by V. J. Deanes
Kalan was taken aback, horrified to see the dead body of his father. He instinctively helped Jane sit down on one of the folding chairs that had been set out throughout the room. He was overcome with confusion and despair.
“Be seated,” the man in the black suit requested.
The Guardian closed the doors at the back of the main hall to stand watch over the visitation. He looked over the room. Meyers was the one man who was unexpectedly missing. The Guardian understood why. He gave the nod to begin. Members of the small gathering listened stoically as Garvan Maynor, the man wearing the black suit, spoke.
“Don Mars was taken from us too early. Tonight we celebrate his courage and dedication to serving our community,” he said. The man paused to look down at the lifeless body in the casket for a moment. “Recall his wisdom when conflict finds you. Be inspired by his resolve to face adversity. Remember his commitment and sense of responsibility. Keep his memory alive in your hearts.” He invited the mourners to rise and say a few words.
Don Mars’ closest confidants stood up one after another. Monument to integrity. Role model. Inspiration. Once the last tribute had been given, the man in the black suit motioned for all to rise for a moment of silence before inviting them to come and pay their respects.
A line formed as the people slowly filed by the casket. A few of the men slipped off to one side.
“What are you hearing?” one man asked quietly.
“Fear has gripped the families,” another man added. “No one knows what to do next.” He nodded slightly towards Kalan, who was standing across the room. “The Guardian figures that someone labelled him for being a clone.”
“How did they know that?”
The man shrugged. “No idea.”
“Some guy came to hunt him down, but Don fought him off. That’s what I heard.”
“I heard the same thing. No one can tell me if the guy he fought off is the guy who killed him.”
“Don had a few enemies. Families who had to be silenced. Back in the early days. I figure that one of them carried a grudge. Never got over it. They waited until Don least expected it.”
“I’m not so sure,” one of the men said. “For all we know all of our children have been identified, if the Guardian is right.”
Garvan Maynor joined the conversation. “Is it true?” one of the men asked.
“Is what true?”
“The rumor that people are assembling in Brawer before coming to reveal the clone families in Hadley’s Crossing,” the man replied.
“How do they plan to do that if they don’t know which families in Hadley’s Crossing are clone families?” another man asked.
“I heard that the Guardian is ready to make a deal.”
“Let me handle these rumors about Brawer,” Garvan replied calmly. He pointed toward Kalan. “We need to get him away from here. Until this all blows over. Which one of you can shelter him for a few weeks?”
The men looked at each other. “I’ll do it,” one of them finally replied.
Garvan approached Kalan, who was standing alone. He put one hand on Kalan’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you,” he said. “You have my sincerest condolences.”
Garvan’s solace came across as contrived to Kalan. “Why did someone do this?” Kalan asked with a puzzled look. “Why did they kill my father?”
“I don’t know,” Garvan answered.
Kalan backed away. He sensed that the people paying their respects to his father privately held him responsible his father’s death.
“I know a safe place that you can stay for a while,” Garvan remarked.
“A safe place?” Kalan questioned.
“I’m trying to help you,” Garvan insisted.
Kalan’s mother appeared overwhelmed. She had little time to speak with him during the visitation. Kalan had to choose between the offer of safety, or disappearing to fend for himself. He backed away from Garvan. He turned to leave the main hall, but the Guardian stood between him and the door.
“Get out of the way old man,” Kalan said.
“Can’t do that,” the Guardian replied as he stood his ground. “Tell me what you know about our secret. We are here tonight because of you.”
Kalan discreetly pulled out his Silent Destroyer and held it close to his side. He knew that the Guardian could tell that the weapon was fully charged. At close range a single shot would blast right through him. The Guardian looked sternly at Kalan, then stepped aside. Kalan took one look back at his mother, before walking briskly out of the inn.
He pulled the dead man’s stiffened finger out of his pocket one last time. The stranger’s mobile phone came to life. The call to Devon Granger was brief. Kalan needed to know where they could meet.
Don Mars’ visitation lasted long after Kalan had disappeared into the night. People across the street stared with interest.
“What is your secret society hiding?” one heckler yelled.
The mourners paid little attention. The Guardian quickly summoned his henchmen to reign the crowd in. Garvan stepped aside and took a call. He was hesitant to believe Meyers at his word. Then someone threw a bottle stuffed with a lit rag from beneath the trees. The bottle shattered and burst into flames close to where Jane was walking. Garvan changed his mind. He granted the approval that Meyers sought. Garvan was all in.
Jane was surrounded by friends when there was a knock at her front door. A woman who was new to the neighborhood asked to come in and pay her respects.
“I don’t know why the man wouldn’t let me join the visitation,” she remarked. “These are for you.” She handed Jane a small bouquet of lilies and gladioli. “My deepest sympathies.”
Jane Mars thanked the woman, then invited her to join the conversation.
“I sense the division here in Hadley’s Crossing,” the woman remarked. “It’s like there are two communities. But I don’t understand why.”
