‘I will, Cayden,’ Gaia replied. Greg couldn’t detect any condescension or deception; just a mother’s patient tones. Somehow, that made it all the more eerie. Cayden let the mat drop to the floor and stalked out. Once Greg and Leah had done the same, he slammed the door to the – nursery? play area? recovery room? – closed, and marched toward the large Gaia eye, halting in the centre of the room. The other two Golems formed a V behind him: partly team instinct, partly deliberate. Gaia didn’t blink or show any other evidence of processing – or intelligence or emotion, if it was it was capable of such. Instead, she – it – only said, ‘You may want to stand near the walls.’
Leah looked to Greg, puzzled. He shrugged, and glanced to Cayden. Glowering, Cayden shrugged in turn, and stepped to the side, back near the room they’d come from. Greg and Leah moved in the opposite direction, toward the surgery; Greg kept his head turned away from it, and noticed Leah doing the same.
A low rumbling started up. Greg looked down, in time to see two large sections of the floor sink almost a foot, and slide back, revealing a pitch-black space beneath that could be four feet deep, or 400. He shifted further back, one arm out to shield Leah, the other going for his pistol. Across the room, Cayden was also alert, machete-like knife half drawn. Greg started to speak to him – and suddenly noticed two panels of the nearby wall had slid back as well, almost soundlessly. Beneath these, a huge holographic screen blinked into life, showing Gaia’s blue eye, as large as the wheel on a carousel, against a black background and overlain by scrolling streams of code. Her system core? Nothing else made sense, so far as he could tell.
The rumbling got louder. Now Greg could pick out other sounds beneath it: grinding moan of gears, and the scrap of metal on concrete. He edged closer, peering over the lip of the hole. At that same moment, a square of searing lights flashed on inside the space, momentarily blinding him. When he’d blinked the spots out of his eyes, he saw a platform rising up through the lit space – on which stood five man-sized cylinders.
He backed away again, in trepidation as much as caution. The two platforms rose up to the floor’s level and halted with a shuddering groan. Sharing an edgy look with Leah, he moved onto the platform. The cylinders were composed of gleaming metal – steel or titanium, he couldn’t tell, although he had a sense it might be a stronger material, one that perhaps he’d never heard of. Each one was as tall as the Golems, and nearly as wide. The only break in the metal was a darkened, tablet-sized screen. Tentatively, he reached out a hand towards the closest one.
The screen blinked on before his fingers were halfway to it. It beeped shrilly, turning blue, then showing a series of readout graphs, like the kind on medical monitors: heart rate, BP, EKG. He retreated, startled – then stepped close again, squinting to read them. All they showed were zeros, and a long, flat white line.
‘They have been that way since the Facility closed.’ Gaia’s voice made him jerk up again. ‘When the Bomb detonated in the harbour, the EMP that followed was actually the greater threat – to us. The Facility was shielded against blast effects by its very construction, and the ruggedised power system prevented a total shutdown. What no one accounted for in construction was that the system required a reboot to bring certain specific systems back online from protective shutdowns and connect to the shielded main generators. These had to be done manually, from an on-site terminal with a backup power supply supposedly proof against any level of EMP.’
Leah was first to find her voice. ‘So, how did you stay… alive?’
‘Every section of the Facility has its own separate generator batch, to keep the power going if an attack somehow did knock out the overall system,’ Gaia replied. ‘These are designed to kick in automatically when the main power cuts out, and they have strong shielding of their own, though not quite up to the same standard as the primary. Unfortunately, they were not intended for use longer than twelve hours, and focused only on critical systems: internal and external communications, wi-fi and hardline connections, air filtration, emergency lighting, security doors, locks and refrigeration of any hazardous materials. Anything else was… left out. And since some were already damaged from the EMP, or their connections, with no one around to make repairs, the generators did not remain online for long.’
None of the three Golems dared speak. Finally, Leah did. ‘I thought there were still recruits here, going through training when you packed up.’ She sounded confused, and not a little suspicious. ‘What happened to them? Why couldn’t they handle the reboots, if the comms still worked and you could give them the codes?’
