by Rob J. Hayes
“Advances in robotics will create androids that will put us all out of jobs.” He parades back and forth, using a variety of insulting voices and waving his hands dramatically. “Genetic modification will destroy the natural processes of life. Zero-Point will create a black hole that will suck in the Earth and Moon.
“Every time there are protesters, and every time it soon becomes clear that they’re just alarmists preying off the weak minded. We’re not ruled by android overlords. Genetic modification has only improved the gene pool. Zero-Point tech is…”
“Decades away from creating a black hole that will kill us all,” Brant interrupts. “We know, Jackson. We’re all on the same side here.”
“They’re not,” Lane points at the monitors. “They’re not on our side, Brant. And they’re the ones with the guns and the hostages. They’re the ones trying to break in here. And we’re the ones between them and you.” Lane finishes by taking off his fedora and again using it to fan his face.
Fear can make people do many things. Say many things. It crushes the rational mind. Stops us from thinking clearly. Fear has Lane firmly in its grip and he has no way out. What’s even worse is that the people in the room still think he’s in charge. He’s the type of person who would open the door to the terrorists, give them Brant and anything else they demanded, if they’d just promise to let him go free. He’d probably be the first to die once the door was opened. If he starts to panic, others will too, and that’s when things will get bad.
“And you believe these people are here for you, Dr Brant?” I ask.
“Of course they are,” Lane says. “They crashed our press conference. They publicly state their hatred over Arkotech’s research. And Brant is the leading scientific mind in the field. Why else would they be here?
“Every break through the field has seen in the last ten years has been his design. His vision. Without Brant we probably wouldn’t even have emotion tech. He’s everything the Sanctitists hate.”
I glance at Brant.
“It’s not all my vision, Jackson. The company tells me which areas to research. I just come up with the solutions to their problems. Your problems.”
“Don’t you dare try to pin this on me, Maximilian. I had all the security in place. How could I have known they’d come so prepared or so well armed. It’s not my fault.”
“Dr Brant,” I step between the two before the argument can get out of hand. My reasons aren’t entirely altruistic. “I wonder if I might have a word in private. Mr Lane, could you help Langdon with his surveillance?”
“Of course,” Lane says, as though his help is a foregone conclusion.
“What are you doing, Garrick?” Langdon asks. He turns his head to look at me, but I ignore him. I don’t want him to know what I have planned. I don’t want him to try to stop me.
Brant winces as he stands and waves for me to follow. He limps as he walks further into the laboratory, towards the equipment lying silent and dormant. The equipment I hope to convince him to use on me.
“I know that look in your eyes,” Brant says after he’s limps a fair distance away. He sits down on the table of a machine that looks a lot like one of Pascal’s newer harvesters.
“What?”
“I invented the technology. I’ve kept it up to date. I’ve seen what it does to people.” He smiles behind his bushy black beard.
“Let’s put aside the issue of legality for a moment, if you will. The laws have been passed now and what’s behind us is in the past. My technology,” he pats the machine he’s sitting on, “has been in regular use for the better part of a decade. It was in development, in one form or another, for at least a decade before that. It’s my life’s work. I’ve seen the effect it has on test subjects, human as well as animal. And I’ve seen the effect it has on people with real world use, both occasional and regular.”
“And you can tell a Drone just by looking into their eyes?”
“Drone? Is that what you call yourself?”
I shrug. “It’s the accepted term in… my line of work.”
“What a poorly defined definition. I knew there were people like you out there. I must admit, I’ve never met one though, Mr?”
“James Garrick.”
“Well, James. Yes, I can tell just by looking into your eyes. You’re a regular harvest, aren’t you?”
I nod. “At least three times a week. Well, usually. Not since…”
“Not since your harvester was killed?” Brant asks.
His question throws me off track. How does he know about Pascal’s death? He can’t have seen that in my eyes as well.
“You look like you’re suffering from some withdrawal,” Dr Brant continues. “I can help with that.”
“You can?” I ask far too eagerly. I know I should stop, question how he knows about Pascal, but I want him take away my emotions. I want to feel normal again.
“Well of course. This level of the lab is for show purposes only, but we have a number of fully functional harvesters on the next level down. You look like the type who prefers a deep harvest. Trying to run away from something are you?”
Again I wonder how the man seems to know so much, but this one time my curiosity is overwritten by my desire to be free again.
“Then you’ll help me?” I ask.
Dr Brant nods and smiles. He looks slightly menacing, grinning behind his dark beard. “Of course. On one condition, James.”
Chapter 14
Doubt: Paralysing. Embarrassing. Doubt is one of the easiest emotions to come by and one of the hardest emotions to sell. Nobody would want to second guess every decision they make.
“Tell me, James. Have you heard of Project River?”
“Should I have?” I didn’t exactly keep up to date with the news, but this sounded suspiciously like a military project. I think back quickly, back to my time on Mars. Don’t remember anything about a River.
