Chapter 7
Christopher strolled through the many endless corridors of Section 51. The compound, having only undergone refurbishment a decade ago, still smelled new and fresh to him. The Council had sent in a refit team, not wanting to risk human contracts, for security reasons. Within twelve hours new lighting, air conditioning, waste disposal, and ergonomic furniture had been installed, along with a host of new computer systems and networks.
“Hello, Marina,” he said politely, as a woman sped past him talking on two phones at once. She managed a quick wink. Christopher smiled; she was always such a busy woman. He continued to nod to people as they passed, his trusty walking stick clicking against the white tiled floor as he headed to the central information matrix, or CIM.
“Identity authentication required,” said the female computerized voice. As he rested his chin on a small shelf, his eye was scanned and approved for access. This was the only room in Section 51 that had restricted access to management. The shimmering white force field deactivated instantly as he was approved, and he walked in with the force field reactivating behind him. CIM was an artificial intelligence, managing a complete database of humanity. Freda likened it to an “information arc,” which included the history of human civilization, continually updated every second by CIM through a global network.
“Hello, Christopher,” said CIM, a large white 3D face appearing in the center of the room.
“Hello, CIM.”
“How can I help you today?”
“I need information on human genetic mutation.”
“Databank accessed.”
“Great,” he said. The room was lit up with dozens of holograms showing different sections of the genetic databank—the evolution of humanity, genes, DNA strands, everything. “CIM, is cancer considered a genetic mutation?”
“Affirmative. There are currently 347 known cancerous types that can afflict the human species. Research conclusively shows nineteen percent of these are inherited and rising. Genetic mutations passed to offspring from parents can lead to an increased risk of developing cancer. Gene defects, which are inherited, can lead to the development of cancer.”
“So cancer can be the result of genetic mutation?”
“Yes. Faulty or mutated genes can cause cancer within the human body.”
“Can a person have these mutated genes but not develop cancer?”
“Yes. An individual with mutated genes may not have them develop into anything detrimental to health,” said CIM.
“CIM, what are the parameters for genetic mutation classification?”
“Working.”
Christopher leaned against the computer console as CIM worked. The women in his own family all had an inherited chance of developing breast cancer. His sister’s granddaughter wanted to have children in the next year after getting married. Would she be denied the chance to be a parent?
“Human genetic mutation classification is based on multiple factors.”
“Okay…” He tried to focus. “Do we have a copy of the perfect human gene pool?”
“Comparison of current gene pool data to that of the original makeup may provide a framework for such an item to be compiled.”
“Original makeup?” he asked, confused.
“The earliest complete record of the human gene pool, recorded over 60,000 years ago.”
“Who recorded the human gene pool 60,000 years ago?”
“That information is classified.”
“By whom?” he repeated.
“That information is classified.”
“CIM, when did the Council become aware of the existence of the human species?”
“Official records state the Council became aware of the existence of intelligent life on Earth 3,459 years ago.”
“Official records?” said Christopher. He knew from working in Section 51 that something being “official” didn’t mean it was truthful. If humanity was only discovered 3,000 years ago, how in the hell did they possess such an early copy of the human gene pool?
Chapter 8
Peter sat behind his desk, clonking the receiver back on the cradle. His sister was delighted he was now returning home for an extended Christmas break. She just didn’t know the reasons why. The other researchers may not have been looking at him, but he knew they’d heard.
“I’m heading home for Christmas this year. If anyone else wants to, please do,” he said to the room, before walking out to tell Freda. They had been as shocked as he was at his news, with some demanding an audience with Freda at once. A mass walkout was looking increasingly likely. They wanted to argue for more time, to allow Section 51 and the human scientific community as a whole to solve the problem. What Peter didn’t like was Freda’s seeming indifference to it. They weren’t even being given a chance to fix the problem themselves.
“Christopher,” said Peter, walking up behind Freda’s loyal assistant and second in command of Section 51.
“Peter,” he replied softly, “I presume you’ve heard.” He had a good working relationship with Peter and saw him as the most intelligent person in Section 51, apart from Freda.
“This is going to be a disaster. From start to finish.”
“But what if it really does leave behind a perfect group of humans…?”
“We don’t know that it will,” said Peter. “They want to create the perfect human super race. Well, what is that?”
“Healthy people.”
“What exactly does the Council consider a genetic mutation? Cancer, obviously. Muscular dystrophy, obviously. Skin color? Baldness? Red-headed? Heterochromia?”
“Hetero what?”
“Two different colored eyes,” said Peter. He turned and stopped Christopher in mid-step. “This isn’t unlike what the Nazis tried to do when Hitler wanted to create a pure Aryan race. A super race … remember the blond hair, blue eyes…”
“Yes, I remember,” said Christopher quickly.
