by J M Hemmings
She couldn’t believe she had just said those words to an animal. The surreality of this situation, of this place and these beings who inhabited it came crashing again to the fore, and, as she had many times since being abducted, Margaret felt as if she was somehow ensnared in the layers of a bizarre nightmare within a nightmare. Would she someday wake up from this dream to find herself strapped to a bed in a padded cell? Or perhaps, the reality of the situation was darker; maybe she had been killed in that initial attack on the village, and now her soul was stuck in some sort of strange purgatory, and was cursed to dwell in this place before being allowed to proceed to a reincarnation, or heaven … or hell.
Perhaps she was already in hell. Perhaps all those religions she despised with such vehemence were right; perhaps that place of eternal damnation they whispered of actually did exist. Perhaps this was it. This last thought rippled an ice-dripping chill down her spine, and she shivered involuntarily.
The leopard had turned to look at the General, waiting for his consent before obliging Margaret’s request. He returned the creature’s gaze with stern eyes and shook his head.
‘I’m sorry for your discomfort Doctor, but there is nothing to fear from my friend here. Even in this body, his mind is the same as it is when he is in his human form, and therefore he is no danger to you, I assure you. I need him to remain in this form to continue to illustrate my thesis, if you would call it that.’
‘Um, okay…’
As uncomfortable as she felt, there was nothing that Margaret could do but agree to this.
‘So,’ the General continued, ‘we’ve established that biologically and anatomically there are but minor differences that separate you from the other beings inhabiting this planet, those beings that you refer to as “animals”. However, these differences are but a trifle; there is a greater gap of biological distance between this leopard and a housecat than there is between your kind and chimpanzees, for example. So, you brought up intelligence, tool use … and then there’s what I mentioned in addition: language.’
‘Language is a huge part of what makes my kind unique, yes.’
‘Now there you go using that word again, yet I am not entirely sure that you understand the implications of the use of such a term.’
‘What do you mean? I understand perfectly well what “unique” means! Gosh darn it, that’s third-grade elementary school vocabulary.’
‘I’m not simply talking about the definition of the word. Yes, in a strict dictionary definition of the term, we could label your kind unique. But regarding the actual concept of uniqueness, do you think that the traits you mentioned thus far really are unique to your kind?’
‘I guess um, er, there may be some exceptions, in very unusual circumstances or something.’
‘No, not unusual circumstances, and not in isolated or exceptional cases either. Language is not unique to your species at all, not by a long shot. You just assume that yours is the only complex language simply because you can neither understand nor decipher the languages of other species. Elephants, whales, dolphins, primates and many birds, all of these have intricate and complex systems of language, systems that have remained indecipherable to your scholars and scientists over the centuries. Their indecipherability does not, however, make them any less significant, and that is a point that most of your kind chooses to disregard. The language of dolphins and whales, for example, is far older than any human language, and in many ways it is just as complex.’
‘Okay, I’ll admit that other animals—’
‘Species, Doctor, species. You keep forgetting that we have agreed that you human primates are just another species of animal, and not some separate, extra-terrestrial entity altogether.’
‘Fine. Other species may have language, and sure, maybe it’s complex as all heck, but where’s the evidence of culture? Of civilisation? Of technology?’
The General nodded and clasped his hands together.
‘Culture is, in a loosely defined way, possessed by other species. The other things you mentioned? Well yes, those are indeed the hallmarks of the dominance of your species over others. But where did they come from? Let me tell you: the human neocortex, Dr Green, and its strange and seemingly inexplicably rapid surge in size and processing power, which happened a few hundred thousand years ago. The abilities possessed by your neocortex are responsible for a lot of the things that have elevated humankind above the rest of the animal kingdom. You are aware of the significance of the human neocortex, are you not?’
‘The brain isn’t my area of medical expertise, but I’m pretty sure that the neocortex is the seat of language and culture. The human neocortex is proportionally larger in humans, as far as I know, allowing us to have more complex language skills.’
The General smiled and nodded.
‘That is correct, Doctor. And, of course, it allows for more transmittable complexities of culture than in other mammals. How do you suppose this came about?’
‘Well that’s a pretty well-known fact already. We just, we had a boost in evolution a couple hundred thousand years ago when we started hunting, and the high-quality protein we got from meat made our brains—’
‘Ah, yes Dr Green,’ the General interrupted. ‘I thought that you would bring that up. It’s a statement, you see, that is often bandied about by people who aren’t actually scholars of the brain, and people who have not actually studied the evolution of the brain in primates. You see, there is a single gene, a single strand of DNA that is present in humans, that allows for the neocortex to pack a vast number of neurons into a small area, and this concentration of them boosts brainpower massively. Where this single gene came from originally remains a mystery. But it did not simply materialise from nothing when your ancestors began their reign of violence and destruction over all of the other sentient beings on this planet, as people seem to want so desperately to believe. It had nothing to do with hunting or eating meat. Unfortunately, thanks to at least one wildly inaccurate article going viral on social networks it has become, as so many other myths and nonsense stories have, a “truth” held dear by those who do not wish to accept any responsibility for their actions or modify their own behaviour in any way. However, the old aphorism holds just as true as ever here: if one tells a big enough lie and continues to repeat it, people will start to believe it. That vile monster Joseph Goebbels said those words, and as awful a human being as he was, we cannot deny the veracity of that statement of his, can we?’
