Genesis War (Genesis Book 3)

by Eliza Green

  ‘But you could have helped in other ways,’ said Stephen. ‘There was plenty to do.’

  Pierre sighed. ‘When I had a practical problem, I spoke to Leon about it, or if I had a personal one, I talked it over with Elise. But I can’t bear to look Leon in the eye, not after what happened to his son. And without Elise I feel lost.’ He sighed again. ‘Then there was the other reason I stayed in here.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘Which was?’

  ‘Because of Anton. Every single day since Elise’s death, I’ve resisted the urge to kill him for what he did.’ Pierre’s voice wavered and his eyes filled with tears. ‘To stave off my thoughts, I’d slam my fist into the wall, and break every bone in my hand. By the time the bones had healed, the anger had lessened.’

  ‘What happened wasn’t Anton’s fault. He wasn’t in control,’ said Stephen.

  ‘I know that, but Anton—the shell of him that exists now—is the only one I can blame. I know I shouldn’t take it out on him.’ Pierre looked at Arianna. ‘You said you had something to tell me, child. What is it?’

  Arianna took a deep breath. ‘Anton wants to see you.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to him.’

  Gabriel shot Pierre a look. ‘Does Stephen need to hit you again or will you keep an open mind?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I get the message,’ said Pierre. ‘Please continue, Arianna.’

  ‘It’s about the other personality,’ she went on, ‘the one that dominates Anton’s mind.’

  Pierre turned to Stephen. ‘Have you also spoken with him? What have your visions predicted?’

  ‘My envisioning ability isn’t working right. Serena is helping me with that.’

  Pierre looked at Gabriel. ‘What about you? Have you spoken to Anton?’

  ‘It’s not me he wants to talk to,’ said Gabriel.

  ‘The other personality is asking for you, Pierre,’ said Arianna.

  That was news to Stephen. Why didn’t you tell me, Arianna?

  You ran off before I could.

  ‘He just wants an audience with an elder.’ Pierre turned away.

  ‘No,’ said Arianna. ‘Benedict—it’s what he calls himself—says he knew you in a former life.’

  A deep silence descended on the room. Pierre didn’t react to the news at first. Then he turned round. Slowly. ‘Could it be?’

  All eyes were on him.

  Pierre straightened up, and Stephen saw a new fire in his eyes. ‘Take me to this Benedict at once. I need to see him.’

  8

  Charles Deighton arrived at the World Government headquarters in Washington DC for his meeting with the elite board members. His bodyguards shadowed at their usual distance. He passed through the environmental force field and removed his mask.

  He entered the turbo lift down the corridor just past reception that connected to the levels below. The lift moved and his stomach did a little flip. He hadn’t felt this nervous since his interview for the CEO position many years ago. He’d been the favoured candidate so he had no reason to be nervous, not when Andrew Cantwell, the son of the Chair, had coached him.

  Deighton had met with Peter Cantwell, the founder of the World Government, and his interviewer. He’d made sure to add a hint of subservience to the mix of confidence. Andrew had assured him his father preferred the malleable types. Deighton was halfway through his researched speech when he noticed the Chair’s interest wane. He discarded his words and spoke from the heart instead.

  ‘I can tell you’re a busy man so I won’t waste any more of your time,’ said Deighton.

  Cantwell looked at him, curious.

  ‘I could sit here and bullshit you that I’m right for the job,’ said Deighton, ‘and you’d probably hire me because I appear submissive and boring, but I’d rather tell you what I can do for you.’

  Cantwell sat up straight.

  ‘The situation on Earth is dire and I have a few ideas to secure the survival of the human race. But first, we require a new planet to live on. We must invest more money in space exploration.’

  ‘Do you think the government has money to burn?’ said Cantwell. ‘And what do you mean by “the survival of the human race” and “a new planet”? Earth is fine.’

  ‘With all due respect, this planet won’t support us another hundred years—too many people living here. My suggestion needs a new planet and radical thinking. Experimental at this stage but with the right investment, we could change that.’

