by JN Chaney
Mara didn’t answer, didn’t look away from the pad in her hand. Ross had said “pending their own agreement,” implying that the women had a choice in the matter—the same they had given her when she was in the program. But still, propaganda was propaganda, and Central would tell the mothers whatever they needed to in order to get them to sign their lives away. “It’s for the greater good,” they would undoubtedly say. “We’re building a better world.”
The thought turned her stomach.
“If you’d like, I can call for Doctor Byrne. He can give you a detailed summary of the procedures, as well as the improvements he and his team have made since you were…since you were part of the project. The candidates will be very well taken care of, I assure you.”
“Mothers,” muttered Mara.
Ross hesitated. “Ma’am?”
Mara finally set the pad down. She stared at Ross. “They’re mothers, not candidates,” she said. “Hell, call them women, call them girls, call them anything but that.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Ross, with a sincere tone. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Mara sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you did,” she said.
Captain Ross shifted in her seat. “If you’d like, I can come back another time.”
“God, no,” said Mara. “Tell me what you’re here to tell me, and let’s get this whole thing over with.”
“There’s not much else to tell, ma’am,” said Ross. “They need your authorization for the transfer of the candidates…the women, I mean, and that’s it.”
“I’m sure,” said Mara, flatly.
Ross was noticeably uneasy. “I can tell you’re upset,” she said. “What would make you feel better about this?”
Mara looked back at the pad on her desk. She wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, break the damned thing to pieces. Each of those girls—none of them had been a mother for more than five years. They were more like sisters than mothers, hardly wise enough to make the right decision. They didn’t know anything.
But Mara knew. She’d lived their lives already or at least the hypothetical version of it where they said yes, where the system stripped them of any sense of morality—turned them into government incubators.
A sudden flash of a hospital bed floated over Mara’s eyes. Blood poured out from between her legs as the doctor pulled the baby out. She had cried, screaming in pain from the torture of another failure. “Let me see him!” But the doctor didn’t answer. Instead he placed the lifeless form in a bag and handed it away. That had been the first and the most difficult.
But it’s for the greater good, James’ voice said in the back of her mind. Even in his absence, James Bishop still haunted her, begging for more and more of her soul. She imagined being in his office, sitting across from him, listening to him argue passionately, authoritatively, bellowing words in a voice she could listen to for hours. He spoke with such conviction that it was easy to understand how so many, including herself, had been enchanted by him. He was a born leader, an alpha male in a den of jackals, lording over them all with a welcoming hand, offering promises of a better tomorrow. Part of her agreed with every word he preached.
After all, everything about his plan had made sense. That was why she had originally agreed to it. Humanity needed this. It required the sacrifice. It required all the sacrifices—every one of those children’s lives. How else was mankind ever going to rise from its crumbling ant hill? But even though she understood it, even though it was all perfectly logical, in her heart she didn’t care, didn’t give a damn. She’d witnessed the fruits of this program firsthand, along with several other mothers, and she wasn’t about to let those tragedies repeat themselves. The pain and trauma of what she’d endured—no one deserved to repeat that.
“I’ll tell you what would make me feel better, Captain. How about your boss comes down here and talks to me himself? Or better yet, how about some disclosure on what he’s doing over there?” She picked up the pad with the names and extended it to Ross. “Here,” she said. “Take this back. I’m not signing it.”
“Ma’am?”
“You heard me, Captain. Take this back to your master and tell him the motherhood declines his offer.”
Ross stood quickly, grabbing the other end of the pad, but Mara grasped it even harder. She stared into her eyes. “There will be no transfers,” said Mara. “No more military incubators. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. If that’s your decision.”
Mara released the pad. “It is.”
Ross paused. “You’re protecting them. I get it. You’re responsible for them now.”
“Just tell him what I said, please.”
Ross nodded slowly. “The colonel will want to know why,” she said, placing the pad under her arm.
“If he needs a reason, he can ask me himself,” Mara said. She didn’t like being mean to Ross. The woman had never done her any harm. But Mara couldn’t let up. She had to send a message to Bishop, and the messenger had to believe it was true. These words aren’t meant for you, she thought. Take them back and deliver them like bullets.
Captain Ross went to the door. She held the knob. “I’ll tell him for you, and I’ll do my best to make him understand.”
Chapter 7
Archer’s Personal Logs
Play Audio File 58
Subtitled: A Possible Solution
Recorded April 04, 2319
ARCHER: Unbelievable. The embryo has accepted the cocktail! Not only that, but it is already beginning to show signs of molecular fusion. If the process continues to proceed at the rate I expect it to, the subject should achieve an acceptable level of atmospheric tolerance by the time it reaches the implantation phase.
Ava Long has expressed concern about the mother’s health in this…whether or not the foreign half of the embryo’s DNA will somehow “infect” the mother’s…but I have assured her that there is nothing to worry about. Even if there was, one would think it would be an acceptable risk, given the scale of such an endeavor. We aren’t trying to cure some silly disease, like the measles or chickenpox. We’re changing the very way the human race is going to exist. After listening to the old woman preach her little sermons, talk about how the future depends on us, I thought she would understand. Of course, as has always been the case, I appear to be the only one who truly knows what is at stake here.
