by V. J. Deanes
Vern scrambled deliriously along the ground to the far side of the bike, so as not to be easily visible to Don. He hauled himself onto the seat. Blood rushed down his arm. His back could barely take the weight of his body. He punched the touch pad a few times. The cockpit sensors guided the plastic casing to form around his body. The autopilot slowly reversed the bike away from Don’s view. Vern struggled to put his mobile phone in the receptacle as he slipped in and out of consciousness.
Don could have shot Vern inside the cockpit of his motorcycle, but he chose not to.
Vern’s Renegade Alien drove slowly back along the route it had taken earlier, as he lay slumped inside the cockpit. The computer searched for a destination as the indicator on the electric charge meter fell into the warning zone.
Chapter 7
Don Mars heard the inevitable knock at his front door the next morning. It still startled him, enough so that he spilled some of his coffee as he sat solemnly at the kitchen table. The Guardian always surfaced with frightening precision.
The two men had made each other’s acquaintance many years ago when the colony in Hadley’s Crossing was young and fragile. Don was a new father in those days. He had accepted the responsibility of establishing a community of clones, in exchange for his son. The Guardian was hired to protect the colonies from any locals who became suspicious and asked too many probing questions. Don saw to it that they were relocated, either in this world or the next.
The Guardian was a big man, with an intimidating demeanor. He let himself into Don’s house, as if it was his own. Don stood to his feet as he heard the footsteps approach. He had good reason to be wary.
“Has our close friend in whom we trusted betrayed us?”
“I have not,” Don replied quietly.
“Did the intruder not find his way to you, the keeper of this colony, to commit violence against our people?” the Guardian asked.
“He came to harm my boy,” Don said, fondling his revolver, to remind the Guardian who was in charge. “Where were you? You should have been here to protect us.”
The Guardian said nothing.
“He is wounded,” Don remarked. “He will lead us to those who sent him as he seeks their help.”
“What then if he motivates others to come here to try and succeed where he failed?”
“That won’t happen. He knows nothing about the colony. He’s scared for his life.”
The Guardian was dismissive. “If the colony is exposed people will betray one another. Innocent people will be slaughtered simply because they are slightly different. Hatred will rule.”
“You need to find him,” Don said calmly. “I have done the work that you should have done. I have served him up for you. He could not have gone far.”
“He has not shown up in the places that I would have expected,” the Guardian replied. “Perhaps he is smarter, more prepared than you give him credit for.”
“Patience,” Don remarked. “He grows weaker with each passing moment. Time is working against him.”
“It’s too late,” the Guardian replied. “Someone will come for you.”
“You don’t know that,” Don scoffed. “You have become paranoid Guardian. Lax, even fearful. Just what the cults prefer. The colony faces adversity. This is the time to stand together, to rebuff this threat, yet you come to divide us.”
“That is not my purpose,” said the Guardian.
“We all know that Farlane is undecided. Should the colonies remain concealed, because we have been conditioned to live in fear, or should they be revealed because we are confident that they are strong enough to survive? Maybe it’s time to take a stand.”
“It is not our decision to make,” the Guardian said quietly. “Whomever breathes out the secret of the colonies will atone for their transgression before me. Someone in this household revealed the secret.”
“You are mistaken Guardian. My boy knows nothing, I assure you. Have I not shown my loyalty?”
“Your dedication to the colony has always been exemplary. Which is why I don’t understand why the zealot knew to come here. Farlane suspects that your success has inspired over-confidence, that you chose to test the cults. It is well known that you believe the colonies should be revealed. To show that the clones are normal people. You suffer from the misguided notion that if we tell the world that clones are alive and well they will be less stigmatized and publicly accepted.”
“The first ones are old enough to have children of their own. The girl who grew up down by the corner will give birth soon. What does the Guardian propose?”
“You jump to conclusions about revealing the colonies. If the secret is kept, the clones will never know anything of Farlane. As the elders pass on, the secret will fade away and will be taken to the grave. No harm will come to anyone.”
“Are we to deprive young adults of knowing their true identity?”
“That is not a question that you and I have the authority to answer,” replied the Guardian.
“Let us not waste time arguing over philosophy. I don’t believe that anyone other than the zealot knows, or cares, one bit about Hadley’s Crossing. Guardian, you must put him out of his misery and warn others who choose to follow him.”
“They will find you,” the Guardian replied. “Then they will break you.”
“Why did you come here today?” Don asked.
“To tell you that you have to make a decision.”
“Do I?” Don asked.
“You can choose to die in agony at the hands of a stranger, or you can choose to die with honor, in the colony that will immortalize you.
Don was silent as a look of disdain emerged on his face.
“I’m not here to kill you,” said the Guardian. “I came to tell you that your death is imminent. There is nothing you or I can do to change that. It saddens me to bring you this news,” he added somberly.
“I am less than impressed that you have come to thank me for my dedication in the manner that you have chosen,” Don stated brusquely.
“What is your decision?”
“Go after the cults,” Don replied. “Eradicate them. They are the problem, not me. You must not let them stigmatize the clones.”
