Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  ‘How did you Chinese come to take control of this facility and the program?’ Hrothgar asked. ‘I would have thought that the Germans and Japanese would have destroyed something like this before handing it over to their enemies.’

  Mr Li smiled.

  ‘Despite pretences of egalitarianism and the chanting of communist rhetoric and slogans, there were many commanders within the People’s Liberation Army who had hungry eyes for anything profit-driven that would serve as lucrative future investments, even during the transition to a completely communist economy. One of the generals of the People’s Liberation Army cut a deal with the overseers of this facility: that he would take over ownership and keep their presence a complete secret from the government, in exchange for the lion’s share of its profits. Of course the Germans and Japanese working here would have been tried in an international court and sentenced to death for war crimes, as most of the initial experimentation was done on prisoners of war and orphans of war, the majority of whom went utterly insane or died gruesome deaths before the program became stabilised and effective. With no way to escape, they had little choice but to stay here, where they were protected by the Chinese general, and they continue to work on the program in secret, honing and perfecting their techniques and processes over the years, while the rest of the world believed that they had died in battle.’

  ‘That’s quite a story,’ Sigurd remarked. ‘But you’re neither German nor Japanese. So how did you come to own this facility?’

  ‘The last German scientist who was working on this project died in the early nineteen-nineties, and the last Japanese doctor in the eighties. That general in the People’s Liberation Army who took over the ownership of this facility and protected its secrets, he was my grandfather. Family is very important in our culture, you see, especially when it comes to family and business. I must uphold the standard of excellence that the Germans and Japanese established here in order to honour the memory of my grandfather and his legacy.’

  ‘You seem to be doing a good job so far,’ Hrothgar commented.

  Mr Li bowed slightly to Hrothgar and gave him another plastic smile.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Goremykin. Now, shall we demonstrate some more of our mental and psychological conditioning techniques for you?’

  ‘Certainly. Let’s hear about it.’

  ‘Well, from the time the infants are old enough to have developed sufficient motor coordination to wield tools dexterously, which is usually between the ages of three and five, we put them to work in our local slaughterhouse, which is located outside the nearest village, seventy kilometres away. The slaughterhouse owner is appreciative of the free labour we provide, and he is a powerful man in the village, so he makes sure no questions are asked about our facility.’ Mr Li paused to beam out a self-satisfied smile before continuing. ‘The products are only physically strong enough to kill ducks and chickens at that age, but the point is to numb them to the act of killing and bloodshed. Within a year or two we move them on to slaughtering pigs, goats, sheep and cattle. Any who show any hesitance or even the slightest hints of remorse or compassion for the animals are removed immediately from the combat program and put instead into the pleasure program. However, if they are not considered physically attractive enough for the pleasure program … well, we have other uses for them, which I will discuss shortly. We call those “G-graders”. The combat and espionage products are rated A, B or C, depending on their effectiveness. Obviously, the A-grade combat model is our most expensive and exclusive product; you will not find a more efficient killer anywhere in the world; of that I am absolutely certain. The pleasure models are categorised as D, E and F, also a sliding grade, with D being the most exquisitely attractive specimens, who command an exceptionally high price.’

  ‘And the G-graders? Is there an “H” grade too?’ Hrothgar asked.

  ‘Oh yes. As I said, G-graders are the combat trainees who fail to meet the minimum standards. They are still tremendously effective fighters, and are much cheaper, but they do not come with any guarantees, so we often sell them off in groups to be part of elite private military forces. There are many businesses around the world who need the use of such units, and we are happy to provide them with disposable yet highly skilled soldiers. H-graders are the pleasure models who likewise fail to meet minimum standards. Sometimes we sell them in groups too, for wealthy clients with very … unique … sexual urges. Some men take pleasure in using young bodies in ways that can only be done once. The ones we don’t sell, well like I said, there are other uses we have for them.’

  ‘I can imagine what that fate is,’ Sigurd commented darkly.

  ‘Can you, Mr Yolkov?’ Mr Li asked, his smile unwavering. ‘Anyway, the last two areas are the long-range weapon training range and the classrooms. If you like I can just tell you about those rather than showing you. It will save us an hour or so, for the next place we are going to visit is an hour’s drive away.’

  ‘Fine, talk away little man,’ grunted Hrothgar.

  ‘As you may guess, at the target range the products are trained in the mastery of a large variety of projectile weapons; there are of course the standard range of firearms – everything from tiny .22s concealed in ballpoint pens through to assault rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles and all manner of machine guns, including anti-aircraft and anti-tank guns. On top of this they are trained in other forms of projectile weaponry; bows, crossbows, blowguns, throwing knives, throwing axes, javelins, catapults, slings and other such improvised arms. Our minimum standard for target striking is an average that falls within a two-centimetre diameter grouping on bullseye for A-grade models, a four-centimetre diameter for B-grade models and a six-centimetre diameter for C-grade models. Failure to meet this minimum results in the product being downgraded to G-grade. Very few candidates achieve A-grade status; perhaps only one per year. Sometimes in a bad year we have zero A-graders. This is why our A-grade models command such a premium price tag.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Sigurd rumbled. ‘Now tell me, what happens in the classrooms? Do the little assassins learn about the birds and the bees and “A” “a” “apple”, “B” “b” “ball”?’ he asked with a smirk.