“Perhaps we can discuss that another time,” one of the women proposed quietly as she held out a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
XXXX
Vern drove up to the office at the junkyard in Brawer after dark. A tower of lights shone down on the twisted heaps of metal. Motors churned loudly. An old car rose slowly above the fence line tethered by a giant magnet. Then it stopped. The long haired man behind the controls stepped outside.
“You’re late,” the long haired man told Vern. “Give me that package,” he demanded.
Vern handed him the scape.
“You’re lucky that Hogan didn’t hit the button.”
“The timer is automatic,” Vern replied.
The man unwrapped the package. “See that. It’s an explosive charge. Doesn’t matter if the timer is automatic or not. If Hogan thinks a shipment is lost he blows it up.” The man switched the controller for the explosive off.
“How much time did I have left?” Vern asked.
“Less than two minutes,” the man replied. “What took you so long anyway?”
Vern rolled his eyes. The man stared at Vern’s bike.
“That is an impressive machine. I guess a Renegade Alien ain’t really built for riding trails,” he remarked.
“Or crossing streams, or driving through mud,” Vern added.
“Wait here.”
Moments later a tall man with a mustache came to see Vern.
“This is for you,” he said as he gave Vern a wad of cash. He gave the long haired man his share. “We could have done them all at once if you had got here sooner,” he barked at Vern.
“What are you talking about?” Vern asked with attitude.
“Hadley’s Crossing, that’s what I’m talking about. The whole brain trust was in the same place tonight. I could have roasted all of them at once. Except I had to wait on your lazy ass to bring me the Scape.”
“Stone sent you here, didn’t he?”
The man went silent for a moment. “You know Stone?”
“I met him once,” Vern replied.
“Walk with me,” the man said.
Vern walked his bike alongside the man on the short trip from the junk yard to the small house at the edge of the hamlet.
“We’re going to get high,” the man remarked. “My boys like to be high when they go on a rampage. We’re going to tear up Hadley’s Crossing.”
He walked ahead of Vern, who stepped away to park his bike alongside a large pine tree. A small dart hit Vern in the neck. He was being carried away when the explosion blew the first floor of the house out sideways. Moments later a second explosion blew upwards, once the top of the house collapsed down on top of the occupants. An incendiary fireball launched high into the night sky. Meyers and his small crew walked out of the woods to shoot anyone who may have survived the blasts. The tall man laid motionless on the lawn in front of the house. One of the crew got up close to him, then emptied his clip. Just to make sure.
The men drove away from Brawer, leaving the house to burn.
Chapter 11
Early morning sun shone through the frosted skylights above the biomechatronics laboratory, illuminating the
pods with a red glow. Duncan and Sahil patiently inspected the data on the screens beside each of the artificial wombs in the warmth of the hatchery. Tubes carrying the fluids that brought life to the embryos pulsed rhythmically in time with the heart beats. Tiny cameras recorded every movement. Sahil paused briefly from his clinical work to enjoy a rare sentimental moment.
He had devised the neuroscience and genetic sequencing that brought the attributes of a genius’ brain to the embryos in the pods. An enlarged corpus callosum would allow more complete connection between nerve fibers in both hemispheres. Increased power of thought processes would be achieved with intensified columns in the frontal cortex. Controlled length of the connections in the cerebral cortex would permit intense focus on singular subject matter, or broader thinking to evaluate larger problems from new perspectives. Reduced dopamine receptors in the thalamus would enable unconventional solutions to challenges that average human brains disregard. Strengthened parietal lobes would allow specialized kills to be developed quickly.
He marveled at his creations. These embryos would be born with the most advanced minds that biology could achieve. They were the last ones. The final generation of human clones that Sahil would bring to life.
Mozart’s string quartet in D minor began playing softly. The ovoid pods moved slowly on queue in the dimness. Sahil followed Duncan to the womb off to one side, where the embryo with one of the advanced brains and the affinity organ grew inconspicuously.
“Won’t be long now,” Duncan said confidently.
“I wish it could be me,” Sahil mused. “A mind connected to all of the knowledge humankind has created and continues to create. It would be glorious.”
“The human mind merged with machine intelligence,” Duncan remarked. “Well before it was believed to be possible.”
“But will it be too late?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You and I stand proudly here today, at the dawn of affinity. But we both know the day will come when humans will no longer be masters of the Earth,” Sahil remarked. “We will be overtaken by AI for good.”
“Scalability is humanity’s defense,” Duncan remarked. “If the first affinity child proves viable we could produce millions of them every year.”
“How do you propose that society will integrate millions of new affinity children every year?” Sahil questioned.
Duncan sensed frustration in his old colleague.
“What are you hearing about Brawer last night?” Sahil asked as the two men stepped out of their clean suits in the room beyond the air lock that led to the hatchery.
“I did not want it to come to this,” Duncan replied quietly.
“We did it?” Sahil inquired.
Duncan did not like the inference of responsibility. “What the colonies do to maintain peace is their business, not ours,” he replied. “Garvan Maynor, the new protector of Hadley’s Crossing, seems to be more accepting of the Guardian’s extreme methods than Don Mars was.”