End Audio File
January 09, 2345
The Academy, Central
“Today, there will be no class,” said Mr. Nuber. “Today, we are going on a trip. I’m sure you’ll all enjoy it.” There were several moans of disappointment, because of course it would not be enjoyable. Trips never were. The last one they took was to the doctor a week ago, and it wasn’t fun or enjoyable in the slightest.
They walked through the corridors for nearly twenty minutes, passed the other classrooms, the dorms, the medical bays. Before Terry knew it, they were in a place he had never seen before, a part of the school that wasn’t a school, the part that was something else.
They entered a room with several chairs but no desks. “Sit down,” said Nuber.
They did. Nobody said anything, not even Alex or Cole. They sat for what seemed like forever.
Then, there was a sound—a door opening. It pierced the room like a child’s scream, quick and sharp, and a man walked in—balding white hair, wrinkled, spotted skin, and a set of eyes that Terry instantly recognized from the slides he’d seen almost a year ago.
Nuber looked at the man and nodded. “This is Doctor Archer. He’s gonna talk to you all for a while, so listen up and pay attention. It’s important. Very important, so if I see any one of you acting up, even a little, I’m gonna walk over to your seat, quietly pull you out of the room, and positively, absolutely beat the stupid right out of you.” He walked to the back of the room and sat down.
Archer approached the podium at the head of the room. He cleared his throat. “
First, let me explain where you are,” he began. “This is a lab, but it isn’t like the other labs you’ve been to, where you had your blood taken or the doctors looked into your ears and asked how you felt. We don’t do any of that here. This lab is special, designed specifically to test your DNA. We do this in order to see whether or not you are capable of surviving on the surface.”
The children stirred.
“What you will experience will be unpleasant,” he continued. “Of this I have little doubt, but you must endure it. I will not stop because you are afraid or because it hurts or for anything. What we are about to do is far too important for that.” He paused a moment, looking at them, scanning them, until his eyes caught Terry’s, and they lingered for a moment longer than they should have.
In that moment Terry saw a kind of—awareness, maybe. These eyes knew something more than what the doctor was letting on. This was the person to watch, the one Terry should listen to. Not the teachers or the soldiers, but this man, this Archer.
“I shall call you in shortly,” said the doctor. “One at a time, beginning in no particular order, until each of you has experienced the chamber.”
The chamber. The words seemed to linger in the air like an old smell. Archer had spoken them with such finality that they were all Terry could remember, even as the doctor left the room. What was this chamber? What purpose did it serve?
Mr. Nuber coughed to get everyone’s attention, the way he did in class sometimes. He was once again at the head of the room, waiting patiently. “The doctor is going to call you individually using the intercom. When he does, get up and walk on in. You don’t have to wait for anyone to come out or anything. Just go.”
The intercom system roared to life, and Terry heard Archer’s voice enveloped in static. He was calling for the first student, Bradley, who quickly stood and walked to the door.
Every eye in the room watched him go, including Nuber’s, and in a moment, he disappeared through the same door Archer had taken.
Slowly the others were called in. Next came Michael, and then John and Roland. The wait between names was agonizing.
Perhaps it was nothing, another test like all the rest. Maybe the only thing on the other side of that door was a room with a nurse and a needle. Nothing to get worked up about.
Terry shook his head. There was no way. Archer wouldn’t call something “the chamber” for no reason. He’d explained it would help them go to the surface, but what did he mean? How could a room do something like that?
Four hours passed before they called Terry’s name over the intercom. He wasn’t the last one—Mei, Everett, and Sarah were still waiting—but he might as well have been. Terry rose from his chair, went to open the door, and walked in.
He immediately noticed the smell, like burnt plastic and—something sweet. Fruit, maybe. He wriggled his nose as he walked, but the odor only grew stronger.
At the end of the corridor, he found a room. He entered and found Doctor Archer hunched over a desk, staring at a computer screen. A long glass window covered most of the wall before him, overlooking a large and empty chamber. “Come in and take off your clothes,” said Archer, without taking his eyes off the screen. “Once you disrobe, enter through the other door.” He knocked against the glass in front of him. “You will wait for further instructions afterwards.”
Terry did as he was told, though he wanted to ask why he had to be naked. It seemed a little strange.
He didn’t argue. There was never any use fighting with adults. He removed his clothes and set them on the floor and entered the chamber. The glass door shut itself behind him, locking in place.
Terry waited a moment. Now what?
He almost asked the question aloud, but then the vents kicked on. In less than a minute, Terry felt cold air blowing all over his body, emanating from the walls. The pressure increased suddenly, causing him to waver. He leaned forward, against the air current, steadying himself.
After a moment, the vents shut off.
“Hold still and be quiet,” said Archer through an intercom. His voice was amplified and distorted.
Terry obeyed and said nothing. Despite the cold air, he attempted to remain still.