“What is your decision?” the Guardian asked again.
“You have become a disgrace to us Guardian,” Don said as he pointed his revolver at the older man. Then he waved the barrel toward the door.
“Farewell Don Mars,” the Guardian said as he walked down the hallway to the front door.
“I’ll give your best wishes to Jane when she gets back,” Don remarked defiantly.
“That won’t be necessary,” the Guardian replied. “I spoke with your lovely wife just before I came to see you. To pass on my condolences for her loss.” The Guardian saw himself out.
Don walked outside the back of his house admiring the open country, but enraged by what the Guardian had said. The strong breeze that blew the storm away in the night was dying down. He caught a glimpse of something moving off in the forest, then stood up straighter to take a closer look. An arrow launched from a crossbow concealed amongst the trees confirmed the Guardian’s prophecy.
Chapter 8
Desire for retribution in the face of flagrant betrayal was concealed masterfully amongst the trusted confidants. No one else who worked at the Wyndhall Life Sciences Centre had any reason to be alarmed about Don Mars’ demise. Searches for the truths that govern the alteration of biological life continued to be conducted with the usual day-to-day introspective quiet steadiness, for appearances, despite the seething rage that burned within those with knowledge of the colonies. A furtive search for the perpetrators of treachery within this small community of brilliant minds had begun in silence.
Trent Carson stood at the apex of the biomechatronics laboratory. His arms were folded across his chest. His chin rested on one hand as he glared at the video wall that surrounded part of the curved platform.
“Rewind,” he requested. “Go back to the b
eginning and then roll at ten times normal speed.”
“Acknowledged,” the computer replied, with a voice that could be mistaken for human. Microscopic images of cells dividing in slow motion filled the transparent display that stretched from floor to ceiling. Three dimensional graphics that tracked the time dependency of the molecular changes were displayed off to one side, just above the raw data signals. Trent watched as the cells divided and then grew into the neural interface organ.
“Stop,” he requested. “Go back one quarter of a second. Create a copy of that image.”
“Acknowledged” the computer replied. A red light began flashing on the main console. “Doctor Wood is in the main hallway, requesting access to this laboratory. She wants to speak with you. She says it is urgent.”
“Access denied,” Trent replied. “Don’t let her in. She doesn’t have clearance for this lab. Don’t let anyone in. I need to work in peace.”
“She is persisting,” the computer remarked. “She says that her clearance has been upgraded.”
“I didn’t approve any request to change her clearance. Don’t let her in.”
Trent walked over to the control console in front of the climate controlled room that housed the reactors. He had meticulously programmed the computer to observe how the neural interface organ behaved when it connected a human brain to a computer. Motor neurons connected the organ to the stem of the brain. A robotic hand placed the signal ball, smaller than a marble, into the fleshy fold of the organ.
Once the transmitter turned on wireless signals were sent to the ball that. The organ converted the incoming information into action pulses which caused neurotransmitters to be released in the motor neurons. Electroencephalography graphs showed the electrical activity in the brain. Trent watched, in awe. “Add a sequence of these images to the file,” he instructed the computer.
The preliminary results were encouraging enough for Trent to initiate a new experiment, one designed to grow a human fetus with the small neural interface organ, located behind one ear, connected to its brain.
Trent tucked his tablet computer inside his lab coat. He left to meet Sahil Mathai in the courtyard between the four buildings that comprised the research centre.
“You survived the storm, I see,” Sahil remarked to his younger protege.
“I lost power,” Trent replied. “Some trees came down.” Trent briefly took note of the woman who had entered the other end of the courtyard, patiently minding her own business.
“Did he tell you why it was so urgent to meet now?” Sahil asked.
“No. I thought he told you,” Trent replied. “I can only assume that he wants to hear our news as soon as possible.” He pulled out the tablet computer. “This is what I want to show him.” He called up the digital imagery of the neural interface. “Proof that an organ can transmit information from a computer to a human brain.”
Sahil took hold of the computer and stared intently at the images, then at the data showing the electrical activity in the brain.
“Welcome to the dawn of post-human evolution,” Trent remarked calmly.
“Which chromosomes did you use?” Sahil asked.
‘The first set that you prepared.”
Sahil continued studying the image. “What should we name it?”
“Affinity,” Trent proposed. “One with the world.”
“That’s it?”
“The expanded mind. Unity with artificial intelligence. Humans who will exchange digital information directly with computers,” Trent added. “The boundaries of our imagination are about to be redefined.”
“There must be a Nobel prize in the offing,” Sahil joked. “Trent Carson and Sahil Mathai creators of the new path to evolution.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Trent remarked. “Let’s see what Duncan says first.”
“Did you start the next experiment?” Sahil asked quietly.
“Yes. Just before I came here to see you.”
The two men walked back through the courtyard. “You and I have spent our working lives creating new life,” said Sahil. “But what do we really know about the spirits we create? Ever think about their consciousness...?”
“Good morning Doctor Mathai,” the woman said politely.
“Hello Doctor Wood,” Mathai replied. “I trust your visit with us is going well.”