“I heard that Brawer was a staging point. The Society for the Elimination of Artificial People were ready to storm into Hadley’s Crossing to expose the clone families.”
“That’s one story,” said Duncan. “Another story is that a large amount of Scape was sold in Brawer last night. The deal fell apart. There was a fight. The house went up in flames.”
“You made decisions without our involvement,” Sahil complained. “If SEAP has the ability to identify clones, how long will it be before they come after us?”
“SEAP is fighting those who are pushing to lift the restrictions that prohibit human-form robots from being integrated freely within the population,” Duncan replied. “I sense that they assumed a quick victory was theirs for the taking at Hadley’s Crossing. It would have boosted their public profile. They won’t make that mistake twice.”
“What makes you so sure?” Sahil asked in a tone that suggested he was losing confidence in Duncan.
“Garvan took a hostage last night,” Duncan replied. “Someone that SEAP will want returned. We’re in control, for now. I’ll see to it that Stone leaves us alone once and for all. When the time is right.”
“It’s not safe to do this work anymore,” Sahil said. “I want out.”
“You can’t get out now,” Duncan replied, pointing back towards the hatchery.
“Sometimes you lose sight of who you are talking to,” Sahil chided. “You should think deeply and move slowly. Right now your actions are not rational.”
“The new embryos need you. The rest of the group needs you,” Duncan said.
“It’s not about the group anymore. It’s about staying alive. The younger scientists are ready. Their time to lead has come. You want to take a bullet for the cause, that’s your business,” Sahil retorted angrily. “Right now, my ego is satisfied. I’ve done enough.”
“Where will you go?” Duncan asked.
“I’ll figure something out,” Sahil replied.
“Where else will you find the freedom to pursue the science of human enhancement in a setting where your results are delivered directly into society?”
Sahil walked over and looked into the hatchery.
“You exemplify the inner conflict experienced by everyone in our small group. Modifying human biology in secret while cultivating the public image of an esteemed researcher who publishes what the scientific literature judges as ethically acceptable.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Sahil asked. “The results that I publish accelerate the treatment of illnesses that afflict many humans. Don’t forget that I used to be leading practitioner in the field of genetic modification for approved purposes.”
“The results from conventional research rarely get into the population,” Duncan said dismissively. “Cures never materialize. Clinical trials become overwhelmed by bureaucracy. Not to mention indecision caused by ethics and regulations. It is not in you to tolerate restrictions. We both know that you won’t last a week in any other research center.”
“I chose this path because I believe that working to enhance human life is a worthy cause,” Sahil said at last. “Humans can be better than machines, not slaves to them. Doesn’t mean I’m ready to die for it.”
“Be careful what you decide,” Duncan remarked. “Until the mole in our midst has been exposed.”
XXXX
Hugo Melling sat slumped over in a large arm chair. His limbs were limp. His head drooped over one side of his chest. Drool seeped slowly out of his mouth down the bib that Doctor Lin’s assistant had placed on him. The bandage that used to conceal where the affinity organ had been surgically attached to his skull, behind his left ear, had been removed.
Hugo opened his eyes. His empty gaze soon gave way to concentration. Nisha adjusted the signals. Hugo sat up, in complete control of his body.
“How are you this morning, Hugo?” Nisha asked quietly.<
br />
He moved his mouth awkwardly, but could not make a sound.
“Try it now,” she remarked.
“Better,” Hugo replied in a deep, slow voice.
“Do you feel up to walking?”
Hugo placed one arm on each side of the chair. He struggled to pull himself to his feet. Nisha made the necessary modifications. Hugo stood up and walked slowly from one end of the room to the other. “How am I doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” Nisha replied. “Just fine.” She began the next phase of the therapy. “Hugo, I want you to answer some questions for me.”
Hugo stared stone faced through the thick plexiglass.
“What is your full name?”
“Hugo Randolph Melling.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty nine.”
Nisha took a moment to confer with her assistant.
“Why am I here?” Hugo asked.
“You were injured in an explosion.” Nisha replied.
“What is your name?”
“Nisha.”
“How long have I been here Nisha?”
“Almost one year,” Nisha replied. She began to introduce data from the Internet into the affinity ball. “You were brought here after your condition stabilized at the trauma center where you were taken after the incident.”
“Where is here?”
“Wyndhall Life Sciences Centre,” Nisha replied. “Based on the severity of your injuries you were a candidate for advanced brain reconstruction.”
“I have no recollection of coming here,” Hugo replied.
“That was by design. We kept you sedated until the healing process was complete.”
Hugo slowly put his hands on his head. He lightly felt around, searching for scars from the surgeries. “What is this?” he asked as he felt the extra thick layers of skin behind his left ear.
“A new organ,” Nisha explained. “Inside the extra skin between your earlobe and where your ear attaches to your skull are millions of new neural connections to your brain. I tucked a tiny ball inside that new fold of skin right beside your skull. It is the size of a small marble. The ball contacts your new neural pathways. It receives wireless signals from the device attached to your belt. It converts those signals into electrical pulses that stimulate your brain.”