  ‘Both combat and pleasure models are taught to become fluent in ten different languages. In addition, the combat models are instructed in mathematics, physics, chemistry, geography, geology, climatology, biology and anatomy; everything they need to become absolutely efficient killers. The pleasure models learn behavioural codes, the art of sexual intercourse and its innumerable variations, as well as domestic skills.’

  ‘Well,’ Sigurd remarked, ‘you really do have the bases covered, and I can’t say I’m not impressed. One question though, and this one is important: how do you crush their spirit whilst simultaneously keeping them motivated enough to master all of these skills? Surely there is a fierce contradiction at work here, no?’

  ‘You are quite right, Mr Yolkov. This is what the early research discovered: while the mind of a child is incredibly malleable, there is an innate desire for freedom, for pleasure seeking, as there is in all living creatures. Crushing this completely meant the subject inevitably becoming a zombie-like being, unwilling to and indeed even incapable of performing anything but rudimentary survival tasks. Conversely, allowing the spirit of independence to flourish made the subjects rebellious and desirous of their own wants rather than unquestioning compliance with orders, which is counter to absolute obedience, which itself is of the utmost necessity for what we are trying to achieve.’

  ‘So how did you find a way to solve this?’

  Mr Li looked up at Sigurd and smiled mysteriously.

  ‘We gave them a god.’

  7

  SIGURD

  ‘You gave them a god?’ Sigurd asked, an eyebrow raised with scepticism. ‘Are there not enough man-made gods already that you had to invent yet another?’

  Mr Li’s smile broadened.

  ‘When was the last time you had a truly spiritual experience, Mr Yolko
v? Have you ever had an angel from heaven descend from the skies to blind your eyes with holy brightness, accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets and harps, to explain your purpose in life as deigned by some almighty creator from above?’

  ‘You are saying that you can give this to your products?’

  ‘This is exactly what we give our products. From the time they are old enough to understand the concept of a supernatural power, we begin to replicate “divine” experiences. In order to do this, a combination of powerful hallucinogens and opiates is surreptitiously given to the subject. The symptoms at first mimic those of an illness, so the subject is moved to solitary confinement in the medical facility. Well, this is what the other products think is happening to their sick comrade, anyway. However, the subject is actually taken to a secret bunker deep underground, hidden below the medical facility. Here, with a skilful manipulation of light, sound, special effects and acting, in tandem with the hallucinogens, the subject undergoes what they perceive to be a deeply spiritual, otherworldly experience. An important point you need to remember is that in this facility our products are treated as mere things, as objects. They are never shown an ounce of compassion nor affection, not a single iota from the moment of their birth until the time they leave this facility. Any staff member who is caught treating the products with any form of kindness or affection is dismissed on the spot.

  Naturally, since we human beings are social mammals, there is an innate need for connection, for physical and emotional warmth with other living creatures, most especially those within our own species. In order to make our products effective killing machines, we must do our best to erase this, but that is a very difficult task. Therefore, instead of trying to completely remove it we simply displace it. The actors who perform as the “angels” in the spiritual experience treat the product with unconditional love, closeness and affection … all feigned of course. The product, who has never been treated in such a way in his or her life, quickly becomes hopelessly enamoured with the “angel”, and their dogmatic belief in our unique religion is thus cemented.

  These spiritual experiences we produce enable us to harness the power of that innate need for comfort and affection that has proven so hard to erase, and to use it to further our authority and control over the product.

  We have created a god, a religion, if you would like to call it that, in which we have melded elements of Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism and Hinduism, taking from each what we find to be most useful in terms of establishing purpose and control, and we indoctrinate the products into this religion from the time of their birth.’

  Sigurd stroked his beard as he masticated on this information.

  ‘This is quite remarkable!’ he eventually said. ‘You certainly have established unquestionable control over the minds and bodies of these products. This method reminds me of that of the Old Man of the Mountain, many centuries ago…’

  ‘The Old Man of the Mountain?’

  Sigurd chuckled strangely, his eyes gazing at some far-off vista in the distant past.

  ‘Never mind,’ he eventually muttered. ‘Myself, I have used fear and intimidation and violence to subdue those who need to be brought under my thumb … but I see that your methods are perhaps far more effective.’

  ‘I appreciate the compliment, Mr Yolkov.’

  ‘Tell me, what are the tenets of this religion that you have created?’