‘Hold up there General,’ replied Margaret, looking surprised. ‘You have a social media account?’
The General laughed loudly at this, and his amusement was so infectious that Margaret couldn’t help but chuckle along with him.
‘Oh yes Dr Green! Even an “old fart” like myself needs to stay abreast of things and keep up with the latest trends! I have accounts on all of the major social media networks, and I have a large and dedicated team of people all over the world working for me. They keep me updated about all sorts of things. Indeed, I have cells in every country, in every state, in every major city on Earth.’
The last sentence the General spoke sent a chill running down Margaret’s spine; this was terrorist talk right here. ‘Cells’ in every country? That sounded like something that a representative of Al Queda or ISIL would say. Margaret shuddered and tried to force this thought out of her head; she remembered at once how easily the General had read her mind before, and she certainly didn’t want him to do it again.
‘Forget for a moment about social media though. You see, while I find that it is useful for staying up to date with goings-on in the world, and establishing an aggregate for what sort of things various groups of people care about and believe—’
‘And how exactly do you do that?’ Margaret interrupted, suddenly curious.
‘Oh, with great personal ease on my part, with a lot of collective and cooperative effort on the part of my operatives. As I said, my network of social media moles is vast, and all of them are plugg
ed into different areas of the various social networks. Some, for example, pose as far right American conservatives online and thus get a feed of what kind of opinions that particular group holds. Others infiltrate the far-left progressives and so-called social justice groups. Others side with Muslim reformers in more secular Arab states, and yet others are involved in Tamil rebel activities in Sri Lanka, or conservative pro-militarisation circles in Japan, or separatists in the Ukraine. I have some who follow Christian missionaries looking to end witch burnings in Papua New Guinea, while others are involved in promoting heavy industry in Pakistan. I could go on, and on, and on, Dr Green; my list of operatives numbers in the tens of thousands, and each of those follows one very specific group of people. But trust me on this: I know what is going on everywhere.
Indeed, I have been following such developments for years and years; collecting, compiling and analysing data, and aggregating information. Before the advent of the internet I used the press, magazines, academic journals and television reports. And before television, I used radio, and before radio, newspapers from all over the world, in hundreds of languages. I have been compiling these things for centuries, Doctor, centuries. Knowledge has become my business, my obsession.’
Once again, Margaret found the oil and water sensations of awe and flagrant disbelief swirling about her mind at the General’s words.
‘Knowledge huh? So in addition to being a soldier, you’re also a scholar?’
Margaret hoped that her remark did not sound too snide, but she could not stop herself from taking a stab at the General’s perceived pompousness. If he was offended though, he did not show it. It seemed, in fact, that the tone of her remark had gone completely over his head. She was glad though, that she seemed to have sidetracked him from the long and complex lecture he had been giving her about human evolution and the differences – or lack thereof – between humans and other animals. Quite frankly, she’d been getting quite sick of his patronising attitude.
‘Knowledge, yes!’ he continued, aglow with a vivacious enthusiasm. ‘My interest area is all of human history, as well as the history and ecology of this planet and its nonhuman inhabitants. You see, the study of history, ecology and evolution is also the study of patterns and predictability factors. When I realised this, decades ago, I began to delve more deeply into the art of mathematics, and therein I discovered some of the greatest wonder and beauty in all of the universe. For what I have found, in both my studies and my own experiences in the countless lifetimes I have lived, is that almost everything boils down to patterns and formulae. These patterns are found in an infinite variety of scales throughout nature, and are always repeated. Always, Dr Green. The rise and fall of civilisations, of societies, of tribes – all involve nearly identical patterns and formulae of behaviour. Yes, even now in the twenty-first century you human beings are not exempt from unseen bondage, or free from the invisible chains that tether you to the paths laid out by these patterns and formulae. You see, the only thing that I have found to be variable is the scale of the pattern. And it is the current scale at which things are developing and accelerating that worries me the most.’
‘What do you mean?’ Margaret asked.
‘Your global civilisation is deep into the trajectory of a very particular and very alarming mathematical formula. Of course, there are a great many factors to consider, including that of pure chance, chaos and blind coincidence … but even taking into account a number of varying predictability factors and an acceptable deviation from the core formula, the conclusion remains the same.’
‘And what conclusion might that be?’
The General stared suddenly into Margaret’s eyes with an intense, piercing gaze, holding her attention with merciless force for a few terse moments.
‘Why, Dr Green, it is the complete and utter collapse of global human civilisation.’
42
MARGARET
Margaret sat in silence for a while, contemplating everything the General had just told her. It was rather overwhelming, and she was having a hard time digesting all of it. The General sensed this, so he brushed off the front of his camouflage trousers and stood up from the bench.