“I wasn’t certain. You’re exactly the type of person they would hire for it. Answer me this, James, how do you feel straight after a deep harvest?”
“Numb.” I don’t even need to think to answer the question. The numbness is one of the things I crave most about harvesting. For a few hours afterwards, I can feel nothing. I am completely unhindered by my own baggage. Some people hate it. They say it makes them feel dead inside. Not me. I want it. I need it.
“Precisely,” Dr Brant continues. He’s excited. In his element. I still don’t know what he wants from me. “For one to two hours after a deep harvest, the subject is entirely unable to feel any emotion. You see the main processing unit of emotions, within the brain, is the amygdala. That’s where the majority of my research and advances have been focused. After a deep harvest, it’s almost as though the amygdala shuts down for a while.”
“Like it has to reboot?”
Brant smiles. It’s the sort of smile an adult gives to a child when they point out the sky is blue. “Yes. In simple terms. In fact it does still function, but at a severely reduced potential. Understand?”
I nod. I can take a little condescension if it gets me what I want. We all have to make sacrifices.
“It’s what we call the Scouring effect. I discovered it very early on in my research. A useless bi-product of the process. At first I tried to discover a way to prevent it. I thought it would serve no purpose. Until the military found out.”
“Soldiers without fear,” I say.
“Precisely. Only much more as well. Project River was a black book protocol designed to create a strike unit who could go in to situations just like this and resolve them quickly and decisively.”
Dr Brant raises his arm and starts typing on his PD.
“You see, we soon discovered that a soldier who has undergone recent deep harvest was able to make decisions, but would always choose the most logical course dependent upon the mission parameters they were given.”
Dr Brant stops typing for a moment and looks up at me. “If they were told to resolve a hostage situa
tion using deadly force with no care for the hostages, that is exactly what they would do.” He goes back to staring at his PD.
I finally grasp exactly what Dr Brant wants from me. “We’re secure here, Doctor. All we have to do is wait for the military to show up and resolve the situation. Sitting tight is the safest course of action.”
“Don’t be foolish, James,” Dr Brant says. “This situation is already far too public and the Sanctitists have hostages. There’s already news crews outside. By now the whole world and the colonies know just what is happening here.”
He taps his PD again and holds out his arm to show me. I see a dozen different news channels on the screen, all reporting on a terrorist attack on the Ark. Hostages are mentioned on almost all the feeds.
“How have you got an outside feed?” I ask. “They’ve blocked digital communications.”
Brant snorts. “They may have blocked everyone else’s, but I don’t rely on conventional means, James.” He pulls his arm back and continues typing.
“Now. I hope I have convinced you that the military is not just going to show up and save us. At least not in time. They will first attempt to negotiate for release of the hostages, try to find out exactly what the Sanctitists want. They will not operate quickly. Certainly not swiftly enough. We can’t always wait around for someone else to save us, James.
“You must have realised by now that these terrorists have come prepared. They brought jamming equipment and explosives. It’s only so long before they realise where I am. Then it’s a matter of time before they get the elevators working again, or simply decide to use brute force.”
He’s right. The Sanctitists only took hostages to hold the military at bay. The only thing protecting Dr Brant, protecting all of us, is that they don’t know where to look. Still, what he’s asking me to do is impossible.
“I’m just a security guard, Dr Brant,” I say, shaking my head at him. “Removing a person’s emotions. Stopping them from feeling. It doesn’t turn them into…”
“Oh, we both know you’re more than that, James.” Again Dr Brant turns his arm to show me his PD. I see my file up on the screen. Not a medical file and not any of the police reports either. He’s accessed my military file. On that screen are many of the things I’ve been running away from for so long. Most of them actually. Pretty much all but Summer.
“How did you get access to that?” I look away. I know the things I’ve done. I don’t like being reminded of them. Mars changes everyone who goes there and rarely for the better.
“A man in my position has access to everything, James. You’re not just some helpless security guard in over his head. This is exactly the sort of situation you were trained to resolve. And all I’m asking, is you let me turn you into the man you need to be to resolve it.”
He’s trying to make it sound heroic. What he really wants to do is turn me into an emotionless killing machine. I doubt he realises what he’s asking. I doubt he’s ever had to deal with the guilt of killing a person. Even one who’s trying to kill him right back.
I don’t know if I can do what he’s asking of me. It’s been a long time since my military days and I’m not in the same shape I used to be. I wonder how far I’m willing to go to get what I want. I wonder if I’ll even care once I get it.
“My turn for a condition, Dr Brant,” I say, committing before I can realise how bad an idea it is. “I don’t just want harvesting this one time. Access to a harvester whenever I want. I get the feeling you’re a man who can make that sort of deal.”
Brant leans forwards, grinning that same maniacal grin at me. “Done.” He taps a few times on his PD. “Hand me your arm.”
I comply. He taps on my PD, altering its settings without my permission or my biometric unlock.
