by Eliza Green
Stephen had been out that night too, in a hunting party of six. The cries of the trapped wolf had alerted them to the danger, but the activity had also attracted the attention of the military patrolling the borders of their cities. Seeing the young pair trapped that night, Stephen had tried to help them. But a new source of light had frozen him to the spot.
The wolf put up a good fight. The young pair teased the wolf. One danced as a distraction, while the other fixed his eyes on the prey. But closing in fast on their location was a military human who stopped as soon as his light exposed the truth. When he surrounded the first Evolver, Stephen grabbed the second one and ran.
His ragged breathing broke him out of the memory. Stephen tilted his head back and pulled out the three sections of the filtration device, wiped them down and placed each in the recharger unit that hung from his belt. He grabbed a spare set and adjusted the larger part at the back of his throat with his finger.
He would not allow the humans to gain the upper hand this time. He and Anton would be one step ahead.
When the air filtration unit felt comfortable, Stephen asked, ‘Will the chips work at the exit point?’
‘In theory. Disembarkation should be straight forward enough,’ said Anton. ‘As for getting around the planet, I haven’t figured out that part yet.’
31
A seemingly endless list of documents appeared on Laura’s monitor, including various memos sent between the World Government and its subsidiaries about security matters. While some issues were minor enough, others looked more serious. Gilchrist’s warning to not make trouble stuck with her. That meant forgetting about the crappy work and working hard.
She could do that.
A blinking folder appeared on her monitor. She ignored it and concentrated on clearing the backlog from the main list that was growing by the second. Booth numbers and names flashed up beside files and disappeared: booth one, her frenemy in booth ten, booth sixteen. Nobody claimed the blinking folder sitting separately to the main list. Laura grabbed her next file from the shared pool that she’d been told to work from.
Twenty minutes of reading through complaints about tax evasion and snippy memos between the World Government and the ESC left her with a headache. She massaged her temples to ease the pressure. Something on screen winked at her. It was that damn folder icon again. Gilchrist had promised to get her on the transfer list, but only if she played by the rules. Was the new folder a test, to see if Laura could toe the line? Of course she could. She’d been doing just that for the last three years.
She tried to ignore the folder, but it called to her to open it. Laura raised her head and looked around the office. Dozens of heads, low and impassive, continued to work. She listened to the sounds of fingers gliding over touch-activated monitors. Asking about the folder would go against the rule of not speaking to others. But what if she was supposed to open it?
She stood, tugging at the suddenly tight neckline of her uniform. The man from booth ten flicked his eyes to her as she logged a bathroom break through her monitor. A clock flashed up on screen and a two-minute countdown commenced.
In the bathroom down the hall, she splashed cold water on her face, allowing it to drip down her neck where it soaked into her collar. The steel-top counter chilled her hands. She stared at the stranger in the mirror. Her green eyes were missing their usual sparkle. Her pale skin looked even more so under the harsh lights. Laura took down her messy blonde ponytail and redid it. Her loose and baggy uniform couldn’t hide the weight she’d lost recently.
Laura leaned in closer, searching for the girl she used to be, for the one who’d wanted to work at the ESC. But all she found was a woman with a set of dreams hinging on how compliant she could be. She dragged her weary thoughts from work to the transfer to Exilon 5. She needed it, more than she had admitted to Gilchrist. The longer she stayed on Earth the more she risked losing herself. Usually a vitamin D shot pulled her out of her funk, but these days it barely glossed over the edges of her pain.
After patting her face dry with her sleeve, she returned to her workstation to find the folder was still there, unclaimed. Laura chose files from the common list that populated faster than the team could claim them.
But the ominous folder continued to flash.
Ah, what the hell. She was stuck here, no matter what she did.
Her finger grazed the folder icon; her thrumming heart set her nerves on a new edge. A new screen showed a second folder labelled ‘Private’. It opened to reveal nine documents, all with the security tag 732-554-ITF-TGT. Several had the prefix “to be re-filed” attached.
A breath rushed out of her. It was just another set of files waiting to be processed. Odd that it had been kept separate from the main pool. Why hadn’t anyone else opened the folder?
Maybe it had only been sent to her monitor. The thought pushed her on.
She opened the first document and scanned the contents; the name Bill Taggart repeated throughout. She guessed the TGT on the security tag stood for his name. ITF, it explained in the document, stood for International Task Force. She read on. Words like “Exilon 5”, “investigation” and “meeting” caught her attention as she scoured the document for the clearance level. The document appeared to be a preliminary report sent a week ago. About two-thirds in, she found the hidden clearance level. She closed the file, tagged it and ran it through re-encryption.
Laura opened the files sequentially. The documents labelled “for re-filing” contained both video recordings and notes. Unsure of how to file a document with more than one element, she broke the cardinal rule.
‘Video and text together in the same file,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘Do I tag together or separately?’ Her pulse raced at her deliberate infraction.
The room fell silent. She pushed up from the desk and looked around her. The woman from booth sixteen who handled Level Six information stared at her.
