by Stuart Young
‘The radiation’s not the problem… The explosions are creating new fault lines, right down to our half of the core. Even with the terraforming at full power there’s no way to heal this amount of damage. The planet is splitting right open.’ Even through the distorted reception he could hear the sob in her voice. ‘We’re dead, everyone on this half of the Earth is dead.’
‘Saunders. Kelly…’
‘Your half is all that’s left of the human race, Greg. Don’t mess it up. We’re a bunch of mad bastards but the universe would be a duller place without us. Remember, where there’s life there’s hope.’
The connection went dead.
Hopely stared at the photos he had found in the soldiers’ quarters. Corpses: pale skin; expressionless faces; twisted, broken bodies. All crammed into a crevasse. Survivors had no time to bury the dead so they made use of the graves provided by the earthquakes that had ravaged the planet.
And that was just those who had died in The Split. Other ravines overflowed with the suicides who couldn’t cope living in a savage, shattered world bereft of all their loved ones.
No wonder the soldiers had abandoned him.
He had taken the photos and used them to decorate his laboratory, manoeuvring around the rotting corpses of Bates’s comrades. Photos of the dead lined the walls, bodies of the dead lined the floor.
The complex shuddered and shook. When Saunders’s half of the Earth disintegrated some of the debris struck Hopely’s half. Combined with loss of a stabilising element on the ocean tides and the damage already caused by The Split the remains of the Earth were eroding at an alarming rate, leaving it only a fraction of its original size. If the complex hadn’t been specially reinforced and pressurised Hopely would have died at least a dozen times this morning.
Nutrient liquid sloshed inside Hopely’s jar, the fluid turning black and cloudy. And despite his caterpillar tracks and robotic arms still operating at peak efficiency his thoughts were black and cloudy too. Fatigue and malnutrition nibbled at him.
He stopped to examine one of the photos more clearly. A close-up of a dead teenager, her wrists torn and encrusted with blood; strips of flesh and splotches of dried blood between her teeth.
‘Turn around.’
Hopely performed a slow pirouette on his caterpillar tracks. Bates stood before him, brandishing a pistol, one hand encircling the other, steadying his aim. He was bleeding from his nose, ears and eyes, his limbs trembling so hard he could barely stand.
Hopely operated the hydraulic system that elevated his jar to a height where he could face Bates eye to visual cortex. ‘You’re late. This facility has been unguarded for over a week.’
Bates staggered forwards, picking his way through the bodies of his fallen comrades. ‘You bastard. Couldn’t you even have buried them?’
‘I’ve been busy. So have you, I suspect. Increased flooding and earthquakes, a reverse in the low gravity, atmospheric pressure becoming very uncomfortable, a huge red moon filling the sky?’
Bates frowned, twisting the scar on his face. ‘Is that down to you?’
‘The parts not caused by nuclear armageddon, yes.’
‘Whatever you’ve got planned you won’t be around to see it.’
‘Hmm. A possibility.’
Bates thrust his pistol up against the jar. ‘A guarantee.’
‘Don’t you want to know what it is you’re thwarting?’
‘I don’t care. Since your bodyguards radioed me to say they’d skipped out on you all I’ve cared about is pulling this trigger.’
‘The army didn’t radio you. I did.’
Bates stared at him. ‘What?’
‘The soldiers didn’t take any radio equipment. And they never made it inside the auxiliary complex. One of the security protocols was that the entry codes to the complex altered automatically when The Split occurred.’
Bates swung his pistol round to cover the door. ‘You’re lying. This is a trap.’
‘No trap. I wanted to see you.’
‘Why? You knew I’d try to kill you as soon as I …’ Bates’s eyes widened. ‘You wanted me to kill you.’
Bates lowered his pistol. ‘This is all an elaborate suicide attempt? Did your conscience finally get the better of you?’
‘I’m a brain in a jar. I can never feel a breeze on my face, can never eat a filet mignon or make love to a woman. All these things are lost to me and the memory of them is pure torture. But no, I don’t want you to kill me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I was wrenched from death to save humanity. My every waking moment is agony. The only thing that allows me to endure is the thought of success. If humanity survives, my pain will have been worth it, if I fail it will all have been for nothing.’
