whom we claim to represent. It is their lives at risk, not ours: let them have the final say.’

  Minister Hart retook his seat as St John made his final address to the chamber.

  ‘Humanity is indeed at risk, and our survival now dependent on the technology we have created to take those able to afford it beyond the diseases and limitations of their biological brothers. Sooner or later, without it, our species will become extinct. Today is the day that you decide whether this is the end of mankind, or the beginning.’

  St John sat down.

  The chamber fell silent until the spe
aker finally made a decision.

  ‘We call upon the honourable gentlemen to make their votes heard, in favour of a public referendum on the future of holosap involvement in politics and commerce.’

  Minister Hart raised his hand. Across the chamber a small number of hands went up at the same time, like lone shoots blossoming across a silent and barren wasteland. The Prime Minister smiled as Hart’s sigh of resignation was amplified across the chamber.

  ‘Those against?’ the speaker asked.

  The air in the chamber trembled as several hundred hands lifted like a dense forest springing to life.

  ‘Motion passed,’ the speaker said without emotion. ‘Ballots will be cast tomorrow for the final vote on holosap citizenship rights. This session is now closed.’

  ***

  13

  Bayou La Tour, Louisiana

  The dreams came when he was asleep. Hot, heavy dreams fuelled by toxins poisoning his bloodstream, running like acid in his veins. His parents, screaming in fear for their infected children. His siblings, screaming in fear of the unknown. Himself, trying to console them but screaming inside his mind at a god he did not believe in for one chance, just one more chance, to save their lives. Nobody answered his prayers because nobody could. His mother died first, followed by their father and all three of his sisters, one by one in a horrific maelstrom of grief that consumed him every night but burned brighter and more painful now through the lens of venom and fever.

  His family cried out for him one last time in the grinding pain and heavy darkness of his delirium.

  ‘Marcus!’

  Marcus jolted upright in his bed and sucked in a huge lungful of air, his chest streaming with sweat. He coughed, tears staining his eyes to mingle with the sweat speckling his skin.

  Kerry hurried down through the compound toward what passed for the sick bay. ‘Marcus! You’ve got to see this!’

  Marcus blinked away the tears and looked down at his arm. It was still swollen around the bite but the skin no longer looked angry, and although he had a headache he felt somewhat better than he had a couple of hours ago. He lifted his head as Kerry burst in.

  ‘Marcus, are you listening…?’ Kerry broke off, her eyes fixed on his. ‘You okay?’

  Women. Marcus knew that they had a supernatural ability to detect emotion, especially in men, probably because most men tried so hard not to show them. Despite his skin being darkened by the fever and awash with sweat, Kerry could still detect a couple of tears like a shark could smell a bleeding fish from five miles away.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘What’s up?’

  Kerry, with her infectious enthusiasm for all things microbial, gently guided him out of the bed and pulled him excitedly through the compound.

  Marcus followed willingly, although Kerry had performed the same routine with him almost a dozen times in the long months that they had been living in the compound. The only difference had been whether she would lead him to the laboratory to relate another exciting biological discovery that had later failed replication, or to her quarters for an equally exciting investigation of a different kind.

  Dr Reed appeared genie–like near the entrance to the laboratory and waved them forward. Reed’s projector platforms were scattered throughout the chamber rather than forming continuous paths where he could “walk”, like in the cities. Even in the tropics, the solar power cells generated energy sufficient to run the compound but not for the frivolous use of holographic entities.

  Marcus did not miss the irony of the fact that it had taken a global extinction level event for humans to finally realise the importance of clean living and sustainability.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s worth it,’ Kerry insisted.

  Marcus caught Reed’s eye as he passed by into the laboratory, the holosap’s expression one of concern but not alarm. Although to preserve their privacy there was no holosap projection unit in either Marcus or Kerry’s living quarters, it didn’t take a genius to work out that they slept together frequently. They were not romantically involved, but several months living in isolation with an attractive younger woman presented temptations to Marcus that no single man would likely be able to resist. Fortunately, Kerry had deigned to consider him a suitable partner.

  Kerry led him into the laboratory, which was filled both with scientific equipment and a long row of fish tanks filled with countless colourful tropical species.

  On one counter was a row of small cages, in each a species of local rodent, mostly mice and rats that had been collected before they too had become extinct. Several were dead, the cages that held their corpses double wrapped in plastic film to prevent contamination.

  At the end, a single Nutria ran about in its cage. Kerry stopped and waved her hands at the cages. ‘Ta–daaa!’

  Marcus stared at the assembled rodents. ‘Am I missing something?’

  Kerry rolled her eyes. ‘Derrr! The status cards?’

