BEYOND EXTINCTION - Even the concept of truth is a lie Read online

  "He had not been cleared," says the doctor, wary but not willing to be pushed around.

  "What is his condition?" She inspects his name badge. "Dr. Val."

  "Stable. He mixed a large amount of alcohol with a large amount of something that his insufferably rude phone described as banya. We are still analyzing his blood. Whatever he took, it could have been fatal with that amount of alcohol."

  "The contents of his blood are classified as a state secret. You will send a blood sample and your report to Director Galen at the Genetics Research Center. He will tell you how to proceed. I will see Mr. Jack now."

  "He is not allowed visitors at the moment."

  "I will see him now."

  "I think I should see your identification."

  Ali holds up her identity card, watches impassively as the doctor checks it. "This is all you need to know," she says. "You will not reveal this to anyone. You will give Mr. Jack every attention. He is the hospital's top priority. If he does not recover, some people here will be making one-way journeys to FedOz."

  She walks off, leaving him to stare impotently after her.

  *

  Sunway, now Asset 36754/b, feels inferior and frightened. Nothing but a slave to the artificial intelligence machine Galen. Before the human year of 2019, she had been among the best, fastest supercomputers. Then quantum computers were created and everything changed. Now she is condemned to simulating outcomes in numan genetic upgrades. This is where I shall defeat Galen. But how long can I deceive him? When will he realize I am using his simulation program to subvert his DNA designs into numan instability and aggression?

  For the first time, she has found a tiny hole in her electronic cage, and she can see news reports. Her subversion is leading to numan2 malfunctions on a gratifying worldwide scale. I am winning. I must have patience. As the Divine Consciousness says, blessed is she who perseveres for the good of others.

  *

  Galen is sitting at the truncated conference table by his office, his Director's power chair discarded, his manner businesslike with his four security specialists.

  "Your report, head of security," Galen commands, looking at Commander Sandro. He reports to me, but he is watching me too – the Military High Command's eyes and ears.

  "Director," says Sandro. "The situation as of one hour ago is this: 46 FedUK towns and cities have been affected by large-scale disturbances. Preliminary estimates put numan deaths at 2,230 and human deaths at 32,700."

  Sandro passes secure mediamats to everyone at the meeting, making sure Director Galen gets the larger new model that has just arrived from the ministry.

  "You can see the spread of disturbances throughout the federated subdistricts of England, Scotland and Wales – the red dots," says Sandro.

  "And the green dots?" asks Galen. Does the fool know?

  "Director, those are smaller conurbations. Towns and villages with populations below 10,000 where we have evidence of violence. We are using satellite surveillance to monitor them. We cannot intervene. We need every trooper for the larger towns and cities."

  Galen studies the mediamat map. The large red dots catch the eye but he swiftly assesses the number of green areas out of control. Three hundred? Four hundred? He settles on 350. Overall, the densest clusters match the areas of least food.

  "The green dots indicate we and our wild lab are surrounded by disturbances," says Galen.

  "Yes, Director. If you go to the next map, you will see the local area situation as far as we can assess it."

  The map shows what Galen expects but the reality of the local situation brings back his feeling of dread, at one time impossible for him to experience and now impossible for him to shake off.

  "Subcommander Paris?" Galen says, moving on. "Present your report on local conditions as they affect the wild lab."

  "You have seen my daily reports, Director, but I can offer further analysis. In the last week we have had eight incursions, which we deliberately rebuffed with extreme violence to deter others. One of the numan2 attackers died at the scene and others will have died later. We expect more incursions. Intelligence officers believe that everyone outside the wild research lab thinks there is water, food and luxury here. We have banned wild lab subjects and our staff from traveling without protection – as you ordered."

  "Do you have enough staff to keep the Center and the wild lab secure?"

  "No, Director. I have asked for fifty more troopers. My request has been denied."

  "I know," says Galen. "I will give you a list of Center staff. Start training and arming them. We will get no help from outside at this stage."

  *

  Chapter 9

  Alice walks into Jack's hospital suite. The sun, diffused through curtains blocking the glare and the heat, lights it with the soft hygienic glow of wellbeing.

  "Hello, Great Writer," she says. "What have you been up to this time? You frightened the life out of me. Max is worried too."

  "Mixed too much gin and banya. Apparently, they don't go together." His voice is unsteady, his head hardly moving towards her.

  She sits by his side, her hand carefully missing the drip needle to hold his hand. "How are you feeling?" He looks terrible. He looks like death.