‘Very touching.’ Bates raised his pistol. ‘But you killed my family.’
‘If I hadn’t done what I did everyone would have been killed.’
‘That’s right. I would have died with my family. Instead I get to see them die in my dreams every single night.’
‘Killing me won’t reunite me with your family.’
‘It’s not just about that.’ Bates hesitated, reluctant to speak the next words. ‘With the planet falling to pieces I’m going to die slowly, painfully. If it hadn’t been for you I could’ve had a quick death.’
‘You still can.’
Bates stared at the pistol in his hand then at Hopely. He swallowed. ‘I swore that I’d kill you first.’
‘But without me the rest of humanity is doomed.’
Bates wavered. Sagged. ‘I’m so tired …’
Slowly Bates raised the gun to his head.
Before the barrel reached Bates’s temple Hopely’s hand flashed out, the metal forefinger stabbing through Bates’s shoulder. Bates screamed, the pistol falling from his hand, clattering to the floor. Hopely’s other hand shot out, taking Bates in the opposite shoulder. Bates writhed, struggling to get free but he was stuck fast.
‘Keep still. Wriggling just makes it worse.’
Bates ceased his struggles.
‘You weren’t interested in my plans earlier but as they are rather pertinent to your current predicament I shall explain them to you anyway. The Split was only Stage One of my plan. Stage Two will come into effect within the next few minutes. It relates to those effects I mentioned earlier – earthquakes, flooding, gravity and the red moon. All these are consequences of our having entered the orbit of Mars. Soon we shall land on Mars and use our terraforming equipment and the remains of Earth’s ecosphere to make it habitable. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, our landing will destroy most of what is left of Earth. The only survivors will be those inside the complexes. Of which this is the only one currently inhabited.’
‘You’re insane.’
‘Quite probably. I’d hoped Stage Two would be the final step in my plan but I had Stage Three prepared in case of severe depopulation. Allow me to demonstrate.’
Hopely rolled over to a large boxlike machine covered with lights, dials and LCDs. Whimpering, Bates was forced to follow. Hopely tugged at Bates’s shoulders, contorting him into the position he desired with his hips level with the machine. Hopely spoke into the voice activated control panel. ‘Initiate sequence.’
A massive syringe swung out from the machine and stabbed Bates in the hip. The sound of gears whining filled the laboratory as a cluster of tiny, metallic-looking eggs shot along the syringe and into Bates’s body.
Bates threw his head back, mouth wide open in a silent scream.
‘Yes, this may sting a bit.’
Hopely watched as the syringe withdrew itself. ‘This is part of my terraforming equipment. Your body has been flooded with nanites which will restructure your regenerative organs – synthesising X chromosomes amongst other things – transforming you into a hermaphrodite capable of producing offspring despite the absence of a mate.’ Hopely laughed. ‘Congratulations, you’re going to give birth to the new human race.’
‘You’re forgetting, where there’s life there’s hope.’
Bates screamed as his innards bubbled and boiled and twisted themselves into configurations they were never intended to adopt.
‘I calculate another thirty seconds to impact. Happy landings.’
Hopely braced himself as best he could. Then came a jolt and a terrible crunching sound that reminded him of his car crash.
As the impact reverberated around him even though he no longer possessed a mouth Hopely felt his lips curl in a smile.
Reflections in the Mind's Eye
He shouldn't have left Dan alone.
The thought had pursued Robert halfway across the world. A tiny doubt nagging at him, picking away at his brain until the idea had grown out of all proportion, swelling like a tumescent growth.
Parking his car he told himself not to worry, Dan was fine.
He locked the car, the indicators flashing him a yellow wink. Hunching his shoulders against the drizzle he headed across the drive.
