Famine

by R A Doty

  Chapter Thirty

  JOHN Brodie wasn’t exactly leader material, more of a hands-on kind of guy, but when Bill Weston presented him with the opportunity to become Chief Officer he had no choice but to accept the offer. He was a strict man that did whatever it took to get the job done, regardless of any repercussions. That’s probably the reason Weston chose him. He knew nothing would stand in the way of Brodie retrieving the girls if they were still alive.

  “Anything and everything you need will be at your disposal,” Weston said, feeling confident he picked the right man. He looked at Brodie. His prize bull. At six-foot-six and tipping the scales in the direction of three-hundred pounds, he knew the mainland would have to present some major obstacles to stop this man. His bald head, narrow eyes, and dark brows made him that much more intimidating.

  “I won’t need much,” Brodie commented. “A small team of armed men and a boat will be enough. As soon as I put it together we’ll leave immediately. When was the last signal received from the girls?”

  Weston began tapping his computer’s keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find.” He pulled up April’s file and a blue blip flashed in the top right corner of the monitor. “There you are,” he said, a very wide smile on his face. Finding April’s signal wasn’t proof that she was still alive, but it was verification that the chip was still intact and working, which, more than likely, meant that she was still living. At least there was hope. And when he found Calla’s signal, and her location was in the exact vicinity of April, he knew the odds were great that both girls had managed to survive so far. But for how much longer? He turned to Brodie. “Their signals are strong at the present so they’re close. I would suggest leaving as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brodie said. “We’ll be leaving within the hour.”

  THOMAS Steinberg had an extensive library; wall-to-wall bookshelves filled a room thirty feet long by twenty feet wide and ten feet high. A wooden ladder, mounted to the shelves, slid along a metal track to reach the higher books. The library was located in the central part of the house, so there were no windows on the walls. Just books. And lots of them. Steinberg was a highly educated man, and he believed that anything a person wanted to learn could be found in a book. Once he realized the world was headed for disaster, he aggressively increased his library’s inventory. Nearly every subject matter of interest, at least of his interest, could be found somewhere in that room. But there was no need to search for it. The meticulously crafted card catalog system held the location of every book. It was all computerized as well, but he never put much faith in electronic organization. If technology failed, as it eventually did, he still wanted to be able to locate a book. There was also a large area reserved for books of fiction, which included all of the classics and his favorite authors, Steinbeck, Bradbury, and Dickens, to name a few.

  A rectangular, glass-topped table, four feet wide and twelve feet long, sat in the dead-center of the room. Black swivel chairs were tucked under the perimeter of the table. Two neatly stacked piles of books sat at one end, and April sat at the other, her right hand flipping pages as her left carefully held the book open. Her head scanned the pages from top to bottom, and then turned slightly to the next page on the right, repeating the process. She could almost feel the information entering her mind like an empty pitcher being filled from a tap, not one drop going to waste. Once information passed her eyes, it was recorded and stored in her memory bank. When the book was finished, it was put back where it was found, and another was taken from one of the two piles at the far end of the table.

  “There you are,” Calla said, entering the room from a door that seemed to be carved out from between the books. “I was looking all over for you. Why don’t you come to the kitchen and get some dinner? We’ve been here for hours and you barely got to know any of the others, yet.”

  “Isn’t it fascinating, Calla?” April said, having to pull her eyes away from the book to finally look up. “I’ve learned so much in the short time period I’ve been here.” She looked around the room, books everywhere. “Look at all of them,” she said, her hands spread wide in front of her. “Do you have any idea how much information is in this room? Or how many thoughts have been captured and stored between all of these covers?”

  Calla had to admit, it was pretty impressive. She walked up to one of the walls of books. So many different bindings and colors and sizes. How could one not be impressed by the hours upon hours of time spent writing all of these words? To think that people actually formulated everything between all of these pages. She pulled one of the books off the shelf and read the spine. Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck. A tiny little book with a picture of a big man sitting next to a little man in a field of green grass. Her mind began to wander, imagining how warm the day looked and what it might smell like if she were sitting beside them. What were the men thinking and what events took place from the start of the book to the very last page? It must have ended well. How could a story with such a soothing cover end any other way? She brought the book to her nose and took a deep breath. It was amazing. As if the magic was transferred through the scent of the pages, luring you to look inside, to hear the story. “It is fascinating,” she agreed, slipping the book back in its dedicated slot where it will wait for as long as it takes until somebody releases the magic once again.

  April rushed to her side and admired the wall with Calla. “Have you ever seen this many books before?”

  Calla shook her head, still in awe as she read the titles. “No, I haven’t. All of the books I’ve ever read were on my tablet. Electronic versions, not hard copies. I can honestly say that I’ve never actually read a hard copy before. My mother used to read them all the time. She never liked the electronic version. She said half the pleasure of reading a book was holding it in your hand and physically turning each page. She even liked the feel of the pages. It was all part of the experience, she said. I never knew what she meant until now.”

