by Devin Hanson
“You’re a sick fuck, Marshal.”
“Well, you’re going to die anyway, right? So what’s in it for me? I’d happily shoot you right now. In the leg so you’ll be conscious throughout the rest of your miserable life. Is that what you want? A painful death? Or do you want to come inside and help me rescue Angeline.”
Min could see the decision come over Lucien. His shoulders slumped and he straightened from his half-crouch. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help you, Marshal, but I want your word–”
Lucien’s microphone cut out with a truncated squeal and the tall man jerked amid gouting clouds of atmosphere. Frost sprang up on Min’s faceplate, blocking his vision. Min felt a tremor through the tram’s roof as Lucien fell.
The ice sublimated in patches, giving Min a broken view of Lucien as he slid bonelessly to the side of the tram. Lucien’s shoulder touched the side of the tunnel and he vanished from sight.
Min lay on the roof of the tram for a long minute, trying to get his heartbeat back under control. He hadn’t even seen whatever it was that had killed Lucien.
He was back to square one, but with more questions than he had started with. Had Lucien been lying about the marshals being on the take? Standard policy had always been to not waste resources trying to track down the hundreds of girls that went missing every year. If the trail was cold by more than a few hours, it just wasn’t worth the effort.
Or was it?
Was that policy shaped by marshals who profited from the lack of official interest? How many girls had died over the years because of possible corruption in the marshals?
Min crawled back to the airlock hatch, taking his time and staying as low as he could. He had intended to return to the marshal headquarters in Olympus, but now he looked forward to the trip for an entirely new set of reasons.
Justice through Action. That was the marshal code. If he found corruption when he went looking, there would be justice if he had to pull the trigger himself.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Partial transcript of Dr. Annette Everard’s speech to the United Nations shortly after Dr. Womack made his announcement of the Womack Process. It was the last public appearance of Dr. Everard.
“There is no greater threat to the well-being of mankind than the process discovered and codified by Dr. James Womack. I say this as a humanitarian, as a mother of two daughters and as a scientist. Any investigation into my financial motives will discover that I have none. The Helix Centers operate on an at-cost level. There is no profit made through my treatment process.
“The threat of the Womack Process is deeper than you can possibly imagine, deeper than I can guess at, deeper than any threat humanity has ever faced. Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot overstate the danger posed by the Womack Process. I urge you to ban it within your respective countries, outlaw its use and the people treated with it. This is a plague of human creation that will dwarf the ravages of the Black Plague and the Spanish Flu.
“You look at me as a visionary, but you look at Dr. Womack as a savior. Immortality for your children is well and good. But what about us, you ask? What about women past menopause? What about men? Are young women to be the only ones to enjoy immortality?
“You are asking the wrong questions. The Womack Process allows all twelve billion people living on Earth to live forever, but the question you should be asking is this: Where are all those eggs to come from? Half of that number are male, and have no way to contribute to the treatments. If the Womack Process becomes widely adopted, there will be no children left by the end of the century. Humanity will wipe itself out. This is not a scare tactic or a power grab. This is a mathematical and sociological fact.
“This will be the fate of humanity. It is up to you, individually, to convince your governments. Ban the Womack Process. Save humanity. Or die in agony when the last human egg cells are used up.”
Angeline huddled on her cot. Her blanket was around her shoulders to ward off the chill. It had been two days since Eva had been dragged off by the doctor, and she had not returned. Angeline knew, deep down, that Eva was dead. The jailer refused to comment, but the truth was obvious.
Adora refused to speak to Jasmine. For her part, Jasmine endured the cold shoulder of her cellmate with aloofness.
The days passed slowly, with only the morning visits of the jailer and meals breaking up the dreary boredom. Angeline found that she didn’t have the energy to stay afraid all the time. She was always exhausted, but nightmares kept her from getting more than a few hours of sleep each night. She dreaded the inevitable sag of her eyelids once the lights were turned out for the night.
