Altered Reality

by Eliza Green

  Elise was not alone in the tunnel and she tuned into the conversations occurring around her. Some Indigenes mumbled, while others spoke telepathically to each other. There was a different sound associated with silent conversations, a medium-pitched tone that had a calming effect on her. She focused on the tone and tuned into some of the words, quickly switching off as soon as she heard something private.

  Exploring how deep her own ability ran consumed much of her time. Personal experiments aside, she enjoyed one-to-one interactions; that was when she felt most comfortable. She had set up educational workshops to teach the young Evolvers about Indigene history and how the Central Council came into existence. Many families welcomed her but not all were enamoured by her presence. Creating a telepathic link with their Evolvers wasn’t always permitted and some had already taken steps to block her. But the intrusion was necessary if she was to unravel the mysteries of how far her own and the next generation’s abilities ran.

  Elise arrived at the northern district, in an area similar to the private dwellings except that instead of doors to rooms, large alcoves were carved out of the wall, each representing different teaching areas. Symbols marked the back wall of each alcove to indicate what was being taught: hunting practices; different types of rocks (insignia, gamma, omicron and omega); skills training—telepathy, empathy or simply learning how to heighten the senses. Underneath the symbols, the Evolvers had used pigmentation, a mixture of powdered rock and water, to draw on the wall. There were very few drawings because so few of the Evolvers had survived the initial blast and been able to adapt to living so far underground. A push to replace lost young had consumed the adults since the explosions happened.

  Elise passed by one of the alcoves, stopping when she recognised the female, Arianna, who was teaching a group of young Evolvers about life above ground and safe hunting practices. Elise had pushed for this class after one of their young Evolvers had been captured and murdered. Elise had known Arianna’s mother, who had died during a futile attempt by some independents to resurface. Even though other females cared for Arianna after her mother’s death, Elise had watched her from afar, feeling a connection to her that she couldn’t explain. She could tell Arianna was an empath like her, and she wondered if she too had been able to develop stronger empathic skills. When Arianna noticed Elise standing outside, she left her class and went to her.

  ‘Hello, Elise. Lovely to see you here. Care to join us?’ said Arianna.

  ‘Not today,’ Elise said, eager to move on. ‘I have other things I must tend to.’

  Arianna’s expression turned bleak. She whispered: ‘Well, in that case I have something I wish to discuss with you before you go.’

  ‘What is it?’ Elise’s eyes widened and she placed a gentle hand on Arianna’s arm. A strange sensation—extreme light-headedness—washed over her.

  ‘Where’s Anton?’ Arianna asked her.

  The directness of her question caught Elise off guard. ‘What?’

  ‘I can feel something is wrong. I saw Stephen racing through the tunnels earlier and he wouldn’t speak to me.’

  ‘I … I … ’—Elise had to work hard to regain her composure—‘I assure you, there’s nothing you or anyone else needs to worry about.’

  ‘I know you’re aware I’m an empath. With great respect, elder, I can sense you aren’t being truthful with me.’

  Elise appreciated the young female’s honesty. She made a mental note to test Arianna later to see how deep her gift went. ‘I must go,’ Elise said. ‘Please, there’s nothing you need to be concerned about.’ And before Arianna could ask another question, she was gone.

  Visibly rattled, Elise walked past several more alcoves, clasping her hands behind her back to stop them from shaking. A little further on she stopped at a class where a lone female was teaching Evolvers about the science of the rocks in which they lived; one day they would learn to harness the power for themselves. Elise stopped to listen.

  ‘As a democratic society, the Indigenes have learned how to work with the planet. We possess an understanding of the various rocks’ inner power. Over time, you too will learn how to get the most out of the rocks. Inside the tranquillity caves, we use the Nexus to draw power from each other and to heal. We utilise the gamma rock’s amplification properties to restore well-being and gain better insights into how we can communicate more effectively.’