  Marcus glanced at the cards attached to the end of the cage, filled with hand written data recording the age of the specimen, the test number, test type and the results. It only took him a second to digest the information on the card before him.

  Infected, June 24th.

  Test #: 4,267

  Results: Immune response normal.

  Marcus glanced at his watch. The date was the 25th June.

  ‘I was out for a whole day?’

  ‘It’s developed immunity,’ Kerry gabbled in delight, ignoring his last. ‘The same test number killed the other specimens, but this little fella is still up and about with no evidence of necrosis in any of the plates I’ve run. He’s clean!’

  Marcus took a deep breath to clear his head of the last lingering phantoms of his nightmare and ordered his thoughts.

  ‘Replication?’ he demanded.

  ‘Already underway,’ Kerry confirmed and pointed to several mice in cages nearby. ‘Subjects Alpha, Bravo and Charlie over there have been given the antigens I found in the Nutria and then infected. The clock’s ticking on them too now.’

  ‘The fish too,’ Dr Reed added from one side. ‘Kerry scanned for the same antigens in their tissue.’

  Marcus turned to look at several fish tanks ranged behind him. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Pomacanthus imperator,’ Kerry said and pointed at a tank full of fish with bright gold and dark blue stripes, ‘the Emperor fish.’

  Marcus’s heart fluttered in his chest as he looked at the beautiful colours of the tropical fish as they flitted back and forth in its tank. Never had a name seemed to bear such importance as it now did.

  It had long been known that salt water fish were immune to The Falling, a positive boon for humanity’s survival, but nobody knew why. Only by analysing the DNA and trying to isolate the genes responsible for the immunity could mankind seek a cure to the disease that was decimating all life on Earth.

  It had been discovered in tests that nearly eighty per cent of fish were resistant to the most common of antibiotics, tetracycline, which had become an issue as it exposed people to the risk of infections carried by those same fish. However, that same resistance combined with a saline environment may also have immunised fish against The Falling. What science had not been able to discover in time, before the catastrophic collapse of society, was just how that immunity worked.

  ‘You’ve isolated the genes responsible?’ Marcus gasped, looking at Kerry

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Download the information,’ he ordered quickly. ‘We need to get this back to London as soon as we can.’

  ‘Already in progress,’ Kerry said and then looked up at him. ‘We’ve got it Marcus. We’ve found a cure for The Falling!’

  ***

  14

  London

  Arianna awoke to utter silence.

  She focused on her bedroom window, the sound of running water draining from the gutters and splattering through cracks and holes as a sullen sky wept upon the city. She hauled herself out of bed and st
rode across to the window, staring out through rivers of rain spilling down the glass at the distant hills to the south. Through the gloom she could see distant tower blocks coated in foliage beyond the city walls.

  The whole world had never seemed so bleak.

  She dressed and ate a breakfast that she didn’t really want, Alexei Volkov’s words revolving around in her mind. “You could be in great danger”. She supposed that she should take heed of the great man’s words, but in all honesty she could think of no single reason as to why her life should be in danger. She was nobody: a number in the databases of the government, digits in a computer somewhere. She had nothing at all to fear.

  Go to work.

  Arianna stepped out of her church and onto the drenched pavement. She took a deep breath and told herself that paranoia was for fools. Nobody was out to get her because nobody was in the slightest bit interested in her, and that was true in any sense of the phrase. Her own bitterness made her laugh.

  She put up her umbrella and strode out across a cracked road laced with weeds. Although the road was deserted at this early hour the sound of humanity surrounded her as she walked, every building densely populated, filled with whisperings and soft noises of people moving as though ashamed to reveal their presence. Much of London had degenerated into the same kind of squalor she had once read about during the Middle Ages, narrow and dangerous streets running with raw sewage and cheap alcohol, “gut–rot” as it had been known. Criminals ran underground networks, smuggling desirable and dangerous objects from out beyond the city walls. Gangs ruled many streets at night, young thugs out for anything they could get now that there simply were not enough police to patrol the streets. Arianna ministered to as many who would listen but had made no visible impact on the streets of her neighbourhood, the crime and neglect fuelled it seemed to her by the sheer futility of existence: the city was doomed, humanity was doomed, so what was the point in anything?

  A woman appeared on the other side of the street, pushing a child in a pushchair concealed by a clear plastic cover. She wore a T–Shirt emblazoned with the legend: There are only two certainties in life: death and…. Oh, crap. Anti–holosap sentiment was rife in the city, another coal in the fire of resentment that seethed through the populace. They knew about the big referendum moving through parliament, the Bill of Rights that would see humans consigned to second class citizenry and the un–dead elevated to rule.