Footsteps approaching the door drove a spike of fear through Angeline. The door swung open and the jailer walked into the room. Any hope that this was an inconsequential visit vanished when two more men stepped through the door.
“Alright, come on, you.” The jailer stuck a finger out at Adora. “You gonna come quiet-like, or do I have to beat six colors out of your hide first?”
“Go to hell, asshole!” Adora screamed at him.
“I like it when they scream,” one of the other men chuckled roughly. He drew a stunrod from its sheathe on his belt and snapped it open.
The jailer unlocked Adora’s cage and the man stepped in. Adora lashed out at him, snapping a kick at head height. Angeline watched in amazement. Adora could fight! The man jumped back, only barely dodging the kick.
Adora fell into a crouch, her hands held loosely in front of her. “You fuckers got the drop on me last time,” she said grimly. “Won’t happen again.”
“She’s a feisty one,” the jailer laughed. “Come on, Sam, get in there and pull her out.”
Sam shot the jailer a glare, but stepped back into the cage. Adora feinted and Sam flinched back. A flush of embarrassed anger rose up Sam’s cheeks and he charged forward. Adora knocked the stunrod to the side, but there wasn’t enough room in the cage for her to maneuver. Sam’s bulk crashed into her and they both went to the ground.
Adora rained blows down on whatever part of Sam she could reach, but without the ability to put her weight behind the strikes, they did little but annoy Sam. He caught one of her arms with his free hand and pinned her long enough to drive the end of the stunrod into her side.
Adora screamed and convulsed. Sam picked himself up and wiped a line of blood off his chin from a split lip. “Alright, now I get to have my fun.” He drove a boot into Adora’s stomach and the girl vomited, curling around herself in pain.
“Leave her alone!” Angeline shouted. She was surprised to find herself on her feet.
Sam spared Angeline a curling look of amusement before grabbing Adora by the front of her shirt and hauling her upright. He backhanded Adora with a meaty crack, sending her sprawling against her cot. Blood ran down the side of her face and she moaned brokenly.
“Fucking little bitch,” Sam growled and drew back his foot again.
“Take it easy,” the jailer called. “We can’t hurt them too badly. Might throw off their cycles.”
Sam spat a bloody gob of spit onto Adora’s face. “Maybe this one could use another month under our care,” he said.
“It’s not worth it,” the jailer shrugged. “There’ll always be more.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam rolled Adora onto her back and bound her arms behind her at the wrist and elbow with zip ties. “Up you get.” He pulled Adora to her feet and slapped her. “Stand! Or I don’t give a shit what he says, I’ll start breaking fingers until you follow orders.”
Adora complied, stumbling drunkenly. The jailer and Sam both grabbed an elbow and hauled Adora out of the room. The last man shut the door behind them after giving Angeline a wink.
Angeline sat on her cot, tears rolling down her face and dripping off her chin. She couldn’t get the look on Adora’s face out of her mind. For a moment, Angeline had entertained the thought that Adora could fight her way out of confinement. Even if she were unable to free Angeline, even if she just made a run for it a
nd escaped, that would have been fine. But the look of defeat on Adora’s face as they dragged her away had crushed Angeline’s hopes.
Adora had given up.
“Oh stop crying,” Jasmine said.
Angeline looked up and abrupt hatred boiled through her. If she could have, she would have gladly reached through the bars and strangled Jasmine, right then and there.
“How can you be so… so…”
“Aloof?” Jasmine rolled one shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “It’s not me. That’s all that matters.”
Angeline had a thousand stronger words to call Jasmine, but she suspected the other girl simply wouldn’t care. “They’ll come for you eventually,” Angeline spat. “I hope they kill you. Rip your guts out and throw your body into the methane tanks.”
“My parents will find me first,” Jasmine said confidently. “You’ll see.”
“You’re the worst person I know,” Angeline said in a whisper. “You’re worse than Anton. You’re worse than the doctor.”