‘Together,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ Laura dropped into her seat. She found the clearance attached to the video file, simply titled “Examination”, and tagged the two files without bothering to read the text.
It wasn’t until she had opened the sixth document in the list of nine—labelled “to be re-filed – 732-554-ITF-TGT”—that she paid closer attention. Inside, the file had a different name: “Autopsy of Species 31”.
Her breath caught in her throat as she read on. The words “Exilon 5”, “investigator” and “meeting” developed context, but she was unsure of how “meeting” connected with anything. A meeting with whom? Species 31, perhaps? Did the alien autopsy pre-empt a meeting? What if the meeting hadn’t gone according to plan?
She speed-read the document, tempted to labour over its contents, but she didn’t want to attract Brett’s attention, or Gilchrist’s if she was watching. Key phrases caught her eye: “translucent skin”, “photosensitive eyes”, “discovery of object lodged in back of throat and nasal cavity”.
What the hell is this?
She straightened up in her chair and looked over the top of her booth. The woman from booth sixteen was watching her. Laura’s skin flushed and she quickly concentrated on her monitor.
Another species living on Exilon 5? This information couldn’t be public—Janine would have told her about it. Maybe this had to do with the investigation Gilchrist had told her about. Her chest tightened as Gilchrist’s warning not to make trouble made her skin itch.
Had the CEO meant her to see these files?
Relax, Laura. She gave you the Taggart files to process. You’re supposed to see them.
Still, her inner voice warned her to be careful. She ignored it and opened the remaining files.
32
Daphne Gilchrist sat in her office on Level Seven. She had her back to the glass wall with the privacy settings set to view out only. The face of a female doctor stationed on Exilon 5 filled her screen. Daphne leaned forward in her leather chair and examined the close-ups of a replicated identity c
hip, small enough to fit under the skin of one’s thumb. Stellar wave technology facilitated a clear line between Earth and Exilon 5, making it feel as though the doctor were in the next room.
‘As you can see, Daphne, it is a highly advanced design.’
She balked at the doctor’s use of her first name. Only Deighton addressed her in that way, and that was because she was too scared to correct him.
‘That’s Ms Gilchrist, doctor.’
The doctor looked amused.
Daphne seethed at the lack of respect being shown to her. It wasn’t that she despised women, but women knew how to be manipulative. And Daphne didn’t trust people she couldn’t control. Her strict, and sometimes violent, home life had made her fear the unknown. She liked knowing what was coming.
The doctor continued. ‘If you examined an original chip and a security chip side by side, you would see they both have an inbuilt communication thread, allowing them to talk to each other.’ She tapped the active thread on the replica chip with a minuscule pointer. The thread squirmed in the enlarged image as if alive. ‘This replica is mirrored after an identity chip. The thread here is composed of nerve receptor molecules, which normally receive signals from a cell. The security chip’s thread has the same molecular structure, except it has extra molecules called ligands that act as agonists. The agonists stimulate the receptor to send signal information, using the cells as a go-between.’
Daphne combed her fingers through her hair, mostly to settle her irritation. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault that she was in a bad mood. Deighton had called her again last night to remind her of Taggart’s arrival, as though she were incapable of remembering on her own. But this new problem on the screen needed her immediate attention.
The doctor’s soft tone irritated her. Her dark hair was tied into a loose bun. Blue eyes that placed her high up the genetic transfer list complemented her oval face. The doctor reminded Daphne of Isla Taggart, before she’d cut her hair.
The doctor waited. ‘Shall I continue, Ms Gilchrist?’
Daphne waved her hand to proceed.
‘The original and security chips can also work independently of each other. The identity chip is implanted at birth, but the communication thread remains dormant until the recipient receives a security chip. Once that happens their connection is live. Equally, if you remove one, they both revert to their original state and can work as single units. But without two original chips present, they can’t be activated together, as the unique connection no longer exists. Unfortunately, you need to activate a pair simultaneously to see if the connection has been severed.’
‘Did the host try to leave the planet? Is that how the replicated chip was discovered?’
‘No. Bob Harris presented with an infection yesterday.’
Naming her patient made the doctor too emotional. Caring about the Indigenes’ plight was why Isla Taggart had failed in Deighton’s eyes. If only she’d left well enough alone.
She shook away her thoughts and refocused on the doctor. ‘Did he try to remove it?’
‘He swears he didn’t. The chip is developed out of his DNA and becomes part of his body, compatible in every way. Mostly, it remains inert. He said he hadn’t tried tampering with it, either. Apart from updates to record changes in his work status and living arrangements, he’d forgotten he even had it, until a month ago.’ The doctor paused before continuing. ‘He was in a lot of discomfort, poor guy. Didn’t see it coming.’
There it was again: the emotional response that made people weak and controllable.
Daphne rolled her hand. ‘And?’ She had something important to do after.