‘Come Doctor,’ he said. ‘It seems that you are weary. Perhaps I have spoken too much this afternoon. It is a fault of mine; when I start talking about things I am passionate about, I sometimes find it hard to control my enthusiasm. I am a great fan of debating and talking philosophically, as you can no doubt tell. However, also I know that too much information at once can be too much to handle. I must leave you soon, as I have some things to take care of, so I will take you to one more place in my city and then you can return to your quarters and rest.’
Margaret grunted as she heaved herself up. Her legs were still stiff and aching from all the walking they had done earlier.
‘I hope that whatever you’re going to show me next isn’t too far, General. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, to be honest.’
‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to do much more walking. We’re actually going to go on a little boat ride.’
He turned to the leopard, who was still sitting like an obedient hound between himself and Margaret.
‘Change back,’ he commanded.
At once the leopard’s body twisted, distended and rippled in the surreal transformation from animal to human. Margaret gasped, and she had to look away; she didn’t think she could ever get used to seeing this. The teenager, once he was back in his human form, put his uniform on and then hurried over to the rowing boat.
‘Dr Green,’ he said, ‘come, please, I will help you to get on the boat.’
Margaret glanced at the General, who nodded.
‘Let him assist you. I’ll be right behind you.’
Margaret stepped onto the wooden quay and allowed the teenage boy to assist her onto the boat. The small watercraft rocked and swayed with unnerving violence under their combined weight, but the boy did a good job of stabilising it. After Margaret had settled down onto her seat, one of only two on the little vessel, the General alighted without any assistance, his feet nimble and perfectly balanced on the swaying boat. He took a seat opposite Margaret and then nodded to the soldier, who undid the rope, coiled it up with swift expertise and then stood in the centre of the boat, between Margaret and the General. After picking up the long paddle he began to row with firm, even strokes, propelling the vessel forward at a steady but relaxed pace.
‘Where are we going?’ Margaret asked. ‘I have to say, it’s been quite some time since I was last on a rowboat.’
‘I’m going to show you a few of our economic operations. Despite our insulated self-sufficiency, there are certain goods that we need to bring in from the outside world. Also, we actually export a few things from here too.’
A sudden burst of pluck fired Margaret’s will.
‘And what about these weapons that are everywhere, General? I’ve seen more AK-47 rifles, and handguns, and rocket launchers and such in this city than I’ve ever seen anywhere in my life … and believe me, General, that’s some feat to beat, as I’ve been to more than a few gun fairs in America. And before you ask, it was against my will. One of my uncles insisted on taking my siblings and I when we were kids. They loved it of course, my brothers I mean, but I hated it, and my sister did too. From the look of things around here though, I think that you would’ve loved it.’
The General clasped his hands together and furrowed his brow.
‘I hope you are not insinuating that I facilitate trade with illegal arms dealers.’
A sudden flush of damning heat immolated Margaret’s body, and she was seized by a desperate desire to grab these clumsy words that had burst so rashly from between her lips and stuff them, somehow, back in.
‘No, I, er, no, that’s not what I meant…’
The General smiled and leaned back, parting his lips to reveal a flash of white teeth. He seemed, thankfully, to be rather unperturbed by her question.
‘It was a valid qu
ery, I’ll concede that,’ he admitted. ‘But to respond, all of our arms are salvaged, every one of them. Not a single weapon or item of ammunition in this city has been purchased from arms dealers. As you well know there exists a great number of militia organisations in this part of the earth. Sub-Saharan Africa is flooded with firearms, and the AK-47 is far and away the most popular gun of all. Therefore, it is because of reasons of sheer practicality and availability that I equip most of my soldiers with AK-47 assault rifles.’
Feeling a dash of bravery, Margaret probed further with her questioning.
‘And how exactly do you go about “salvaging” these firearms? Pardon me, but I don’t imagine that people just leave ‘em lying around in the dirt when they get bored with, you know, shooting and massacring innocent people.’
‘Have you ever seen a movie called Falling Down, Dr Green?’
Margaret raised her eyebrow.
‘Falling Down? That nineties film with Michael Douglas? What on earth does that have to do with where you get your weapons?’
The General chuckled, and his eyes sparkled with a flash of almost childlike glee.
‘You do love to ask that question, yes! Haha! Have you not learned by now that every example I bring up is completely relevant to the topic at hand? You have so little faith in me!’
Margaret couldn’t help but smile with him, despite her simmering annoyance; while the man’s quiet rage was immensely unnerving, when he expressed joy and mirth, they were irresistibly infectious.
‘All right, all right. Tell me, how does Falling Down relate to how you acquire weaponry?’
‘When did you watch Falling Down?’
‘Hmm, years ago. I don’t really remember much of it.’
‘You remember the basic plot, do you not?’
‘I guess, pretty much.’
‘Good. So, do you remember how the main character ended up getting his weapons?’