Sunlight caught the drops of rain turning them into tiny meteorites. Passing the other cars parked on the drive Robert saw the bubbles of water gathering on their chassises making it look as if the cars were covered in hundreds of tiny snowglobes. He had a sudden desire to pick up one of the drops of water and shake it, see if it really did contain a snowstorm.
Reaching the front door he sheltered beneath the porch as he rang the doorbell. The door opened and a face peered out at him. Robert recognised Delia Simmons, the care home’s manager.
‘Oh. Hello, Robert.’ Delia looked about her, puzzled. ‘Did you hear that noise just now?
Robert grinned. ‘You mean the doorbell?’
‘No, it was a kind of sucking sound.’ Delia shrugged. ‘Oh well. So long as it isn’t the plumbing playing up.’
She ushered him inside, her usual cheery manner tempered by a slightly harassed air. ‘God, I’ve just spent the last half hour trying to work out how to get the computer to save the report I’ve been typing up. I’m about ready for a nervous breakdown.’ She brushed her blonde fringe out of her eyes, inadvertently exposing the hair’s black roots. ‘Sorry, you don’t want to hear about that, you want to see your brother.’
They started walking towards Dan’s room, Delia taking the lead. As they walked they passed by the lounge where the home’s clients sat staring blankly into space. Some had deformed features, some sat in wheelchairs, some had hunched awkward postures. All had learning difficulties.
The clients’ empty expressions reminded Robert of one of the presentations at the neurosurgery conference he had just attended in the States. A couple of neurosurgeons wanted to revive the lobotomy in a new high-tech incarnation, bombarding the brain with gamma rays. Lobotomies had been all the rage once, especially after Walter Freeman simplified the technique to the point where he could perform the operation in hotel rooms, all he needed was a rubber mallet to tap an icepick into the brain via the tear duct in the corner of the eye.
Robert shuddered. The practice had been quite barbaric. It was one thing to cut out a tumour but quite another to operate on conditions that could be treated by pharmaceutical means. He couldn’t imagine himself ever cutting out healthy tissue.
A movement in the corner of his eye broke his reverie. A quick glimpse of a transparent bubble floated across his peripheral vision but the apparition vanished before he could get a clear look.
Entopic phenomenon, he thought. Stray blood cells drifting across the vitreous liquid in the eyeball creating the impression of bubbles. He might have made more of it, thought it was a ghost or something, if it wasn’t for his medical background.
Yes, he was so bloody clever. He could wave his magic scalpel and make Dan all better.
If only.
Reaching Dan’s bedroom Delia knocked on the door. ‘Dan? Someone special here to see you.’
Robert stepped through the door. Dan sat in his wheelchair, in the centre of the room. Behind him one of the carers, a loud cheerful woman named Margaret, was placing bags of Dan’s clothes on his bed. Robert nodded a greeting to Margaret then smiled at his brother. ‘Hello, Dan.’
Dan returned the smile. As ever Robert found it slightly unnerving seeing his smile reflected back at him by a face that so resembled his own. Dan’s features might be slack, his physique flabbier due to his inability to exercise, but he was still unmistakably Robert’s twin.
So Dan served as a reminder of Robert’s lucky escape. He could have been the one who got his umbilical cord wrapped about his throat, cutting off the flow of oxygen to his brain, inflicting him with irreversible brain damage. Lynched in his mother’s womb, garrotted by the very thing that was supposed to sustain him.
Yet Dan held no bitterness at their respective fates. He always beamed with pleasure whenever he saw Robert. Even though it was unclear whether his damaged brain allowed him to recognise Robert as his brother he knew Robert was someone who came to visit him, who was always kind to him, who loved him.
At least that was what Robert hoped. Body language wasn’t always a reliable indicator to inner thoughts. Just because Dan smiled didn’t necessarily mean he felt any special connection to Robert. Most people would return another person’s smile – even a stranger’s – as a reflex action. Ultimately Robert could never know what Dan was really thinking, he just had to take it on faith.
Robert hugged his brother. ‘You’re coming home with me, Dan.’