“How did you…”
“I told you, James. I have access to everything. Did you really think your PD was so secure, nobody else could access it? I have moved you onto my personal network. You’ll have outside access despite the Sanctitist’s jamming, and I’ll link you into the security feed. You’ll also be able to communicate with me.”
“What about Langdon?” I ask.
“What about him?”
“I could use him on comms.”
“Hmmm. No. My network needs to remain secure. You’ll have to put up with me as your eyes and ears. Come along. The harvesting will take at least ten minutes and we’re running out of time.”
“Just ten minutes?” I ask. Suddenly I wonder how out-of-date Pascal’s machines were. I’d expect to be attached for at least an hour given the length of time since my last harvest.
Dr Brant doesn’t bother to reply, he’s already off the machine and limping towards the exit. I follow after him.
Langdon looks up as I approach. “What’s going on, Garrick?”
“How many have you counted?” I ask.
“Twelve hostiles. Eight hostages split between the ground and first floor.”
“I thought it was thirteen,” Lane argues.
“It’s eight. They’ve got explosives too. What’s going on, Garrick?”
“Where are you going, Brant?” Lane springs to his feet and his fedora slips from his head, landing on the floor. He doesn’t seem to care. “Are you giving yourself up?”
“Of course not. I’m headed down to laboratory two with James here. We have a plan.”
“What plan?”
“One you’re not privy to, Jackson. Just keep everyone calm. This will all be over soon.”
Brant reaches the door and presses his hand to the pad, unlocking it. He pulls it open and limps out. I follow quickly, not looking back. Langdon could probably talk me out of it if he tried. I know Brant’s plan is approaching suicide. I know it. But I need his help, his machines. And this is the only way he’ll help me. I know that too.
My PD beeps as we approach the door for the next floor down. Brant doesn’t even acknowledge it as he presses his palm to the biometric lock and pulls the door open. I follow him in and look at the screen of my PD. A call from an unknown number. I glance up at Brant, but he’s limping over to some computer monitors. I put in the earpiece and answer the call.
Kendall’s face flashes up on the screen. She looks pale, her eyes dark and a little sunken, her hair untamed, but she’s alive. I smile at the screen. She doesn’t smile back.
“Third time I’ve tried you, Robot. Was starting to think you don’t care.” I see an IV hanging up behind her. A hand moves across the screen and Kendall waves it away. “Gaia’s arse, Jasmine. I told you I’m fine. Just let me do this.”
“It’s good to see you made it,” I say. I’m not lying.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why do you care?”
Brant clears his throat. “Over here please, James. Into the machine. I’m almost ready for you.”
“No drugs?” I ask.
Brant laughs. “I’ll bet the machines you’re used to are over four generations old. No. No drugs.”
“Where are you?” Kendall asks.
I smile and laugh. “Are you watching the news?”
Kendall narrows her eyes.
“I’m in Paris,” I tell her. “In the Ark.”
“The terrorist thing?” she asks, her voice rising a little. I’m glad I can surprise her.
I nod.
“You really do get around, Robot. I know.” She waves at someone again, looking angry. “Why’d you save me?”
“You were a bit too far gone to save yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah. The robot has been a bit too long without a reset, eh? Stop smiling at me. Why? You want to know who killed Pascal?” She glances away from the screen and I see something pass across her face. It looks a lot like regret.
“That’s part of it,” I admit. I don’t know what I’ll do with the information, but I want to know. “But I would have done it even if you didn’t know. All it cost me was time and one bloody shirt too far gone to wash.”
I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier. “They were military.”
Kendall nods. “That’s my guess.”
“Why would…”
“I don’t know,” Kendall interrupts me. “I, uh, I have it on good authority that Pascal wasn’t into anything that bad. We both know what he did and that’s the worst he did.”
“Good authority?”
“Look, Garrick, is it?”
I nod.
“Thank you. For saving me. And… look. Shhh, I’m almost done. This is my private number, right? You ever need a favour. Give me a call. You know what I do, right?”
I nod.
“Good. Don’t go giving the number out to all your friends.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Right. Take care of yourself, Robot.”
Kendall ends the call. A favour earned from an assassin. I can’t imagine ever calling that one in.
“Are you ready?” Brant asks. His voice is calm, but he looks impatient.
I nod.
“Well you’ve been through this before, no? Lean back and relax.”
“What about that new technology?” I ask. “I thought it would all be done with a touch of a hand to a screen?”
Brant snorts. “Not for a deep harvest, James. The new tech is…” he sighs. “Limited. It can harvest the emotions the patient is feeling at the time, but it is unable to access deeper memory-based emotions. It’s an issue I’m working on. For this level of harvest, you’ll still need machines capable of accessing your memories.
“Now lie back and relax.” He grins at me through his beard. “Time to relieve you of your burdens.” The sentiment is eerily similar to my own.
Chapter 15
Serenity: Calming. Peaceful. A tranquil state of mind. Serenity sells to a certain market. Those who crave meditation, but can’t find the time or can’t find their zen.