“Sahil, you go ahead,” Trent remarked. “Tell Duncan that I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Sahil left the two alone and started making his way to a hastily called meeting with the Chief Scientist.
“Access denied?” Shannon Wood questioned playfully. “I thought my clearance was upgraded.”
“The bio-mech labs are off limits,” Trent replied. “Safety risks. Can’t be too careful.”
Shannon placed her hands on her hips, pushing open her long white lab coat. A tight-fitting dark dress revealed a stunning beauty that Trent lusted for. Her pose reprised one from late the night before last, when Trent had accepted an invitation to join her for a dip in the luxury pool at her hotel. She slipped into the glassy water wearing a white lace bikini. Trent became enthralled by the touch of her lips on his as the couple basked privately in the liquid warmth under a starry sky. The sensuous touch of her soft skin fueled Trent’s fantasy of seduction. Shannon was just as skilled at enticing Carson as she was at shying away from consummating his desires. She knew how to hold out for exactly what she wanted. Now Trent was a slave to satisfy his craving for her. “This is off limits to most people too,” she said flirtatiously. “Your clearance is still upgraded. For now.”
“I stopped by your hotel last night. Thought that we could pick up where we left off the night before...”
“I had other plans,” she said in an aloof and nonchalant manner that stoked insecurity in Trent. “With some girlfriends,” she added, to settle him down. “You and Sahil look like you are in a rush.”
“Duncan called us in for an impromptu chat. Something is urgent.”
“Don’t let me make you late for something so important.”
“Can I see you tonight?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Shannon replied shaking her head slightly. “Change of plans. I leave early this evening. I need to be back at the south campus tomorrow.”
Trent saw the opportunity fading. His stalwart determination to uphold the security protocol of the bio-mech laboratory broke down as he succumbed to temptation. “Stop by my lab this afternoon,” he insisted.
This was the breakthrough she had been holding out for. “I can’t wait,” Shannon replied with a smile. “I am sure that you will see to it that we are alone.”
Trent left the courtyard to catch up with Sahil, who was waiting patiently inside the Chief Scientist’s office.
“The battle for my succession has started,” Duncan began dourly.
Sahil and Trent looked at each other. They were not here to discuss their recent work.
“How can you be sure?” Sahil asked.
“Don Mars is dead.”
“Since when?” Sahil asked.
“Earlier this morning.”
A heavy silence fell over the conversation, as the realization that a harsh reckoning would soon be at hand gripped the three men.
“He was a good man,” Sahil said quietly. He was visibly disturbed. “Was it one of us?”
“Can’t be sure,” Duncan replied. “Hard to imagine that either faction would gain anything by it. Whether you think that the identity of clones should remain hidden, or that society is ready to accept them shouldn’t give one a motive to kill. This is a matter that must be settled with dialogue.”
“Don believed that society is ready to accept the clones. That is not our direction at the moment,” Sahil replied.
“That is precisely why I believe there is a challenge to my authority,” Duncan said in a perturbed tone. “Don and I had philosophical differences, no doubt about it. But I needed one person to start the first colony where clones could live peacefully, with protec
tion. He stepped up to make that happen. His loyalty and determination were unmatched, which is why I believe he was so successful. He was murdered because of what he believed in. He was murdered to send the message that my time is up,” Duncan concluded, pounding a fist on a table.
“There are only twenty of us spread across the three campuses,” Sahil remarked. “It shouldn’t be that hard to flush out each individual’s intentions.”
“I have that under control,” Duncan replied dryly, provoked by the insinuation that he was not in tune with the opinions held within the group.
“Will Nisha be joining us?” Trent asked, somewhat perplexed.
“Two days ago Dons’ boy called home. His parents hadn’t heard from him in months. Said he knew something about Damien Farlane. Yesterday he walked into a set up in the city. The guardian from Hadley’s Crossing sent a bodyguard to protect him. The bodyguard didn’t make it. He lived long enough to create a distraction. Nisha got Don’s boy out. She took him to the safe house in Danor Township. Then the storm rolled in. No. Nisha will not be joining us today.”
“How much does the boy know?” Sahil asked grimly.
“I spoke to him yesterday when he was at the safe house with Nisha,” said Duncan “He knows that his identity is not what he was raised to believe. I don’t think he knows the full truth. At least not yet.”
Sahil thought for a moment. “Do we know how he found out?”
“Not yet,” Duncan replied.
“If one of the offspring knows enough to question their identity then...”
“It’s just a matter of time until the others start to find out.” Duncan concluded.
Grave concern showed on Sahil’ face and in the way he spoke. “Kalan Mars must be isolated until we can find out what he knows. He needs to be convinced to keep the secret.”
“That was my plan,” Duncan remarked. “But, Kalan escaped from the safe house just before the storm rolled in yesterday. He can’t have gone far. Nisha says she has the situation under control.”
“Innocent people will be persecuted because of this,” Sahil replied. “Modern society is still challenged to accept racial diversity and sexual preferences. It is not ready to accept clones as human beings. I don’t believe any of us can imagine how quickly the fear of clones could be spread in this post-truth culture we live in.”