  Deighton launched into the finer details of his plan. At the end of the interview, the Chair had become his keenest supporter.

  But with Cantwell Senior gone and Tanya Li, his replacement, in charge, Deighton’s control over the board members had slipped. He couldn’t determine yet if Tanya was an ally.

  The alteration programme—changing humans into a species capable of thriving on Exilon 5—had become less of a priority. Earth’s failing condition and the transfer programme took precedence. But Deighton’s own condition had forced his hand, and he had no intention of letting his successful prototype, Serena, go to waste.

  A tremor travelled down Deighton’s left arm and caught him by surprise. At almost one-hundred-and-twenty years old, the lung replacements and genetic work no longer worked as they once had. He needed new ways to disguise his health problems. He must remain as CEO of the World Government until he could solve them.

  The lift doors opened and a droning voice snapped him back to the present. ‘Third floor, please exit. Third floor, please exit...’

  He gave himself a little shake and stepped out, removing his overcoat and draping it over his arm. The security station and the military men watched and waited. Being CEO didn’t preclude him from security checks.

  Following clearance he approached the boardroom, but paused with his hand on the handle. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Silence descended and eleven people seated at the oval table turned to look at him as he stepped inside the room. Tanya Li sat at the far end of the table with Deighton’s usual space in the seat next to her. Daphne Gilchrist, CEO of the Earth Security Centre, sat opposite him. She tapped one nail on its polished surface.

  He nodded to the room and hung up his overcoat, wondering what they’d been talking about before he arrived. He untied his red cravat and placed it in one pocket of his coat. He removed his black gloves and slapped them in his hand before slipping them in the other pocket. Then he gave each of them a nod as he made his way down the room to his seat.

  Tanya checked her DPad while Deighton got settled, then called the meeting to order.

  ‘All right, let’s get going,’ she said. ‘I have somewhere to be.’

  Tanya’s forthright attitude was similar to his former boss. But Tanya was far easier to deal with than the late Peter Cantwell had ever been.

  She began. ‘Before you report on your territories, I’d like to apologise for my absence over the last few months. My granddaughter had been unwell and I couldn’t concentrate on much else. But she lost her fight recently, a small mercy in some ways. You have my assurances this job will be my top priority from now on. I thank you all for your patience. Now I’d like to get up to speed with what’s been happening. So let’s go round the table, please, with your updates, beginning with Europe.’

  Deighton cleared his throat. ‘I’m terribly sorry to hear about your granddaughter. I hope she didn’t suffer at the end.’ His words felt sincere enough. But the world was a better place with one less junkie taking up valuable resources.

  ‘Thank you, Charles.’ She gestured at the European board member to begin.

  In less than thirty minutes, they had gone around the table and the globe. The situation was the same in all the colder countries: temperatures had dropped below freezing; residents struggled to keep warm in their apartments. Those without suitable homes had been relocated to emergency shelters. Further plans to relocate the population to countries with bearable temperatures were underway.

  But the warmer countries had reached immigrant
capacity. Tensions were high amid the most densely populated area where there were shortages of housing and food.

  Tanya thanked everyone for their reports. ‘Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda: the transfer programme. So far, we have’—she checked her DPad—‘four hundred million people, give or take, living on Exilon 5. I think we can agree our original transfer target of five billion, just a quarter of the population, was too ambitious. We’re almost out of time and money to transfer the remaining population, and we have yet to build the facilities on Exilon 5 to house them. I know we’ve pushed this item around at each meeting, but we must face facts and consider alternatives. If we abandon the population on Earth, what do we leave them with?’

  ‘Do you mean passenger ships?’ said one of the board members.

  ‘Yes, that’s one thing,’ said Tanya. ‘Should we leave a ship behind as a link between the two planets, or do we cut Earth off—no ships, and no factories or materials to make ships—and let them fend for themselves?’