Gaia’s eye dimmed in brightness, like it was half-closing – or maybe Greg was imagining it. ‘I perceived this problem first, when I powered back up after the Pulse faded. There were no protocols established for me to implement the reboots and reconnects myself and no way around the need for someone to be physically at the terminal. I alerted the Doctor at once when the process failed and made every effort to fix the problem – the priority being the lab wing. He laboured to repair the damage, alone. Nothing worked. The auxiliary generators shut down, one after another, and their sections with them. The Project data was still intact and saved, and the Facility itself was sealed off and mostly unharmed. Nonetheless, the damage was already done.’
‘What damage?’ Greg demanded. He’d listened to the voice’s ramblings for hours and was finally at the end of his patience. ‘What’s down here that was worth taking that kind of risk?’
Gaia didn’t speak for a time. At long last, she – it – responded, in a completely new vein. ‘You asked whether there were any recruits on site, when the Bomb went off. I think it is time you met them – and who has been watching over them, as with you.’
Greg felt a new surge of irritation; why couldn’t she – it – just tell them what they wanted, without the show-and-tell routine? Then the words really registered, and the remark died in his throat. The sharp hiss of escaping air made him turn. White plumes were escaping from a small gap that had suddenly appeared at the tops of each cylinder. He jumped back, off the platform. Now what? Leah was watching the scene with nervousness and curiosity both. On the other side, Cayden had backed farther away, and was walking carefully around the lip of the platform, knife now in hand.
The white gas sank, forming a dense, cold fog that covered most of the space around the cylinders. As it began to dissipate, a loud clunk sounded. The fronts of the cylinders slid down, back into the floor. Beneath was a glass compartment – tank – nearly as wide, sitting atop a metal base studded with more readouts and keypads. The compartment was filled with a cloudy tan-white fluid, nearly opaque.
The covers retracted fully, with a thud that reverberated through the room. Mystified, Greg took a hesitant step toward the nearest tank. As he looked more closely, he saw several thin wires of different colours trailing into the liquid from the tank’s cover, and a larger, clear tube. He also began to see little bits of darker material, floating near the top of the liquid or drifting at random throughout it. He bent even nearer, until he was almost pressing the tip of nose to the glass. The bulk of the fragments seemed to be nearly the same colour as the fluid, and clustered in the middle. The wires led down to this mass, too; in fact, they seemed to be tethered or otherwise connected to it. Tentatively, he put his hand to the tank. The glass was cold to the touch, too much for standard refrigeration. Liquid nitrogen. It made sense, given the fog. What needs that, and all the other security, down here? He wiped his clinger-clad hand across it, clearing away the thin film of dust that had accumulated, and rocking the tank a bit.
The fragments began to swirl, like debris in a tornado. Greg moved away, startled. He shot a quick look at Gaia, irrationally expecting a rebuke. The blue eye only continued to watch him, and the others. He turned back to the tank – and stopped dead. Fitting way to put it, a tiny part of his brain said. Everything else – his mind, his eyes, his body – was petrified, focused on the sight in front of him.
Most of the frag
ments had begun to settle at the bottom of the tank, or waft to the top, leaving a cloudy but clearer gap. In the centre, supported by the fluid and the wires, was a mass of some kind: pale, yellowish grey, with more bits of material breaking off and floating away as Greg leaned in for a better look. It was about the size of a football, but much lumpier, more misshapen. Gradually, he began to discern more details: the smaller lump at one end, the short, clubbed appendages at the other. Focusing on the former, he made out two small depressions, and a stubby growth jutting out between them. Together, they almost made…
He flinched his face away, staggering backward. The heel of his clinger caught on the tiny gap between the platform and floor, and he tumbled over, landing on his back so hard the wind rushed out of him. ‘Greg!’ Leah cried. She rushed to his side, but he was already recovered, getting back to his feet – and still moving away from the grisly sight. ‘What is’ – She followed his transfixed gaze. Her mouth dropped open in a horrified gasp. Cayden came up on Greg’s other side. His face, already pale, was as white as the walls around them.
