AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Bible, Jake

  Nothing gets inside the dome that Control does not want inside the dome. And nothing leaves that Management doesn’t want to leave.

  “Ugh,” the driver seated to Dr. DeBeers’s left mutters as the AiSP relinquishes control of the transport. “I hate it when it does that.”

  “We made much better time than if you had been driving,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Don’t know why we need you fucks…”

  “Yes, doctor,” the driver nods, keeping his further thoughts on the subject to himself. “Initiating bay protocols. We will engage with the dome in five, four, three, two, one.”

  Dr. DeBeers shields her eyes from the blinding flash as the transport passes from the Sicklands and into an entrance tunnel, its hull cleansed completely of any microbe or foreign particle.

  “And in,” the driver says, unbuckling from his seat. “Docking in five seconds. Do you need help preparing the cargo for departure?”

  “No,” Dr. DeBeers snaps then smiles as she sees the look on the driver’s face. “I’ll wake him up and let him leave on his own legs.”

  “Doctor, is that wise?” a trooper asks from behind her after being released from his post. “He is a trained GenSOF operator. Underestimating him could prove fatal.”

  “I doubt that,” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “He may have been in the general transport bay before on previous runs, but he won’t have been in this one. I think the experience will be subduing enough.” She smiles at the trooper, showing her teeth in a deadly grimace. “And who’s to say I’m not even more deadly?”

  A couple of the troopers glance at each other and Dr. DeBeers catches their disapproving exchange.

  “You can flank us, of course,” Dr. DeBeers says. “And rescue me if I am truly in danger, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Your safety is our concern, doctor,” a trooper says. “That is all. No offense meant.”

  “I’ll be safe with this one,” Dr. DeBeers says as she gets up and turns to them. “I know what I’m doing, troopers. This isn’t the first operator I’ve brought in to Control.”

  They all nod and stand, waiting for the hatch to open, as Dr. DeBeers walks between them and stands in front of Blaze. She begins coughing again and the troopers all take an involuntary step back.

  “Oh, stop being babies,” she glares. “You’ll be in your vats soon and safe. That shit’ll clean out almost everything.” She looks at one of the troopers and winks. “Almost.”

  “Yes, doctor,” the trooper nods nervously.

  “AiSP, please wake the Sergeant up,” she orders. “Make it a good slap, bring him around quickly.”

  Blaze gasps as adrenaline rushes through his system. He struggles against his restraints, a feral, panicked look in his eyes. He catches sight of Dr. DeBeers standing in front of him and he almost growls at her, the surge of aggression in his system making him lunge towards her. But being strapped in, he only budges an inch, causing him to thrash wildly.

  “Now, let’s mellow him out, AiSP,” Dr. DeBeers grins. “Crash him hard.”

  A sudden lethargy takes over Blaze’s muscles and he turns and throws up from the sudden shift in chemicals pumped through his body.

  “Now that we have that out of the way, Sergeant Crouch,” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “Welcome to Control. The real Control. If you will follow me.”

  The body restraints are released and Blaze slowly gets to his feet. He feels as if the transport is rocking slightly and he would put out his hands to steady himself, but they are still secured together at the wrists. His feet are free though, and he takes a tentative step forward.

  “If you even think of attacking me then the AiSP will flood your system over and over with nasty things that will have you begging to die,” Dr. DeBeers says as the hatch opens and the troopers pour out into the bay. “What woke you up was me being nice. Don’t make me get mean.”

  “Right,” Blaze nods, his head swimming. “Don’t make you get mean. Wouldn’t…want…that…”

  His mouth drops open at the sight before him. The bay is like nothing he has ever seen before. He’s used to the utilitarian construct of the Clean Nation cities’ bays, or the stark emptiness of the general transport bay his squad usually pulls into when on a run to Control. But this? This isn’t even in the realm of his comprehension.