  The door opened and Colton North appeared. “I thought I might find you here,” he said, walking over to the girls.

  “Hello, Mr. North,” April said, her smile beaming with excitement.

  “Please, April, call me Cole. You seem very happy about something.”

  “I’m just amazed by all of these books. They’re beautiful.”

  “That they are,” Colton agreed. He, too, had no choice but to admire the books. April’s excitement was contagious.

  “Have you read any of them?” April asked.

  “I’m sure I have. Reading used to be one of my most pleasurable hobbies.”

  “You stopped reading?”

  “My wife and I used to enjoy it, but then she passed away and I guess I just lost my desire.” Colton paused, remembering a fond moment long gone. He continued as if the memory vanished suddenly. “We liked to discuss the books when we finished them. Sometimes we would tell how we would have changed the ending to make it better.”

  “I don’t think endings should be changed,” Calla said. “Once the last word is written by the author it has to remain that way. It’s what they thought at that particular time in their life and even if the author read it again at a later date it shouldn’t be touched. It’s as if it was meant to be.”

  “That’s very astute,” Calla, Colton said. “I never thought of it that way. That makes perfect sense.” Colton pulled a book off the shelf. Nothing in particular, just one of the thousands. He opened it and read the first line. It started with the weather. He smiled with a nod. Never start with the weather.

  “You should start reading again,” April said. “I would love to discuss them with you, if you’d like. It would be fun.”

  Colton turned to her. The resemblance to his daughter was uncanny. Staring into her eyes made him happy, yet sad. A hard knot formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. “I think I would like that, April. I think I’d like that very much.”

  “And you, too, Calla,” April said. We could all discuss the books together.
”

  “It sounds fun. But we’d never be able to keep up with you.”

  “Are you a fast reader, April?” Colton said.

  April shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so.”

  “You guess so?” Calla laughed. “How many of those books on the table have you read since you’ve been here?”

  They all turned to look at the table.

  “Five of the ten,” April said.

  “How long have you been in here?” Colton asked, more than curious.

  April turned to the large clock hanging on the wall just over the door. “Two hours and ten minutes.”

  “And you read five books in that time period?”

  “I did. Well, I’m about half way finished with the next one, so I suppose it would be more accurate to say five and a half.”

  Colton turned to Calla. “Didn’t you say April was raised as a nutrimen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I know what you mean by the term, nutrimen, but could you explain it to me in more detail? Let’s have a seat and you girls can tell me your story and how you ended up here.

  The three of them went to the table in the center of the room. Colton sat at the head of the table, and Calla and April sat next to each other, just to his left. “First of all,” Colton started, “explain to me what a nutrimen is.”

  There was no doubt that Calla felt uncomfortable explaining to Colton what a nutrimen was with April sitting right next to her. In fact, she felt horrible. She instinctively held April’s hand as she told Colton everything he wanted to know. She paused a few times to wipe a tear from her eye, and then continued.

  “And she was never allowed to speak or be spoken to?” Colton asked, his head shifting between the girls.

  Calla shook her head. “No. Never. It was against the rules to speak in the presence of the nutrimen.”

  “And she just recently learned how to speak and read?”

  “Yes.”

  Colton studied April. “That’s incredible. Do you remember everything you’ve read?”

  “I don’t know how, but I remember every word I read in the order I read it. Would you like me to recite to you one of the books I’ve read, word for word?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. I believe you. Can you perform complicated mathematical calculations?”

  “I can.”

  “She also speaks different languages,” Calla said.

  Colton was more than impressed. “What languages?”

  April shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. All of them, I guess.”

  “Incredible.”

  Colton thought of the countless number of years he and the other scientists had spent trying to create the perfect human being that was free of disease and biological defects, and now that it has happened those idiots at Ancada don’t even realize it.

  “Do you ever get sick?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I bet the only thing you can’t do is fly.”

  “That depends,” April said.

  A very wide smile crossed Colton’s face. “On what?”

  “On whether or not I had an aircraft.”

  Colton laughed. “You’re remarkable, April.”

  Calla put her arm on April’s shoulder and pulled her close. “That’s why I had to save her.”

  “I’m so very glad you did,” Colton said. “Now you have to tell me the rest of your story. How did you save her and how’d you escape, Ancada?”

  Calla and April spent the next hour explaining the chain of events that led them to the very chairs they were now sitting in. Colton listened intently, focused on everything they said. He had often wondered what Ancada had become after he left, and hearing the girl’s story strengthened his opinion that he made the right decision to leave when he did.

  “It all makes sense,” he said with a nod. “Knowing that Bill Weston is now in charge explains a lot.”

  “You know Mr. Weston?” Calla asked.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say I know him, but I once knew him a long time ago. We were both on the same research panel, and we were working to genetically enhance human cells so they wouldn’t be vulnerable to disease.”