  ‘If we transfer the designers and engineers to Exilon 5, there’ll be nobody left on Earth who knows how to make ships.’ Deighton gripped his DPad tight. The thought of transferring anything less than the best genetic stock irritated him.

  ‘Good point.’ Tanya looked around the room. ‘So we all agree to keep the transfer numbers to Exilon 5 low.’

  ‘If we leave the less skilled people behind on Earth, how will industries survive?’ asked a pro Earth board member with vested business interests on Earth. ‘We should consider the effect on investment here.’

  Tanya propped her chin on her hands. She looked well for a one hundred-year-old with sharp eyes, shoulder-length and lustrous jet-black hair. She watched the room as though she peered over a pair of glasses. Maybe she had, once.

  ‘I’m aware of your investments here,’ she said. ‘But we don’t have the funds to hold on to this planet and invest properly in Exilon 5. Perhaps Charles can explain why we must consider the new planet.’ She turned to Deighton. ‘Can you update the room on the recent change to the transfer selection process?’

  Deighton smiled and cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Chair. Yes, we changed the selection policy to prioritise strong genetic types. We carried out some additional testing on their code after we had some success with the blonde-haired blue-eyed candidates. Their code mixed with a second-generation Indigene code has produced some interesting results. The second-generation Indigenes’ code has evolved from their first-generation parents.’

  ‘How detailed will this study get?’ said Gilchrist.

  Deighton cut his eyes to the woman who was his best ally. He hoped for her sake she would continue in that role. ‘I ordered the labs to study the differences between the original and second-generation Indigene code. They’ll compare the results with our code to see if we can marry any of the genetic material to improve our design for life on Exilon 5. That’s why we need Exilon 5. Besides the fact that the planet is largely uninhabited, it offers us better opportunities.’ Deighton held one finger up. ‘But if we wish to create another new species, we must lower the numbers we’ve set to transfer to Exilon 5.’

  He looked at the faces around the room. The conservative board members who resisted radical change—the ones he thought of as pro-Earth—despised his ideals. But he had backed them into a corner, for they wanted lower transfer numbers which would leave enough people behind on Earth to support their investments. But his lower target numbers alienated the liberal board members—those pro-Exilon 5 members who favoured the move to Exilon 5—who relied on high transfer numbers to boost their investments there.

  Deighton’s eyes lingered on Gilchrist. Her face was set to neutral, but her nail tapping indicated her nervousness. The liberals shifted in their seats. That wasn’t good. Deighton rushed to add, ‘I’ve also had the captured Indigene—Anton—fitted with a tracking device. We’ve sent him back to Exilon 5 with the hopes he’ll lead us to their underground home.’

  ‘A waste of time and money spent to capture just one,’ said a conservative. ‘We must to protect ourselves and our industries from further breaches in our defences.’

  ‘Has the tracking device yielded results?’ said Gilchrist.

  ‘We haven’t been able to pinpoint their location,’ said Tanya. ‘There’s a magnetic field around their districts that blocks signals in and out.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Charles, you spoke to Anton. You were present for some experiments. How evolved has the second generation become? Are they a threat to us?’

  ‘They’ll always be a threat,’ said Deighton. ‘They’re more evolved than we had designed them to be.’

  One liberal asked, ‘How evolved? Why haven’t we seen the data from the labs yet? Could we turn their presence on Exilon 5 to our advantage?’

  ‘The Galway lab will send the data over soon. They’re still dealing with Dr Finnegan’s death.’ Deighton adopted his best sombre look. He’d ordered the staff there to send all information on Anton, the test subjects and Serena directly to him. He needed to protect the data that showed the finer details of his experiments to create Serena. ‘The testing has shown some promising results, which is why we must narrow our focus on the genetic types that show the most promise. Accelerate the alteration programme for them.’

  Tanya shook her head. ‘Genetic targeting is a long-term project, Charles. We agreed to gather all the data on genetic selection before we implemented that programme. We can still proceed with the transfer programme. The alteration can begin after we’re settled on the new planet.’