“What makes humanity so unique is that we are all so different. I had a friend from high school who was bald by the time he reached twenty. He always wanted to be an actor and didn’t pursue it because he lost his hair. He thought his life was over. One day he woke up and decided to pursue a career in science, his other love in life. Even now, he says without that challenge in his life, he would never have become a scientist.”
“Was he successful?”
“He reiterated the story when collecting his Nobel Prize for Chemistry last year.”
“I see your point.”
“You’re only starting to. We keep harping on about free will. What about homosexuality? That will certainly be classified as a genetic mutation.”
“Why?” asked Christopher, curiosity getting the best of him.
“Homosexuals cannot naturally reproduce.”
Christopher’s face fell. Walking with haste now to Freda’s office, they dispatched with the usual niceties and barged in to find Richards and Houston standing before Freda’s desk. Christopher could instantly tell their conversation was not pleasant. Freda looked to be under siege.
They all nodded to them before continuing the conversation.
“Freda,” said General Richards, “I hope the Council is planning for a massive deployment of land troops on Earth. Every continent, every island.”
“I don’t understand,” said Freda. She sat behind her desk as the two towering U.S. government figures stood before her, infuriated.
“Once this happens, law and order is going to not only break down, but disintegrate. Society will crumble, and governments will not be able to protect anyone.”
“General, surely you are…”
“He’s right,” agreed George. “There’s enough fanatics out there already. You’re going to increase that by a factor of a thousan
d. The FBI is efficient, but we can’t hold back that kind of wave. The extremism which would follow this…”
“The economy will also collapse,” said Richards. “Billions of people being labeled rejects. Mass suicides. A workforce that doesn’t want to work. Food and fuel riots will come quickly. You are creating a small super race which will bear no resemblance to humanity at all except in physical appearance.”
“Gentlemen,” said Freda.
“Freda,” said Richards, ignoring her attempt to regain control of the conversation, “if this attack goes ahead, it will be considered an act of war. You will be required to vacate this planet immediately and inform the Council that any further interest in our planet will be considered aggressive.”
“In agreement with General Richards,” began George, “Document 1A will be rescinded with immediate effect, if this goes ahead.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” she replied, shaking her head.
“What choice do we have?” Houston said.
“Gentlemen, I think we all need to calm down,” she said, raising her hands up in defense. She knew this issue had awakened a demon inside her closest confidants, a demon she would not dare battle.
“Freda. I’ll be leaving in the morning to visit my family for Christmas. I’ll need to put them first from now on. It’s going to get very ugly out there,” said Peter. He looked in the direction of the FBI Director.
“No member of this facility will be forced to remain here. You have my personal assurance of that,” said George.
Freda sat back down in her chair, hurt beyond measure. She looked up at Christopher; his eyes had their own battle going on. They had worked together so long, and she considered him a very close friend, but xenophobia was quickly developing among the team.
“I will plead with the Council once more,” she finally said, “and inform them about rescinding Document 1A.”
“Inform them of our anger,” said Richards coldly.
“What can we really do, though?” said Christopher. “Earth is…”
“Defenseless,” said Richards. “I know, but doing nothing at all is worse.”
“I shall leave now.” She tapped a few buttons on her desk, vanishing.
Never before had she wanted to vacate her office so quickly. She feared, for the first time, becoming an enemy of those she was closest to.
Chapter 9
“Is the Council still in session?” asked Freda, appearing on the bridge of the Council ship Experian. Its Captain, Grace, rose to meet Freda. They were old friends, and the captain would see the battle raging inside her.
“It is, Freda, but they have asked not to be disturbed.”
“Then just say you didn’t see me,” said Freda, storming past the formidable blonde-haired captain and to the elevator.
Grace knew no one would believe that, especially with Freda in that particular purple coat, but she let her go anyway. Freda charged up to the Council chamber and placed her hand on the same authorization scanner as before. It lit up red, her authorization being rejected.
“Dammit.” Walking up to the doors, she began pounding them with her tiny fist until they opened.
“I presume one would like an audience?” said Loretta. Her voice projected down the chamber halls, as she cocked an eyebrow upwards. She sat behind the bench, looking down toward the doors like a high inquisitor.
“One most certainly would,” growled Freda, pushing the seat out of the way, choosing to stand behind the usual table.
Loretta was less than impressed. “You are an employee of this Council. You do not get to demand an audience simply because you seek one.”
“We are going to lose humanity if we do this,” said Freda.
“Saber rattling,” said Killinger, not even glancing up, instead continuing to review his pad.
“I don’t think it is. As I tried to explain last time, humanity has deep social structures. You spoke of humanity being disunited and fractured. You’re going to unite them.”