  “Free of disease and biological defects,” Calla said, mostly to herself.

  “Exactly,” Colton said. “You sound like you’ve heard that statement before.”

  “About a million times. It was drilled into our heads on a daily basis. I sometimes find myself repeating it in my mind for no reason at all.”

  “So, if what you’re telling me is correct,” Colton said to Calla, “that would mean that you rarely get sick as well.”

  “I don’t remember ever getting sick,” Calla said.

  “And you’re positive the people that raised you weren’t your biological parents?”

  Calla nodded. “When they strapped me and April to the table just before we escaped, Carla scanned our chips and found out we were sisters. She also told me at that time that the people I thought were my parents, weren’t. She said I was given to them as a means of entertainment. Like a doll. She and Mr. Weston were talking about who our real father was, but I didn’t catch his name. I didn’t think it mattered anyway, because I knew we’d never get to meet him.”

  “That’s a pity,” Colton said. “I just can’t believe what little respect they’ve developed for human life there. And it sounds like they’ve actually convinced themselves that the ‘nutrimen’ as they call them, aren’t human. And that’s obviously why they don’t want them to learn how to speak, because doing so would humanize them, and then they’d have to admit what they’ve become.”

  Calla lowered her head. She was very much a part of them, and she was no better for blindly accepting whatever she was told. There has to be a way to make things right. Saving April was a start, but there are so many more that don’t deserve to die. She promised herself that she would try to figure out a way to save all of the nutrimen. And to end the surrogate program. It was an impossible challenge, but she had to at least try. She thought of the woman that must have been her surrogate when she was born. Is she still walking the streets of Ancada? What does she look like? Is she happy, or is she, too, just acting as a doll? She turned to Colton. “When would we be able to scan our chips?”

  “Oh, if I had to guess I would say in a few hours or so. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’d like to at least see who my real parents were. I know I’ll probably never get to meet them, but if I can see them I could imagine what life I might have had if things had been different. Maybe they would have really loved me.”

  “I’m sure the people that raised you did love you, Calla. From what you told me they seemed very nice. Now, not to change the subject, but the reason I came looking for you girls is because I wanted to remove your chips. We can use Thomas Steinberg’s lab; it’s just a minor operation.”

  “Oh, can’t we wait?” Calla said. “Just until the scanner is charged and I see who my real parents were.”

  Colton considered Calla’s question. The chips would most likely work outside of the body, but there may be a chance they would be damaged upon removal. “Well, I suppose if Ancada hasn’t found you yet, a few more hours won’t make a difference.”

  “Thank you.”

  Colton studied Calla. She looked somewhat under-the-weather. “Are you feeling okay, Calla?”

  Calla wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “I guess so; why? I mean, sometimes I feel like I might throw-up, but I feel okay most of the time.”

  “Based on what you’ve told me, that’s probably due to the fact that you’ve been artificially inseminated. Not to undermine your intelligence, but you do realize you’re pregnant?”

  It was always in the back of Calla’s mind, but she never really wanted to come to terms with it. The thought of bringing a child into the world terrified her. She knew nothing about caring for a baby, and yet here she was, growing another human being inside of her. With everything going on, it was easy to dis
miss if she didn’t think about it. But now, having it brought back to her attention, she had no choice but to deal with it. “I know,” she said, her attention focused on her hand as she picked at her cuticles.

  “You know, Calla, you don’t have to go through with this pregnancy if you don’t want to. By no means am I an advocate for abortion, but I do believe a woman, or a man for that matter, should have complete control over his or her body.”

  Calla raised her head. “I don’t understand. What other choice would I have? There aren’t any hospitals here.”

  “Well, as I mentioned earlier, Thomas Steinberg has a pretty elaborate lab that could easily be transformed into an operating room if necessary.”

  “But who could perform the operation? I didn’t see any doctors on the estate.”

  “I might not look like your typical surgeon,” Colton stroked his beard, “but I am more than qualified to perform the procedure. I was trained in medicine and worked in the field before I got on board with Ancada’s genetic team. Again, I’m not advocating abortion, but it is ultimately your decision.”

  Calla considered the thought for a moment. “I don’t know what to do. I never really thought I had a choice up until now. It’s such a hard decision to determine if I want to be responsible for taking another human’s life. But then again, would it be wrong to bring a child into a world where it would be faced with nothing but hardship?”

  “I know it’s a hard decision that only you can make, so take your time to think about it. Nobody will judge you however you decide.”

  Calla nodded. “I’ll think about it for a few days and let you know. But thank you for giving me the option.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  April reached over and placed her hand on top of Calla’s. “We’ll get through this together.”

  “I know. Now enough talk about babies. You have a lot of books to read so you better get going.”

  “There is another section on taking care of babies,” April said with a smile, “so maybe I should read up on that.” April stood from the table and raced toward the bookshelves. Within seconds she was pulling out books pertaining to infants.