  The line of troopers that disembark from the transport all stand still, waiting as a vehicle similar to a TransPod trolley rolls up to them. Thin metal arms clamp around their shoulders and lift them into place on the vehicle. Their bodies go rigid as shiny metal discs are pressed to their temples, their eyes glowing bright white for split-second then returning to normal.

  “I…uh…I…,” Blaze stammers. Dr. DeBeers just smiles, letting him take it all in.

  The bay is ten times the size of the Caldicott City transport bay and dozens of machines hurry to and fro, all performing duties at a speed that Blaze can’t keep track of. Many have thin arms like the trooper vehicle, while others have long tentacles with various tools shifting into different forms as needed.

  Hundreds of troopers are hauled around from one end of the bay to the other, lifted and dropped as they either disembark or board transports. Blaze’s attention is so focused on the industry of it all that it takes him a long while of wide-eyed staring before he notices the walls.

  He finally tracks the path of one of the trooper vehicles as it leaves a transport and makes its way to a bay wall and the row after row of bubbling liquid vats. The troopers are carefully lifted from the vehicle and deposited into their own individual vat, bobbing along with the liquid’s agitation until they slowly settle to the bottom. Their feet are locked into place and the liquid goes from clear to bright blue then back to clear.

  Blaze can see their eyes are still open, but as far as he can tell, the troopers register nothing of what is happening to them. They just gasp a couple of times, bubbles of air pouring from their mouths and nostrils, then go still, eyes turning pure white.

  “Not what you expected?” Dr. DeBeers asks, coughing. “No one does.”

  “Are they…alive?” Blaze asks as Dr. DeBeers takes him by the elbow and leads him away from the transport. Dozens of machines, small and large, buzz around them, instantly moving from their path as the doctor walks Blaze to a large hatch in the far wall.

  “The troopers? Of course they are alive,” Dr. DeBeers laughs. “We aren’t Frankensteins here, Sergeant. While we have created synthetic nutrients and foodstuffs, we haven’t had any breakthroughs in creating synthetic life. Too complex, too chaotic.”

  “Then what?” Blaze asks. “How?”

  “Stunned you back to preschool speech, have I?” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “Not surprising. They are being held in stasis by a synthetic amniotic fluid. If we could create life then that is what we would grow it in. But since we can’t, we just store life there. It provides everything from oxygen to nourishment, ridding their bodies of all toxins and foreign microbes. The Clean Guard is the only truly clean fighting force on Earth.”

  “And they just stay in there?” Blaze asks.

  “Until they are called on,” Dr. DeBeers says. She starts to cough violently and doubles over.

  “You don’t sound so hot,” Blaze smirks. “Maybe you caught something nasty out in the Sicklands?”

  “Doctor?” the AiSP asks. Blaze is surprised the voice is patched into his com. “Facility lockdown is complete, but I must pass on Management’s request that you recuse yourself from Sergeant Crouch’s examination. It is obvious you have contracted a serious bacterial infestation and need-”

  “SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” Dr. DeBeers screams, as she stands upright and wipes her mouth. She takes a couple of deep, but halting, breaths and adjusts her uniform, gaining her composure. “Please. AiSP, you will institute Management Chairperson’s Protocol 1. I am in charge and not to be questioned. Management can have Control back once I’m done.”

  “Yes, doctor,” the AiSP says.

  A small orb of a machine scoots close to Blaze and
scans him, sending a ripple of red light across his body. It beeps loudly and moves to block his and the doctor’s passage, but she waves her hand and it skitters away, chirping shrilly.

  “AiSP?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “Wasn’t that Morganfeld 325 scheduled for incineration?”

  “Yes, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “The M325 was supposed to have been decommissioned twice now.”

  “Decommission it again,” Dr. DeBeers orders. “And make sure it’s done right this time, as in actually done.”

  “I can have it reformatted and recycled, doctor. Will that do?” the AiSP asks.

  “Is that what I asked for?”