  That would not work for Deighton. ‘I’m aware of the timeline, Chair. But we have enough data now. We can initiate the alteration programme sooner, not years from now.’

  He noted the look of confusion on each face.

  ‘Elaborate, please,’ said Tanya.

  ‘Well, I can’t go into detail until the data from the labs has been analysed,’ he said, feeling flustered, ‘but in a nutshell, the alteration programme will give us three things: better immune systems, the ability to cope with future changes to Exilon 5’s atmosphere, and the ability to think laterally. With this alteration programme, the human race can evolve further than the Indigenes. What I propose is to replace all the Indigenes with a newer, better race—with an altered version of us.’

  Silence followed until one conservative broke it. ‘Why don’t we consider altering the people who will be left behind on Earth? This is the planet with the issues.’

  Others nodded, much to Deighton’s frustration. ‘Because those living on Exilon 5 are the future. The genetic anomalies left on Earth will carve out a new life without us. We can start over with the right people. Anton has demonstrated that we cannot trust the Indigenes. If we carry out selective alteration, we can withstand any attacks by the Indigenes... And no, before you suggest it, we can’t relocate the Indigenes to Earth—it would be unsafe for the humans still here. Thirty years of living proof tells us that both species cannot live in harmony.’

  Silence descended again. Deighton could almost hear their brains processing his idea. People shifted in their chairs. The noise on the hardwood floor echoed round the grey-walled meeting room. Gilchrist tapped her nail on the table again.

  Tanya spoke to Deighton. ‘You should know that Dr Finnegan notified me about the extra tests you wanted on a new human subject, Susan Bouchard. You also held her at the facility longer than the agreed time before moving her on.’

  Deighton smiled through his panic. How much should he tell them about Serena?

  ‘Before you offer me an explanation,’ said Tanya, ‘I know where your newest creation, Serena, is. One of Dr Finnegan’s assistants called me shortly after the doctor’s death. She mentioned that Serena and Anton had been transferred to the ESC before they were sent to Exilon 5. She assumed I knew.’

  Gilchrist’s tapping stopped.

  Deighton’s hand shook and he coughed into his fist. He wondered what else the lab assistant had told her.

  Tanya
continued. ‘We know the Indigenes evolve faster in life-threatening situations, so we agreed to send Anton back to Exilon 5 with no memory of his experiences here after we completed our studies on him. But the board members did not sanction Serena’s transfer. She must return to Earth so we can study her.’

  Deighton released a breath. Tanya made no mention of Anton’s personality swap or the bomb.

  He finally found his voice: ‘Forgive me, Chair. I saw an opportunity to gather an extraordinary amount of data on the Indigenes that would help speed up the alteration programme by years. So, I held on to Anton a little longer than protocol allows. Yes, Serena is valuable—she represents the next step in human development—but I sent her to Exilon 5 as a test to see if the Indigenes accepted her. If they do, it’s further proof they can’t be trusted—Serena is a murderer and we cannot trust a race that’s willing to harbour criminals.’

  Deighton’s panic flared amid his concealment of Serena’s importance to him—to his condition. If she had stayed on Earth, she may not have survived the rigorous testing. He was confident the DNA sample he’d taken from her would be enough to sort out his medical problem. If not, he needed Serena alive so he could test her further.

  Tanya sat back in her chair. ‘What are everybody else’s thoughts on this? Daphne, I’m particularly interested to hear your opinion, seeing as you were privy to the plan to send Serena to Exilon 5.’

  Gilchrist leaned forward in her chair and stared at Deighton. ‘What was the real reason for sending Serena to Exilon 5, Charles?’

  Deighton stared back. He knew what she was doing—saving her own skin. She had been privy to the plans to create Serena and send her to Exilon 5. ‘She is what we can become, not in the next ten or twenty years, but in a matter of weeks, months—days even. What better environment to study her in than among the Indigenes. Serena’s genetic code is the magic formula we need to become super humans and ensure our long-term survival.’