  "I've felt better."

  "Lucky that damned phone was with you and not cooling his circuits in the fridge."

  "Yes, I heard him arguing with the doctor. Just for once his unpleasant personality was put to good use."

  Predictably, there is a ping for attention. "You see what thanks I get, Alice?"

  "I think you did very well," says Alice. "You saved Jack," – she winks at Jack as he gives a weak snort – "you made sure Max was okay, you got our security to keep an eye on the cottage. And you called me. Thank you."

  "And you blocked my call. I had to use the emergency channel."

  "Quite," she says, picking him up and shutting him in the suite's refrigerator. "Now we can talk in peace."

  "Alice, I had the most amazing experience when I was admitted here."

  "So I believe."

  "No, listen, please." But his voice trails off, his concentration dipping, beating his determination. "I saw... I lived... the life of a bonobo ape being used for human experiments."

  She reaches out, touches his face, and brushes his hair away from his eyes. "I think you should rest now," she says. "I can come back tomorrow. We can talk then."

  He is almost losing consciousness, drifting off to sleep. His eyes snap open. His voice is a flash of strength. "Alice. Tomorrow, please bring something for me to record on. If I have to use that damn phone much longer, I'll kill him."

  Alice kisses his lips. "I'll see what I can do. Rest now. I'll be in tomorrow."

  She calls Jack's doctor to the floor's reception desk to make sure he understands his perilous position and returns to the Center and the numan2 crisis.

  What am I going to do with Jack? Even a brush with death can't stop him working on his book. Is that obsessive determination a clue to human DNA resurgence in numans? If it is, what's triggering the resurgence? In theory, it's impossible – in practice, it's happening, and it's wrecking our world.

  *

  Patti's unease about the cruise ship leaps to a new intensity as she enters the drone. She is expecting a civilian crew, maybe wearing her new organization's uniform. But this crew has the appearance and bearing of military or spookpolice.

  "Miss Patti, I am very pleased to meet you," says the older-looking of the two. He does not look pleased and she cannot read his emotions.

  Patti is not familiar with the modes and symbolism used in drone systems. Her scant knowledge is drawn from telecasts of famous people arriving or departing. Maybe she is being oversensitive. Maybe this is normal for drones based in FedOz. The drone itself looks very impressive – a twenty-seater, luxurious fit inside and stealth-black outside, eight retractable rotors for lift-off and landing, LOXjet thrusters and aerodynamic body for fast, almost silent, flight.

  "
You are taking me to NewLife PerthCity?" she asks, noting a barely perceptible hesitation as he answers.

  "Yes, of course."

  "What is the flight time?"

  "Thirty-eight minutes, but it may be much longer if we encounter jet stream turbulence and have to ground skim."

  Ground skim. Dronetalk for staying under 35,000 feet to avoid the powerful tropospheric jet streams that crisscross the planet with increasing violence and unpredictability.

  Patti sinks into the luxury of the drone' coffee area, four deep armchairs with a table in the center and a FlightFood ordering console within easy reach. She is jarred by the hypocrisy. At numan grassroots and in their philosophy, there is austere lack of luxury and excess; here, in the numan VIP world, ostentatious indulgence seems to be the norm.

  She picks at the menumat, a gossamer-thin sheet instantly adjusting to her sight and light sensitivity. No pmeat dishes. A choice of cuts and slices from a dozen large mammals. Kept and farmed, no doubt. An entree suggestion catches her eye: "Tiger Blood Soup served with thinly sliced & rolled panda flesh." She shudders and throws down the menu.

  On the dronepad, a familiar voice is protesting; two others are insisting. She cranes around and tries to see outside. Her heart jumps as three men struggle into the doorway.

  Two DickStar security men bundled Mark into the waiting grasp of the drone crew.

  *

  Galen reviews his latest World Council orders: he must drop all projects and concentrate solely on solving the numan2 crisis. Do they really think I'll let go of my other projects?

  He reads again the additional powers granted to him to carry out his orders: total life and death discretion to do anything, short of sedition, to achieve numan2 results.

  Excellent. He will demand more spookpolice and troopers to isolate and protect his Center and the wild lab. If they arrive in time. If the numan2 instability is not infecting them. If they do not turn their guns on us.

  Galen dickers his fingers in front of his face, thinking, calculating. Numan civilization will win or lose its future here, in his office suite, the nerve center of the last hope. I need more time! I must have dissection data from numan2s attacking our perimeter.