  “No, doctor.”

  “Then how about you do what I asked.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  A loud clanging is heard and Blaze turns around as a hole in the ceiling opens and massive metal tentacles rush at the M325. The small metal orb hurries one way then another, trying to dodge behind other machines. The tentacles follow it closely, herding it this way and that until it realizes its only escape is up into the ceiling. It races straight up and is gone, followed by the tentacles. The ceiling closes quickly.

  “Holy shit,” Blaze says.

  “Chaos,” Dr. DeBeers says. “That is what almost killed us and what has been trying to kill us ever since.”

  She waves at the bay around them then points to the trooper vats.

  “The main reason they are placed in stasis. Human beings breed chaos. Having those men and women running around Control would input too many variables to this complex. All it would take is for one of them to snap and all the hard work, everything we have strived to achieve, would be over.”

  Her hand indicates the machines that never seem to stop moving. The constant shifting of light off of all the metal makes Blaze dizzy and he has to close his eyes for a second.

  But that doesn’t help. His IRIS is initiated and the bay scene is superimposed on his vision, even with his eyelids pressed firmly together.

  “I’m talking, Sergeant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Do not try to hide from reality. Never try to hide from reality.” She shakes her head. “Never ever ever try to hide from Him… I mean, from reality.”

  Blaze opens his eyes, his IRIS disappears before he gets too nauseous from the brief double vision, and looks at Dr. DeBeers.

  “Are you sure you know what reality is?” Blaze asks. “Because this…? This doesn’t look like it.” Even his GenSOF training is no match for the weight of it all. He feels his mental stability begin to crumble.

  “This?” Dr. DeBeers asks just as they get to the large hatch. She turns and looks at everything. “This is more real than you can know. Get used to it, Sergeant. If what lives inside you proves to be what I hope, then this will become not only your reality, but the reality of all humanity.”

  Dr. DeBeers grins so wide that Blaze thinks her cheeks will split from her face.

  “At least, the part of humanity deemed worthy,” she laughs. “Come. Time to show you your new home.”

  Blaze doesn’t resist, he just lets her lead him through the hatch into the white hall beyond.

  As the hatch shuts, a handful of machines pause, their routines interrupted for a millisecond. The brief suspension of duties is so miniscule that even if a person were standing right there they would never notice.

  Part Three

  Reality

  I push the children behind me, telling them gently to go to their rooms. But they don’t listen.

  Their attention is focused on the doubled over figure before them, a woman that they love unconditionally. She coughs and coughs and coughs, her body racked with spasm after spasm.

  Her eyes meet mine for a brief moment and then the last cough breaks and bloody spittle flies from her lips. I can almost see each drop individually as it tumbles through the air towards me and the children. I want to turn and pick them up, run from the room, get somewhere safe.

  But this is my dream and there is nowhere safe to go…

  40

  Having made runs to Control more times than they can count, Ton and Paulo don’t even give the looming dome a second look when Tranny Eighteen gets within visual range. At least not until the view shifts and the transport starts to move along a route they are not familiar with.

  “Not going in the general bay?” Ton asks.

  “No, Lieutenant,” Worm replies. “The Clean Guard enters through a different way.”

  “This pretending to be Clean Guard isn’t going to be fun, is it?” Red asks. “You’ve warned me about it, but that foreknowledge won’t help, huh?”

  “Not being human, I cannot say what knowledge will help ease the shock,” Worm says. “But, it is my estimation that the experience will be traumatizing. Let me assure you I will be with you the entire step of the way. Once we are inside I can connect with Control directly and begin data manipulations. I will not be able to communicate with you, as I will need all of my processes. But do not panic, all will be fine.”

  “I’m locking in, Worm,” Jersey says, sliding into her stasis cylinder. “Make sure this thing is delivered as close to Blaze as possible, got it?”