The eyeless baby stared out at them, drifting back and forth in the decay-filled liquid. Most of the face had long rotted away, leaving softer tissue and half-formed bone beneath. The flesh of its body was similarly ragged and disintegrating. Its hands and feet were mere nubs, not fully formed. At a wild guess, it had died somewhere around four or five months; Greg couldn’t tell, and did not want to look any closer. The wires from the tank’s ceiling connected to leads inserted in the baby’s arms, legs, head, chest and groin. The clear tube ran to where the umbilical cord would normally be, in a naturally conceived baby – or so the few bits of biology he recalled said.
Artificial womb. The words made only an abstract sense to Greg, as he stared at the blob of decomposing organic material. In the corner of his vision, he saw more remains, in every tank. Some were less far gone, still hanging by wires; others were practically bone, or had sunk to the bottom in separate, flaking clumps. What… How… why…
Lost in this sickened incomprehension, he almost missed the sound of a heavy deadbolt lock sliding back. The swish of a door snapped him fully back to himself, and he twisted on his heel, gun up and clasped tight in both hands to stop them from shaking. One of the office doors, directly across from the platform, was opening. A tall figure in a white lab coat stood at the threshold, his face in shadow. One hand gripped a cane of polished wood, tooled with intricate, interwoven designs. When the door was fully open, the figure took one step forward, then another. More features appeared: A jutting jaw, fringed with day-old stubble. A strong, aquiline nose, crooked and bent by some long-ago strike or accident. Combed brown hair, streaked with grey and cut awkwardly. Lined, dark blue eyes, gleaming behind dark-rimmed glasses.
The man approached the three Golems, his step slow and sure. He halted a pace or two away, looking at the gruesome show with a new, grim regret. The look remained when he faced them. The silence stretched. Then the newcomer coughed raspily, ‘I see you’ve all recovered.’ His voice was a sober baritone. ‘Better and faster than I imagined, in fact. When I brought you here, it was touch and go, even with your abilities, and the tools I had here. But it looks like the compound did its work, as always – along with your own tenacity and stamina.’
He paused, leaning slightly on his cane. The three of them continued to stare, silent. The older man let out a soft sigh. ‘I imagine how strange this must be for you all,’ he said. His manner was collected, with something else – a mournful pride, mixed with deep regret – beneath this. ‘Like you’ve seen a ghost, maybe, or something worse.’
Greg drew himself up. He met the man’s eyes, unflinching. ‘You could say that – Doctor.’
Dr Richard Garrett’s smile was sad, pleased and bleak, all at once. He spread his hands. ‘Welcome to Project Golem, Greg, Leah – Cayden,’ he intoned, in a low, funereal tone. ‘Welcome home.’
Chapter 24
The lab was silent. Time passed – seconds, minutes, hours, it was impossible to tell. Greg stared at the Doctor, then inch by inch, turned back to the platform. He wanted to tear his eyes away, to cover them, to run away and scrub them clean – yet he stood rooted to the spot. Leah’s hands were so tight on his arm, the bones were creaking; they might break soon, if she kept it up. He didn’t feel a thing. He just kept staring, watching as more of the dead foetus’s flesh flaked away, or broke apart as it sank or rose. The body itself wasn’t a shock; he’d seen plenty like it and worse, on a hundred different assignments and battlefields. It was the way it floated, sitting amid its own decay. And the way the long-gone eyes seemed to bore into him, following every twitch –
Something broke, in his mind or chest. He tore his arm free of Leah’s grasp, and stormed towards Garrett. The Doctor’s lips opened, to speak or sigh – and then he was dangling in the air, hoisted by the front of his shirt. Glaring, Greg slammed him up against the closest wall, hard enough to drive the air from the older man’s lungs in a great whuff. He gasped a bit for more as Greg pressed his grip harder, but didn’t try to fight or pull free. Leah and Cayden moved behind Greg, to watch, join in or pull him away. If they’d tried it in that moment, Greg would have hurled them across the room. Instead, he let Garrett slide down, until they were eye to eye, then leaned close. ‘What– is– this?’ he ground out.
Slowly, Garrett recovered most of his breath. He looked at Greg, still unafraid – and the regret and suffering still churning behind his calm façade. ‘It’s what I said. What it’s always been, from the very beginning. For you, for all three of you, for everyone you fought with, who came before them – and would have come after.’ His eyes moved around the room. ‘It’s home. From the start, this is where you were conceived, born, raised, taught, and trained. Nothing more, and nothing less.’