“Good boy,” said the old doctor from beyond the glass. “What is about to happen will be unpleasant, but you must stay calm. Do not try to escape from the room. It is impossible. At first, it will seem as though you are choking, but you must understand this is only temporary. Endure the gas long enough and your body will adapt. Struggle, however, and you may cause yourself a great deal of pain. Even death.”
Terry looked at Archer. “Huh? What do you mean?”
The doctor didn’t say a word. Instead, the slow mechanical hum of the vents ensued once more, only this time the cold air never came. Instead, a wave of thick, hot air filled the room, encapsulating him. Too thick, in fact. It became difficult to breathe. Why can’t I breathe? “Hey,” Terry cried. “Hey, let me out!” He walked a few steps toward the glass window, waving his hands at Archer. The old man stared at his computer screen, never bothering to answer. Can’t he hear me? Thought Terry. Doesn’t he see what’s going on? But before he could reach the glass, he stopped and covered his mouth. Every breath he took now burned like fire in his lungs. His skin crawled and his stomach turned. He bent to his knees, expecting to vomit, but nothing came.
Terry looked at his hands. They were shaking. His whole body trembled uncontrollably, as though it were coming apart. He tried to scream, but instead he fell to the floor. What’s happening to me?
Wheezing like a sick child, he could feel his eyes bugging out, about to burst, the blood swelling his face. I’m going to die here, he thought. Right here in this room, I’m going to die and there’s nothing I can do about it. Someone help me, please. But he couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream a word or plea.
The room began to dim. The edges of his sight diminished bit by bit until only darkness remained. Had Archer done this? Was he doing something to the light?
Terry’s body went completely limp. His face hit the tiled floor, but he barely felt it. He struggled to take a single breath, to pull a gulp of oxygen out of the toxic, burning air surrounding him. He tried to move his legs, his arms, anything. Nothing.
The twisting, burning pain of the gas consumed every inch of his flesh, invaded every cell, and he wavered on the edge of unconsciousness, craving a release.
Suddenly, the pain faded and he became completely numb. Engulfed by the dark, he lay motionless, touchless, lifeless. Pinocchio without the fairy dust.
Unable to move, he waited, lost in an empty void of quiet acceptance. His mind began to drift, shut out from all thought or sense of purpose, a battered soul released from its weary vessel. He was going somewhere else—somewhere empty and quiet—somewhere far away.
A better place.
But in that moment, the pause between realities—a light. A piercing dart inside the black, something pulling him, tugging his mind from whatever place he’d gone, back into the foul chamber with its burning gas. Back to putrid air and toxic death, to sickness and disease.
To life.
Terry felt the cold, wet tiles against his face, and without a thought, he did what he couldn’t before, what had only a moment ago felt impossible: he breathed a gulp of gas, swallowed it and found it tasted pure.
He tried to keep it inside, tried to bottle it and save the taste, but he couldn’t. He let it out. Threw it out. Vomited the contents of his stomach into a pile of yellow slush.
Chunks of food spilled out of him like soup. He spit and backed away, wiping his lips, wheezing and crying. He clutched his elbows and found he couldn’t stop shaking. Terry stared at what used to be his breakfast and leaned against the nearby wall, gripping the back of his neck.
And he screamed.
He pressed his forehead hard against the wall and wept. Water streamed from his eyes as though he were a river, each tear falling onto his naked arms and chest,
bathing his body.
He couldn’t stop gasping. The gas was so sweet. It smelled and tasted so much better than it had before. He didn’t know why, didn’t even care. All he wanted was to keep breathing.
The intercom roared to life, and Archer’s voice came with it. “Very good. How do you feel? Quickly now, you must tell me.”
Terry tried to slow his breathing, but he had little control. He could barely speak between the gasps. “I…I can’t…it hurt…so much. What did you do…to me?”
“Answer the question, boy,” said Archer.
Terry closed his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose in an attempt to slow his lungs. It helped. After a moment, he managed to talk. “What happened?” he asked. “What did you do to me?”
“You were exposed to Variant,” explained Archer. He tapped the glass with his knuckle. “It is important you tell me how you feel so I can assess your condition.”
“I…I don’t know.”
“How is your vision? Your other senses? I see you can stand. Try to walk.”
Terry took a few steps and nodded towards the window. “I can see okay, but before it was dark. Why does the air smell so different now?”
“Describe the smell.”
Terry took in a long, steady breath. “I think…pineapple. Maybe. I don’t know. What is it?”
“Interesting. Some of the others reported a similar sensation. Tell me, are you still having trouble breathing?”
Terry touched his chest. His heartbeat was much slower now. His breathing was more normal, too. “It’s gone,” he said.
There was a sudden buzz in the room, and a green light appeared over the exit door. “Step through there. You’re finished here.”
Terry drifted to the door, weaving as he walked. He felt so unstable—not exhausted anymore, but like he’d just crawled out of bed after a long sleep.
The door closed behind him, sharp and quick, and a draft of wind blew up against his naked skin. He looked down at his body, frail and wet and cold. A baby, that’s all he was. A little infant only following orders.