  Yes, it was only natural that their species would develop further, Elise thought. If Stephen’s news was accurate, there was still so much to learn. She began to think more about Stephen. The changes occurring in him frightened her. A quick peek into his mind had revealed his fragility, but there had been something else too: conflicting emotions that spiked and dipped like a jagged line. Only she was aware of how much he fought against them. She had tried to access the part of his mind that was troubling him, but what she found there caused her to retreat. Stephen’s mind was in the early stages of transformation.

  Soon after they had located to the tunnels, the Indigenes had started to experience their first transformation. They began to lose many of the physical features that defined them, the changes occurring because their cells had genetically mutated. They no longer needed hair to protect them from the sun, or melanin in their skin to act as a barrier against the elements. Their bodies adapted to a light-starved environment. Elise remembered quite clearly the stubble that used to cover her head. She recalled how her palm once tingled with delight as she ran it over the prickly surface. Recently she had dreamed about having hair, curly hair, but in reality, she lost her stubble and with it the ability to grow hair.

  Now it was their minds that gave them their individuality. Stephen’s neural pathways were changing, and so was he. She could see it in his mind and sense it in his mood. He was different since he returned from Earth. She still didn’t know if it was for better or worse.

  Something else occurred to Elise. Transformation or adaptation happens when there is a threat to survival, and the main trigger is fear. Was Stephen afraid of something? Elise placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart as she suddenly realised the implications of this for the captive Anton: his heightened fear might awaken a new skill he didn’t know was there.

  Elise tried to focus on the female tutor’s words, words that quickly blurred into white noise, and her mind wandered again. She snapped back to reality just as something caught her eye. She stared at the image of an unfamiliar female superimposed over the students’ solid forms. The female, who had pale freckled skin and shoulder-length auburn hair, was staring at her. A white blouse hung off her thin frame, tucked into the waistband of a pair of black trousers.

  Elise didn’t recognise her. Her anxiety rose exponentially. Who was she? The translucent female walked towards her. Elise reflexively stepped back.

  ‘Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Are you listening to me?’ said the female with notable concern.

  Elise held eye contact. Who was she talking to? The apparition reached out a hand and touched her. Elise jerked her arm away.

  ‘Elizabeth, dear—it’s me. Where are you going at this hour? It’s so late,’ said the female.

  ‘What do you want?’ Elise hissed. Her skin felt warm where she had been touched. The woman stared back at her, lips slightly parted, trying to say something else, but Elise could no longer hear her.

  ‘Elise? Elise! Are you okay?’ Another voice came through strong and clear just as the image vanished.

  Elise shook her head in an effort to clear her mind. The female tutor stepped into her line of sight. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve been calling you,’ said the female tutor. ‘The young are asking for one of your stories. You seem upset. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m absolutely fine.’ Elise softened the intense expression on her face.

  She followed the tutor inside and sat cross-legged in the middle of the alcove while the young Evolvers mimicked her body position and gathered eagerly around her. She started with one of he
r popular stories, about the early hunting practices of the Indigenes. No, she thought to herself, I am not fine—not fine at all.

  Chapter 5

  End of June 2163, Earth

  Charles Deighton tucked himself into a darkened doorway, a safe distance from the Indigene who was waking from a drug-induced slumber. A couple of roving cameras hovered beside Deighton while the two doctors standing behind him in the long, narrow corridor waited for further instructions. He clicked his fingers and the cameras moved towards the entity, like puppies eager to please their master.

  Deighton breathed evenly, but heavily; his new set of lungs weren’t working as well as they ought to be. He made a mental note to call his surgeon to see if there was anything that could be done to improve them. With so much money at his disposal, there was no reason why he couldn’t just buy his way to a longer life.