“You’re just jealous,” Jasmine said, flipping her hair back. “You wish your parents had the money to send a rescue party.”
At the mention of her parents, Angeline’s anger drained out of her, leaving her feeling empty. She thought of her mom, of her dad, of Hannah, Mateo and little Emilio. Homesickness crashed through her and she curled up on her cot, trying to hold back the hot tears that burned her eyes.
The door slammed open again. Angeline’s head jerked up. Hope that they were bringing Adora back surged and puddled again as the jailer entered with the man named Sam.
“Your turn,” the jailer said, pointing at Jasmine.
Jasmine’s calm demeanor shattered and she screamed. “No! No, no, no, I’m not ready, I haven’t started yet!”
“Oh, for the love of… Shut your little bitch mouth!”
“You can’t!” Jasmine shrieked. “Adora is enough! Do you know who my parents are?! I want to see Anton!”
“Yeah, I’m sure Anton wants to see you, too.” The jailer poked the code into the door lock and pulled it open for Sam.
Jasmine flung herself at the opening, and her high-pitched shriek cut off with a gasp as Sam drove the stunrod into Jasmine’s stomach. Roughly, Sam threw Jasmine to the floor and pinned her there with one knee as she thrashed and screamed.
Almost bored, Sam bound Jasmine’s arms and pulled her to her feet.
“You gonna shut your fat face or am I gonna get to do some damage?”
Jasmine flinched and cowered. She stopped screaming, but hysterical moans still trickled through lips clamped shut.
Sam sighed. “Good enough. Come on then. We don’t have all day.”
Angeline watched in shock as Jasmine was led from the room and the door shut behind them.
She was alone. Jasmine might have been a disgustingly self-centered bitch, but at least she had been there, able to speak, able to see. Simply proof that she wasn’t completely. Totally. Alone.
Angeline lay down on her cot again. She couldn’t even cry any more. She felt stripped of emotion, unable even to hate Jasmine any more. She felt like Adora had looked. For Angeline, there had been no chance at combat, no spirited resistance. No screaming obscenities or pleading. There had been no opportunity for her to stand up against her captors and offer what little resistance she could. And yet, she felt completely defeated. She had no hope left.
When the door swung open a few minutes later and the jailer entered with Sam again, Angeline didn’t scream. She didn’t cry out or threaten them. She didn’t plead or sob. She just stood from her cot quietly. When the jailer opened the door and Sam entered the cage, she held her hands out in front of her, her head bowed.
“Well, ain’t you just the most peaceful little thing,” Sam said. There was laughter in his voice, but Angeline didn’t look up or struggle as he closed the zip tie around her wrists.
The jailer’s rough hand gripped her elbow and led her out of the room. It felt strange to walk somewhere. For five days she had been kept in a cage. The shirt she wore billowed gently about her bare legs and cold air crawled up her spine, sending goose bumps down her arms.
The hallway was featureless, the same poured-in-place red-sand cement that was everywhere, in every cluster in Cydonia. Dully, Angeline was aware that they were passing other doors, but there were no features that caught her attention beyond a clumsily-stenciled number above the door frames.
The numbers could be anything, really. Apartments, or offices, or even more cells like the one she had just left. The jailer pulled her to a stop at a door that had a letter designation in addition to a number. E12. Angeline noted it absently. There was no lock on the door, and Sam pushed it open.
Angeline almost fainted with sudden relief. Adora and Jasmine were there, strapped to upright gurneys. Adora’s eyes were rolled up into her head, but she was alive. A woman in a white lab coat was leaning over Jasmine, fitting her arm with an I.V. catheter.
“Put her there, on the gurney,” the woman said without looking up.
Sam pushed her roughly onto the gurney and held up his stunrod. “No funny moves or you’ll get it,” he warned.