‘Well, the microchip is an integrated circuit device encased in a polymer compound. The compound is created by taking a DNA sample from a baby, then mixing it with the liquid solution. The identity chip is then inserted under the skin of the left thumb. As the human body grows, the chip adapts to the host. The silicone breaks down over time, releasing a compound that partially solidifies the saline, holding the chip in place. Over time, the DNA polymer and saline fuse, providing the final housing over the circuitry. It’s entirely natural and identity chips never need replacing, just updating, which can be done with a simple tweak.’
Daphne sat back and released a discreet sigh. Someone else was listening in on the call. She had to sound interested. ‘And?’
‘The security chip is developed from a section of the identity chip. You see, it’s the DNA marker that makes them unique. If one or both chips were ever removed from a host, they wouldn’t work in another human. They’re worthless on the black market, but the public’s lack of knowledge keeps the market lucrative and their sale active.’
‘So, it was stolen?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t make sense to replace it with something else. The chip is tamper-proof and will eventually destroy itself if physically removed. In theory, replacements shouldn’t work. That’s why this replication model is so amazing.’ The doctor produced side-by-side images of an original and replicated chip. Daphne saw no difference.
‘It even has a similar thread like the original one,’ said the doctor. ‘And it works. Can you believe it? Whoever designed this knows a lot about genetronics.’
‘What about the replicated chip? How was it discovered?’
‘The replication is superb,’ said the doctor, her eyes widening slightly. ‘Aside from being able to attach itself to the host’s DNA, it works as if it’s the real chip. As I’ve already explained, the originals must be activated simultaneously to see the problem. Fortunately for us, Bob Harris has a rare condition.’
‘How is that fortunate?’
‘Bob has a super-charged immune system that rejects the presence of foreign matter. He will never get sick. Only a handful of humans have this affliction.’
‘Knowing your area of expertise, Doctor, I assume you cannot brief me on genetic anomalies?’
‘Actually, I studied anatomy extensively before turning my attention purely to the sciences.’
Daphne waved her hand for the doctor to continue.
‘His unique immune system means he’s protected from the most aggressive medical conditions that still exist, rare as they are. The original chip bonded to his internal network because there was DNA present in the chip. When his DNA is removed from the equation, his system will recognise the object as foreign. That’s what happened here. His body fought the invasion and turned it into an infectious mass because the chip had nowhere to go.’
‘Is that how you found it?’
‘His thumb had blown up to twice its normal size. I didn’t notice the incision until I examined the area more closely.’
Daphne had heard enough. ‘Your analogy has been helpful, Doctor. I’ll be sure to pass on details of your cooperation to your superior.’ She allowed the lie to surface. If anything, a damning report would follow. It was nothing personal, but the doctor needed a reminder of her place in life. ‘Out.’
With a flick of her index finger, the screen changed and a new face appeared.
She forced a smile. ‘Did you hear everything, Charles?’
The man controlling her future smiled back; his watery-blue gaze lacked empathy.
‘Well, this is a turn up for the books,’ he said. ‘One of the buggers managed to fool us. I wonder how long they’ve known how to replicate the chips? Did Taggart know they could do this?’
One of the Indigenes was on the passenger ship, travelling under the alias: Bob Harris. Daphne was more worried about Earth’s protection from this threat than how he’d managed to do it.
‘What should we do?’
As though Deighton hadn’t heard her, he said, ‘Do you think we accelerated their cognitive function with the early testing?’
‘Charles,’ Daphne said softly, ‘how would you like us to handle it? I can send word to the passenger ship to take the individual into custody.’
Deighton’s eyes snapped up. ‘Nobody is to interfere!’
She recoiled
from the screen. ‘Of course, Charles. I hadn’t intended on sending out an order without clearing it with you first.’
Deighton regained composure. His stare unsettled her. ‘The ship won’t be here for another five days. We’ll send a special team to meet and greet our new friend upon arrival. Don’t you worry, he won’t get far.’
That wasn’t what worried her. It was Deighton’s new obsession with the Indigenes and Taggart. A new plan appeared to be shaping in the CEO’s mind. She just wished she knew what it was.
33
A few days had passed since Laura’s chat with Gilchrist. She’d done everything the CEO had asked.
But now? Screw the rules.
Her new colleagues refusing to speak to her had gotten on her last nerve. She missed the banter from her old floor, even if Janine was a pain in the ass and Chris was a sexist pig.
Laura clocked off and headed to the cafeteria on Level Two for lunch. She grabbed a tray at the entrance and ordered beef stew and a glass of lemonade from one of the replicator machines. Searching the room she found the pair huddled in their usual corner, and walked towards them.
Chris noticed her first. His eyes widened in surprise, or shock—Laura wasn’t sure. He leaned forward and whispered something to Janine who sat with her back to her. Laura glanced down at her purple Level Five uniform that had already attracted the attention of others in the room.
She should have gone to eat in the terminal across the road from the ESC. But her pride, hanging on by a thread, pushed her on to their table. She stopped when she caught the look Janine flashed her that barely registered above chilly. Laura ignored the woman and set her tray down. If Janine wanted her gone, she’d have to say it to her face.
‘Hey,’ she said.