  He watched as the creature finally opened its eyes and looked around. The Indigene, a male who called himself Anton, tried to get up but could only squirm beneath the metal straps and clasps that held him down. Deighton admitted to not knowing much about this Indigene’s generation, unlike the earlier version he had helped to create. What he could be sure of was that this Indigene was more powerful than the original iteration. The impenetrable rooms beneath World Government headquarters were the only place secure enough to hold him.

  The large square room filled with sporadic bursts of brightness as the cameras zoomed in closer to record Anton’s movements. Deighton heard the screech first and then watched impassively as the Indigene squirmed like an upended turtle burning in the sun.

  ‘Shut them off,’ Anton eventually pleaded. ‘The light hurts my eyes. It’s too strong.’

  Deighton snapped his fingers and the light dimmed by two thirds. The cameras backed away from the table and rejoined the CEO in the doorway.

  ‘Go to the end of the hall and wait there,’ Deighton commanded. The cameras did as they were instructed.

  Excitement replaced the apathy he’d felt up until now and he clapped his hands together once. ‘Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?’ he said, turning slightly towards the two doctors.

  ‘Yes sir,’ the male replied tentatively.

  Deighton wheeled round to look at the female. ‘Well dear, don’t be shy. What do you make of all of this?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Exciting, sir.’

  Deighton’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze shifted nervously away from him to the floor.

  ‘I’m good at reading people, did you know that?’ he said in his familiar raspy tone. ‘I don’t believe you. I thought you’d like to know. But it’s your lucky day because I don’t care.’

  The female raised her eyes as far as his bony chest and nodded. She swallowed loudly.

  ‘Well then, I think it’s time I introduced myself to our guest.’ His quintessential English accent thickened. ‘You two wait here until I call you.’

  Deighton was dressed in full formal attire—black suit, crisp white shirt, bow tie and cummerbund. He loosened the tie, and released the cummerbund from around his thin waist, draping it over his shoulder. He combed his fingers through his thick, black hair and ran a hand over his gaunt, genetically-modified face. He clasped his hands behind him and began to hum the Frank Sinatra song ‘My Way’ as he walked slowly and steadily towards the prisoner. He caught a whiff of the antiseptic wash he’d used that morning, the lingering smell of chloroxylenol temporarily enveloping his nose and throat. An infection in his lungs had reacted with his natural odour and caused him to emit a strange smell, something he hadn’t noticed until Daphne Gilchrist pointed it out. Keen not to offend anyone at the elite board members’ annual conference dinner, he had scrubbed himself raw with the high-grade antiseptic wash beforehand.

  He burst into song, the words of ‘My Way’ replaced by a tuneful hum as he neared the Indigene. He stopped a short distance away and laughed.

  ‘I just love that song. Have you heard of Frank Sinatra, dear boy? Involved with the mafia, if the reports are to be believed. The lyrics are so meaningful, don’t you think?’ He laughed again.

  The Indigene just stared back at Deighton and said nothing.

  ‘What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?’ Deighton said sweetly. He began to hum again, pacing around Anton, his hands still clasped behind his back. ‘It’s so good to see you again. I hope we’re treating you well.’

  Anton suddenly locked eyes with Deighton and held his gaze until Deighton gave in and looked away. Angrily Deighton repressed the overwhelming urge to smash his fist into the Indigene’s leg. It probably would hurt him more than the Indigene, but it would make a satisfying crunch sound as the bone splintered.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Anton said.

  Deighton became expressionless and laughed with a throaty sort of cackle. He showed Anton his perfect set of teeth. ‘You’re in such a rush, aren’t you? My dear boy, we have plenty of time to get to know one another. Why so anxious?’ He tilted his head to one side. His hands remained firmly locked behind his back.

  ‘I don’t belong here. I want to return to my home.’

  Deighton cackled again. ‘I should take offence at your eagerness to leave, but I won’t. Are we not treating you well here?’ He cast a bony hand around the square-shaped concrete room, empty except for the table Anton was on and a nearby trolley of medical tools.

  ‘If you remove the restraints, I’ll happily stay on as your guest,’ Anton said.