  ‘Oh, it is rather too complex to explain in full, but let me tell you that the basics state that life is meaningless, that it is suffering from birth to death, that physical pain and hardships are holy and noble, that everyone who is not part of the religion is a vile infidel, worthy of nothing but contempt and hatred … and that dying a noble death in aid of the cause – in other words, completing any assigned mission by whatever means necessary – assures a permanent place in heaven, the glimpses of which they have already “seen” by virtue of our simulated spiritual experiences.’

  ‘You’re fucking geniuses is what you are,’ Hrothgar said with a wicked grin and a sardonic chortle.

  ‘Again, I thank you for the compliment. As you can no doubt tell, our products have neither attachment to nor empathy for any living being, and not only do they not fear pain, they long for death. Mission success is guaranteed, for we preach to them that failure to complete a mission results in great wrath and disappointment from the deity, who will cause them to be reincarnated as animals in the factory farms and slaughterhouses in which they all work as young children.’

  Sigurd whistled slowly through his teeth.

  ‘You’ve got it all covered, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes we do.

  ‘Efficient. Very efficient.’

  In response to this, Mr Li simply gave a subtle bow.

  ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘with regard to our religious angle, there is one very strict condition that must be adhered to when purchasing our products: the missions assigned to them have to come directly from our “priests”, you see.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Sigurd said, frowning.

  ‘No, no, it is not what you think,’ Mr Li stammered with over-eager haste. ‘You retain complete control over whatever mission you wish to assign to the product. However, you cannot personally assign them a mission; they are brainwashed from birth to accept only the authority of the priests, who they believe speak as the direct mouthpiece of their god. Thus, whatever the priest orders them to do becomes a divine-sanctioned crusade on behalf of their god, the success of which will culminate in their release from this existence of vileness and suffering, and a return to the heavenly “nirvana” that they have been promised.

  All you will need to do is to inform us of the exact specifics of your mission; targets, dates, and all that. When all of this information is confirmed, our priests will convey this to your product as if it were a message from their god. Also, this serves as a further benefit to you, because in legal terms there will be absolutely no connection between you and the product whatsoever. If the law should come knocking, you’ll be totally covered against any accusations. Regarding selection of targets, we do not judge, we do not refuse, and we make no suggestions whatsoever. Whether your target is the president of the United States, a rival gang leader, a judge’s toddler child, or the volunteer matron of a home for war refugees, we do not care. Your money, your target, with no restrictions; this is our philosophy.’

  Sigurd stared at Mr Li for a while, and then grinned abruptly and savagely.

  ‘And what if I ordered my product to execute you, and your ugly manageress over there? Would your “priests” allow for that?’

  Mr Li turned to face Sigurd directly, and his plasticine smile did not waver in its rigidity.

  ‘Oh, we would not stop you, Mr Yolkov,’ he replied coolly. ‘As I said, there is no restriction on whatever target you wish to eliminate. However, in the event of a hypothetical situation such as the one you have just described, it would be quite easy for me to place myself under the protection of all of the current A-grade products while sending out a few to eliminate whatever product you had sent against me, as well as eliminating you and your associates in the process. It would be a very high-risk undertaking … on your part. What an amusing topic this is though! It is purely hypothetical, is it not?’

  Sigurd grinned darkly.

  ‘Hypothetical … yes,’ he growled with slow menace, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘Mr Yolkov, if you would, please have a look up on top of the gymnasium, there on the left, just under the eaves of the upper section of the roof. Do you see her?’

  Sigurd spun around and peered up at the roof, some fifty metres to his left. Something shiny glinted briefly in the weak sunlight: a rifle scope. Mr Li rasped a quick order in Mandarin, and a red laser dot appeared instantly on Sigurd’s forehead.

  ‘One more word and she will squeeze the trigger. She is an A-grader, so there is no chance of her missing her shot. This one watches over me night and day. It is her “divine missio
n” to keep me alive by any means necessary. It would do well for you to remember that.’

  Sigurd laughed loudly and brashly.

  ‘You crafty little devil! You certainly are quite thorough, I’ll give you that. Call her off now. It was all hypothetical; just a jest, nothing more.’

  Mr Li looked up at Sigurd, his beady eyes hard and his gaze glacial.

  ‘I am not much of a fan of humour. Keep that in mind. I prefer to discuss business, not to make jokes.’

  ‘Come now Mr Li. As the Joker says in Batman, “why so serious”? Hahaha!’

  Mr Li gave Sigurd a thin smile.

  ‘Would you like to continue the tour, or move straight to the product viewing and purchase area?’

  ‘I think we’ve seen enough, not so brother?’ Sigurd said, looking to Hrothgar for confirmation.

  Hrothgar nodded.

  ‘Yes. Let’s buy one or two of these little bitches.’

  ‘You have the cash with you?’

  ‘Nine hundred thousand US dollars per A-grader, as we discussed, plus a two hundred thousand premium for one model of non-Chinese ethnicity. It’s all here in our briefcases.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s proceed to the sales area.’

  The area they to which they were taken was a small ten-person cinema. Mr Li led Hrothgar and Sigurd in and seated them in the centre, where they had a good view of the screen.