Margaret placed another bag on the bed. ‘Glad to hear it. Hate to think I came in special and packed all these bags for nothing. Mind you, I do need the extra money. And my old man doesn’t mind me doing all the overtime, he enjoys the peace and quiet.’ An ear-splitting laugh exploded from her mouth demonstrating exactly how much difference her absence would make to her husband’s peace and quiet.
Robert released his hug. He should have taken Dan home years ago but his ex-wife Sandra had flatly refused. Being married to a neurosurgeon was wonderful. Looking after a neurosurgeon’s brain-damaged brother wasn’t. But now the divorce had come through he could finally hire a private carer to tend to Dan at home while Robert was working at the hospital. ‘You’ll like my house, Dan. It’s –’ Robert stopped, leaned back slightly. ‘Er, I think he’s …’
Delia and Margaret screwed up their noses. They could smell it too.
Dan had soiled himself.
Margaret leant down and took the brakes off the wheelchair. ‘Best get you off to the bog, eh Dan?’
‘It’s all right.’ Robert reached out for the wheelchair. ‘I’ll push him.’
‘Okay.’ Margaret pushed the door back so that it clicked against the wall-mounted magnet that would hold it open. ‘I’ll give you a hand getting him out of the wheelchair when you get there though. The seatbelt buckle’s been playing up the last few days. It’s a right bugger to undo.’
Robert nodded, making a mental note to buy Dan a new wheelchair. He pushed Dan out of the room, ready to shove off along the corridor, but then he stopped dead.
At the end of the corridor floated the bubble he had seen earlier. But now he could see that it wasn’t just a discrepancy of vision, it was real. Moreover, it wasn’t alone, there was a whole group of bubbles, forming a body, several feet long, giving the impression of a giant transparent grub. The bubble at one end of the creature’s body appeared to be its head, with two protuberances which looked worryingly like mandibles. A sense of unreality hung about the apparition as though Robert’s brain was confronted with a concept it couldn’t fully grasp; not the ethereal elusiveness of a dream, more the hard-edged abstraction of almost, but not quite, comprehending a complex mathematical equation.
As he stared in amazement the creature’s head twitched, as if catching a scent in the air. Turning in his direction the strange entity floated down the corridor towards him and Dan.
Alarmed, he jumped back, pulling the wheelchair with him. The creatu
re’s jaws clacked shut on thin air, missing him by a hairsbreadth.
He saw Margaret standing paralysed in the doorway, staring up at the creature, her expression torn between fear and wonder. As she stood gaping at the creature its head lashed out, clamping down on her skull.
Margaret tried to pull away, her limbs thrashing in desperation, but the creature held her fast. As she struggled Robert could see her terrified face through the creature’s transparent body. Could see her mouth stretched wide in horror. But he couldn’t hear her scream; the only noise came from the creature itself, a strange sucking sound as if it was draining Margaret of her very essence.
As Margaret’s life ebbed away images flashed from her into the creature’s body – bills, bank statements, wage slips, a work rota, a social diary. The numbers that dictated Margaret’s financial life and those that governed her social life jumbled together, trying to balance each other out.
Finally the images stopped and the creature released her. Margaret’s corpse slumped to the floor.
Dan started howling, a horrible keening sound, and threw his body about the wheelchair as violently as his wasted muscles would allow.
Delia stood shaking behind Margaret’s body, unsure whether to run into the corridor or hide in the bedroom. The creature turned and lunged at her. Screaming she ducked, the creature shooting over her head and into Dan’s bedroom. Lunging forward Robert seized the doorhandle and slammed the door shut. Holding the handle with one hand he thrust the other at Delia. ‘Where’s the key?’
‘In the office.’
Swearing, he spun the wheelchair round and started to push for all he was worth. ‘We need that key. We’ve got to keep this thing contained.’
‘What about Margaret? We can’t leave her. She might not be dead.’
‘If that thing gets out we’re all dead.’
Delia paled then sprinted down the corridor, leaving the others behind. Robert could have kept up with her, could have outpaced her even, if only the wheelchair wasn’t slowing him down. He kept pushing. He wasn’t leaving Dan alone.