  Deighton clucked his tongue in disapproval. ‘Now that simply would not do.’ He brought his hands around to the front and interlocked his fingers. Excitement and rage consumed him, but he kept a lid on it; he always could in company. ‘You’d only try to leave, or harm me in some way, and that’s not what friends do, now is it?’

  ‘How long have I been here?’ Anton asked, wriggling a wrist in the clamp.

  Deighton pretended not to notice. ‘Since we trapped you like the little rabbit you are? Oh, I’d say about four weeks now. Why do you ask? Is our company boring to you? We’re related you know, you and I—like brothers. Or perhaps great grandfather and grand-nephew would be more appropriate, given the age gap.’ He caught the look of revulsion that crossed the Indigene’s face.

  ‘Have I been drugged?’ Anton asked.

  Deighton showed his teeth again. ‘Of course you have. How else would you be so cooperative? Can you read my emotions?’ He moved his hands behind his back again and leaned over the metal table, keeping his eyes fixed on Anton.

  Anton recoiled as much as he could under restraint. ‘I can read some emotions, but not everything,’ he said.

  Deighton smiled. ‘You can thank the drugs for that. They dull your senses beautifully. How am I doing so far?’

  Anton’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, dear boy, that I’m being honest with you. You wanted the truth from me, but you didn’t expect me to give it. Are we friends now?’ Deighton began humming again; he didn’t bother waiting for a response. Control—a rush of excitement flushed through him in that moment as he thought about it.

  ‘Is this how you treat your friends?’ Anton asked, his eyes flashing down at the restraints.

  ‘Not all my friends are as slippery or conniving as you’—Deighton was suddenly reminded of his past—‘but several have come close to winning the title.’ He flashed his teeth again. ‘You’re different from the others, my boy. You’re special, even though you’ve convinced yourself I mean you harm.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Anton said. ‘You’ve admitted to drugging me, you have me in restraints.’

  Deighton felt the anger return, with venom this time. The safety lid on his emotions rattled and loosened; he could feel his blood rise in response to the Indigene’s cockiness. ‘You’re an ungrateful specimen, a piece of filth. I bring you into my home and you treat me in this way? I helped to create you and this is how you speak to me, your saviour?’ Deighton sprayed Anton’s face with spittle. ‘I
f it wasn’t for me—for us—you wouldn’t exist. Why can’t you understand that?’

  ‘I’m sorry. No offence meant,’ Anton said hastily. This’—he nodded towards the restraints—‘is not bothering me at all.’

  Deighton stared deeply into the Indigene’s eyes and saw a flicker, something changing behind them. A warm sensation spread through Deighton’s body and he burst into uncontrollable raspy laughter. He took a moment to compose himself. ‘Nice try, but I’m not buying the sincerity. Top marks for trying though. You almost had me convinced. You need to work on that delivery of yours. Perhaps there’s a little of me in you after all.’ Deighton caught the look on Anton’s face. ‘Don’t worry, there aren’t any of my genes in you. If there were, you’d be a better adversary. Although I should be offended that you’re so repelled by the thought. Now, let’s forget our little spat and move on, old boy.’

  Deighton called the doctors into the room. Turning back to the table, he noticed the Indigene squirm beneath the restraints again.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to escape,’ he said, leaning in close until he was sure Anton could feel his breath on his face. ‘Do you know what these are made of?’—he tapped the metal clasp with his fingernail—‘Baronium and titanium. An alloy, to be precise. But you probably already knew that. They tell me you have the ability to see into our technology. Metals, equipment, that kind of thing. I know what you’re thinking. Baronium is an Exilon 5 metal so we don’t understand it yet. You’re seeing the tiny fissures because we didn’t heat and cool the alloy correctly.’ Deighton watched Anton closely. ‘Under different circumstances,’ he went on, ‘I’d be worried, but you won’t be here long enough to attempt escape.’