  “I have it, Ms. Cale,” Worm replies. The transport approaches the dome and the view screen goes blank, leaving them staring at a clean metal wall. “The entrance can be disorienting. You will need to be focused when we arrive. I have taken over the transport and will deliver it according to protocol. Once the hatch opens, you will step out into the bay and line up. Remain perfectly still and do not fight what is about to happen. If you fight or show any sign of confusion or fear you will be noticed and removed for decommissioning. That would be bad.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Jersey says as she lies down in the stasis cylinder. “Lock me in, Worm. Time for my fake night night.”

  The cylinder closes and a quiet hiss is heard. Several lights blink on the side from red, red, red, to green.

  “Care to give us a heads up?” Ton asks.

  “He says it’s like drowning,” Marco replies. “Our bodies fill up with liquid and then we wait.”

  “Drowning?” Paulo asks. “In what?”

  “Birth juice,” Collette says.

  “Synthetic amniotic fluid,” Worm interrupts. “Birth juice is neither accurate nor pleasant.”

  “Sounds peachy,” Paulo says.

  “Yeah, not looking forward to it,” Nick says.

  “Anymore advice?” Ton asks.

  “Do not take a breath before you are submerged,” Worm says. “A Clean Guard trooper knows to take a breath once submerged. Breathing before will give you away.”

  “That’s not comforting,” Ton says.

  “It was not meant to be, Lieutenant,” Worm replies.

  “We look right, Worm?” Red asks.

  “Yes, Captain, you do,” Worm responds as the transport comes to a halt. “If you will please stand and line up at the hatch. We will begin the mission in three, two, one.”

  The hatch opens and the operators all step from the transport, trying to keep from gaping at the sight before them. It takes all of their discipline and training not to look around and study the vast bay and the machines. It takes further discipline not to flinch as the trooper vehicle pulls up and grabs them, setting them in place as it speeds off towards the vats by the wall.

  Ton keeps his eyes unfocused, letting the world turn to a hazy blur of variations on a theme of white. Everything swirls this way and that as the vehicle maneuvers between a hundred different machines. Ton lets his mind drift, preparing for what comes next. In his GenSOF training, and career, he has endured almost every type of torture, so he knows how to brace himself.

  But it never makes it easy, just bearable.

  The vehicle comes to a stop and he is lifted quickly from his place, spun about, and dropped into a large vat of clear liquid. His body eases down into it, sliding through the liquid like it’s more oil than water. As the liquid gets to his chin, he has to fight his instincts to take a deep breath, re
membering what Worm had said.

  The liquid reaches his lips and he kills the panic that tries to tear at him. He crushes the feeling of helplessness and just relaxes into the moment, trusting that Worm knows what he’s doing.

  Then the liquid is past his lips and forcing its way into his nostrils. The panic inside pushes back at his will, millennia of human evolution fighting for survival. But Ton doesn’t let that win; he can’t.

  As the liquid covers his eyes and fills his sinuses, he lets go, opens his mouth, and breathes deeply.

  He wants to die.

  His lungs and stomach fill with the liquid, weighing him down like he’s never felt before. His chest feels constricted and his belly bloated, but surprisingly, he can breathe. Not in a physical way, but in a biological way. Everything gets brighter and more distinct as oxygen molecules are absorbed from the liquid directly into his bloodstream. His thinking becomes clearer and he actually feels the pain and fatigue from his muscles start to drain away.

  Then the world flashes blue and his whole body goes rigid. He can feel every nerve synapse come to attention at one single moment in time and it’s as if the pain and pleasure centers of his brain flip switches simultaneously.

  Again, Ton wants to die, but he also wants to live. Agony and ecstasy are his entire existence. Then nothing. Like that, it’s over. No more pleasure/pain, no sight, no sound. Just white.

  He has never felt so alone in his life.

  41

  “It isn’t just an aesthetic touch,” Dr. DeBeers says as she leads Blaze down another stark white hallway; one of a dozens they have passed through.