‘Born,’ Greg rasped. In the wall’s reflection, he could see the outline of the tank, and its… contents. The sight almost made him want to crush the Doctor’s windpipe, or draw his knife and spill his innards across the spotless floor, like the floating detritus in the cylinder. ‘Born here?’ He almost couldn’t get the word out.
Garrett nodded, grimly or sadly, maybe both. Greg’s hands shook, though he managed to keep his grip. Bits and pieces of memory – the ones from his dreams, and a thousand other snippets he could only catch a glimpse of, before they flew off again – flashed through his head. Mastering himself – or as close as he could get – he uttered, ‘You told us. Whenever we asked, in training or studies—’ His voice cracked. ‘Adopted kids. Foster kids. All given up by family, to the country, and giving back, in the service.’ The crack widened. ‘We had families. We didn’t know them – but they were real. Parents, brothers, sisters – families, out there.’ He shook the older man like a rag doll, in a sudden burst of new anger. ‘You told us!’
Instead of getting dazed or angry, Garrett only smiled, in the same sad manner. ‘In a way, you did.’ He raised a finger, pointing to himself, and, more slowly, in the direction of Gaia’s screen. ‘Your parents were always here, watching over you while you grew, learned, trained, fought – and were the first to see you through what healing was needed.’
‘What… is she?’ Leah asked. She stared up at the lens with a wary intensity. ‘I heard her all the time in training. She woke us up for training each day, oversaw our progress, laid out additional points for missions—’ She trailed off. Her mouth thinned. ‘She sang to us. At night, after lights-out – and in recovery, after the augmentations.’ The frown deepened. ‘I used to think she sounded like a mother would, if I were still living with mine – or remembered her face, and her voice.’
The Doctor’s nod was slow, still without obvious emotion. ‘That was part of her purpose, from the beginning.’ He looked at the lens himself. ‘The full name, starting when the first subroutines were put together, was Greatly Advanced Intelligence Authority. Given the tasks she had, GAIA – after the mother deity of all the Greek gods – was fitting. An artificial intelligence
like none other in the world – then or since, from all that I’ve seen and heard. Its – her – task was to monitor your training and surgeries, and safeguard the Project’s systems from outside attack or unauthorised internal access, whether against its mainframe or the geothermal power systems that kept it independent. Initially, she was intended as a closed system – an intranet, of sorts, to make hacking all the harder. Later, as the number of missions and threats increased, I saw to it she had wider access, to evaluate and in some cases predict likely and certain trouble spots. By the time the Turmoil really got rolling, she almost had more eyes and ears than there were humans – including those here, set up on my own time.’
A soft smile. ‘Didn’t expect to rely on her so much – but she’s kept me safe and secure, since the Bomb. As for siblings—’ He made a hesitant half-wave, in Leah and Cayden’s direction, and the tanks. ‘Every brother or sister you could ever want was here, whenever you needed them. When the time was ready, they joined you in training, at meals, in class – and your family became that much bigger, and stronger.’
The world began to blur in front of Greg’s eyes. Forcing it away, he focused on the Doctor’s face again. He squeezed the other man’s shirt so hard his fingers began to dig through the tough fabric – then suddenly let go. Garrett dropped to the floor, landing hard enough to draw a gasp of pain, but he didn’t get angry, or fearful. Greg’s stare bored into him. ‘Talk,’ he growled. Leah and Cayden came to his side, the same order in their poses.
Garrett levered himself up with his cane, bringing it in front of him as a brace. His eyes drifted over the three Golems, and beyond them to the tanks of horrors. He took a step forward. When none of the three stopped him, he walked between them, and up to the platform. They followed, keeping a rough triangle around him. He studied the closest tank, his back to them. ‘Some of this you know, from before – or guessed, from what I can tell.’ He paused, perhaps expecting a rebuke, or a blow. After neither came, he went on. ‘When the ARC was fully realised, and I was finished with tests on cultured tissue and crippled vets, the Pentagon asked what the chances were of implanting the ARC directly into adult test subjects, making it part of their physiology, along with certain other chemical enhancers – thereby turning them into supersoldiers.’
Discarded Page 30