“That is good though, is it not?” asked the innocent Cecil.
“Unite them against us!” shouted Freda, thrashing her hand onto the unlucky table. “After that, they’ll turn on each other.”
“The decision has been made,” said Loretta, sitting back in her chair, looking down directly at Freda.
“Then we must vacate Earth. I have been informed by the relevant human authorities our presence will no longer be welcome and will be considered an act of aggression. We cannot aim to help a species who sees our intentions as hostile. They plan to nullify Document 1A.”
“Do you think they will follow through with it?” asked Cecil, scribbling down notes. He blinked with nerves.
“I do. Therefore there is little point in carrying out the sterilization. Humanity will turn its back on us. Loretta, I deeply implore you not to go through with this. I may be able to salvage the situation if you reconsider now. If not, our association with humanity is over. You can go down in history as the lead Council member who effectively reduced the fledgling six civilizations to five.”
“Where do we stand legally?” asked Pluto.
The Supreme Court could issue hefty fines if the Council was found to be in breach of legal rulings.
“We’re fine,” said Loretta. “I had legal check all this. Document 1A is only valid for 100 years. Section 51 has not provided us with an updated copy.”
“I’ve yet to receive the new contract,” shouted Freda. Document 1A was a contract of authority, granting the Council permission to have a representative on Earth. It had been signed by the United States on behalf of Earth over 100 years ago.
“Well, as it stands, the contract has expired. The terms clearly state that if the contract is allowed to expire by both parties, then it will be assumed both are satisfied with their current working relationship…”
“And no further contract will be required. How very convenient,” said Freda, remembering the passage. She knew this was all a setup.
“You have stayed on Earth far too long,” said Loretta.
Freda could almost taste the disdain.
“Too long, twice refused to rotate to another world as per Council protocol,” said Loretta. “Only your close relationship with the leader of your race has kept you in this post. Is humanity prepared to walk away from everything we can offer them? Are you prepared to walk away?”
Freda closed her eyes, begging for patience. “They must be allowed to make their own decisions. How many times do you need to be told that?”
“Freda, the decision has been made. You’re dismissed.”
“May I at least allow Section 51 to study the sterilization method you plan?”
Loretta looked insulted. “What for?” she asked.
“I’m actually quite in favor of that,” said Pluto. “It’ll do no harm to have human geneticists cast a quick eye over it, in case the Bernay have missed anything.”
“The Bernay do not make mistakes,” said Loretta.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” corrected Pluto. “If this Council does, it’ll be my race that has to pay the fines issued by the Supreme Court. That will also mean fewer resources for your species. All those in favor?”
Pluto, Killinger, and Cecil agreed, much to Loretta’s annoyance.
“Then it is agreed,” said Loretta. “The files will be made available.”
“Captain to Councilor Loretta,” said Grace, stopping Loretta in her verbal tracks, “report to the bridge immediately. We have a situation.”
Loretta looked at the other Councilors and Freda. They hurried from the chambers as alarms began to sound. Ship crewmen raced past them to emergency stations.
“That’s the battle stations alarm,” growled Killinger. He was elderly and gray, but Freda could see there was st
ill much fight left in him.
“What on earth is going on?” she said, using a human expression she had become accustomed to. She struggled to keep up with the tall, thin Loretta and her large strides.
“Something, clearly,” replied Loretta as they all stepped into the elevator and sped upwards towards the bridge. The bridge was a hive of activity, officers running in every direction, while Captain Grace sat in the center of the bridge. In her command chair, she barked out orders.
“Helm pursuit course,” she ordered. “Tactical, lock on to that vessel and target their engines. Prepare to disable them.”
“Captain?” said Loretta, leading the Council members and Freda across the bridge.
“We have an emergency disembarkation from the planet. They’re attempting to enter the subspace corridor.”
“Hail them,” ordered Loretta.
“They are not responding to hails.”
“Captain, that is a Bernay ship,” warned Loretta. “You cannot fire upon it.”
“I am the captain of this vessel,” reminded Grace.
“I am ordering you NOT to fire,” said Loretta.
“Your order is nullified,” said Grace.
“Captain,” shouted an officer manning the helms station. “They are powering their warp core.”
“Fire torpedoes,” she commanded without hesitation, ignoring Loretta’s protests. The sleek and slender Council ship fired three small torpedoes from one of its two forward launchers. They ripped through space and smashed into the escaping vessel. The first two tore down its protective shielding, while the third detonated on the hull. Shards of metal broke off, and the engines exploded. The shuttle began to drift, leaking engine fluid, lighting flickering from the half dozen windows.
The White Death Page 6