Angeline wasn’t really paying attention. Her relief at seeing the other girls alive and relatively well was so strong she didn’t resist as Sam cut her bonds and strapped her to the gurney. The woman finished with Jasmine’s arm and set up an I.V. drip, moving with practiced efficiency.
“I can take it from here, boys,” the woman said, coming to stand over Angeline.
“We’re supposed to provide backup in case–”
“I think I can handle a couple doped up girls,” the woman sneered. “Get lost. I can’t stand you breathing down my neck.”
Now that the woman was facing her, Angeline was surprised to find the woman was a wujin. She wore heavy makeup and contacts, and her hair was dyed a deep black. The fine wrinkles around her mouth and the creases under her chin had flaked the makeup away, revealing the white skin beneath. It was a ghoulish look, and the closer Angeline inspected her, the worse it grew.
How much did you have to hate yourself, Angeline wondered, to want to completely change the way you looked? And she was wujin; she would live forever, always hating her appearance, always struggling to hide what she had become.
The door behind the woman opened and the two men filed out. Strangely, Angeline had felt safer being led down the hallway to an uncertain fate than she felt now, left in the room with this woman. Fear tightened around her heart, but she refused to give in to it. She hadn’t yet had her period. There was no reason for them to kill her just yet.
“I had to sedate the other two,” the woman said conversationally. “You stay quiet and I won’t have to do the same to you.”
Angeline nodded jerkily.
“This is just a routine medical check. Despite what Ronaldo and Sam might have led you to believe, your health and wellbeing are in our best interests. For now, at least.” She smiled at Angeline, the unfamiliar movement pulling at the makeup and making her whole face seem like a grotesque mask.
The woman numbed Angeline’s arm with a swab and fit her with an I.V. catheter of her own. “You have good veins, my dear. Very healthy.” She set up a bag of clear liquid and ran a tube to the catheter in Angeline’s arm.
Angeline cleared her throat and asked, “What are you giving me?” Her voice came out thready, but at least she had managed to speak.
“Liquid, mostly. You lot never do well in the cages. You get dehydrated and the fear burns up your B vitamins too fast. The yeast diet helps with that, but we have better results if you get a little extra C and some soluble calcium into you.”
Angeline had been to the hospital once when she had a sinus infection. The nurse there had been very kind, with a bedside manner that put Angeline at ease despite the pain in her head. This woman had the complete opposite effect. Angeline’s blood ran cold as she listened to the woman describe her health as if she were an animal to be butchered as soon as she re
ached optimal weight.
“Will my friends be okay?” Angeline asked. The question sounded inane as soon as it left her lips. Of course they wouldn’t be okay.
“Oh yes,” the woman assured her with another fake smile. “They’re just sedated.”
Her duties apparently completed for the moment, the woman turned away and started to putter about the room. Angeline followed her with her eyes for a while, and then gradually lost interest. The room’s contents attracted her and she looked around with growing curiosity.
It was a laboratory of some sort. A full operating theater was on one side of the room, partitioned off by a clear plastic curtain, with an autosurgeon hanging over the table like a decommissioned spider. Angeline’s gaze lingered there for several minutes. She knew that was where Eva had died two days ago.
The rest of the room offered a fine distraction from the theater, though. There were microscopes, titration tubes, shelves and racks of chemicals and liquids, a centrifuge, an incubation chamber, and machines that she had no name for. This wasn’t a minor laboratory performing routine tasks. The equipment and supplies could only be for research and development.
Despite herself, Angeline found excitement growing within her. Her school’s lab didn’t have a fraction of the equipment on display here. She had always dreamed of someday being able to visit, or even work in, a laboratory as well-equipped as this one. She hadn’t imagined that she would be the subject of experimentation, though.
As Angeline looked about the room, she felt muscles in her neck and abdomen relax. She felt brighter and more aware. The vitamin cocktail being pumped into her was starting to take hold. As Angeline’s eyes drifted shut, she realized that there had to be something else mixed in with the vitamins. But then darkness closed about her and she stopped caring.