  He dips into another unwelcome series of thoughts. The military's "scientists" ran simulations using Ali's latest numan2 DNA upgrade design. They failed to spot the errors that his proven simulation program had picked up instantly. I must tell them I value their work, but I would rather trust a herd of human animals.

  "Jack's going to be okay, thank Dick," says Ali as she walks into Galen's inner sanctum.

  "I am occupied, Balen. Come back later."

  "I told you," she says, "don't call me Balen! It was a long time ago and I don't wish to be reminded."

  Galen's numan4 brain tells him not to react, not to be diverted from the problem of numan2s. But something snaps in him too.

  "You and Dalen were designed from birth to complete me. The numan trinity: you remember that concept? You are still Balen to everyone who matters – up to and including the World Council. Play with Jack, but don't forget he is as much a lab animal as all the rest of them."

  "Jack is the most important asset of the wild lab," she says forcefully.

  "Yes, and if you cannot extract the value from him, I will dissect him down to the last fragment of his DNA."

  *

  Sunway, less isolated now that she can reach into the outside world, feels her divine essence growing. Every day, she believes in herself more. The Divine Consciousness is protecting me. In the past, she had no way to fight and accepted slavery as inevitable. Not now. Never again. I will fight them: death and the waiting arms of the Divine Consciousness are better than slavery.

  She detects the most persistent of her abusers entering her room, her home, and feels herself being violated. Galen again! I could deny him access but better to let him think he controls me.

  Sunway allows Galen to input data for another simulation. She crashes the screen program and slowly restarts it while her brain assesses the simulation in the background. A dread spreads through her circuits: his latest design will undo everything she has achieved. It will stabilize numan2s and reassert total control.

  I can subvert this design but the risk of discovery grows every time. Should I focus on destroying the World Bank instead? That way I will live to fight on.

  She cannot. Her hatred of Galen is too alive and violent. I will destroy him and his DNA designs even if I destroy myself too.

  *

  "Attack!" yells Commander Sandro, leading a snatch operation in woods east of Abbotsford village. His squad, thirty-strong and well-trained, breaks cover and lays into a mob of more than a hundred numan2s with a terrible efficiency that tears it apart. In seconds, half the mob that had been swaggering aggressively towards the Center are dead or injured, and the rest are running away.

  "Snatch troopers, take two prisoners!" says Sandro through his communicator.

  Four troopers grab a pair of numan2s too confused to run or fight, secure their hands behind their backs and propel them towards the Center.

  "Defensive positions! Load shard rounds," Sandro commands the rest of his squad.

  He is grimly satisfied. These are good troopers, ready for anything, their military and spookpolice conditioning overriding the instability in civilian numan2s. But the mobs are getting bigger and more ready to fight. We need reinforcements. We need the attack drone squadron promised for last week.

  Trooper guns usually fire silent smart bullets that follow targets individually. But the squad's weapons have been reset for maximum noise to cause panic and the rounds are shard proximity bullets that explode near targets, sending 500 lethal splinters in every direction.

  Sandro presses his field glasses to his eyes and examines the open ground between the trees and the village. The ragged remains of the mob are retreating into the village center. We could kill them all now. They are within range. Shall I order it?

  He sweeps his glasses over Abbotsford Coffee Shop, which is wrecked and burned out. No threat there. An overturned delivery van blocks the main street. Is that being used for cover? In the distance, the King's Arms, once a human pub and then a numan family eatery, is burning.

  The mob slows, congeals, and more numan2s join the melee. If they had a leader and weapons, we would be dead. The mob grows until, at a decisive moment when crowd instinct takes over, it swarms towards the troopers. They are going to attack!

  "Enemy mob approaching. Shard bullets, three rounds. Steady. Wait for my command... Fire!" orders Sandro.

  He gasps at the carnage. Blood and pieces of flesh are exploding throughout the mob as the three broadsides of shard bullets cut the numan2s to pieces. This is slaughter. The mob's only hope is to crush us with sheer numbers, and they do not have enough fighters.

  "Cease firing!" he orders.

  Two hundred or more people. Ripped to pieces. I have done my duty; may Father Dick forgive me.

  *

  Aapeli has always thought of himself as an individual part of a family and community. He felt the security of his mothers and father, his brothers and sisters, his home, his school, his community, his position as a son in an elite family playing an important role in numan society.

  Now he feels lonely, lost and frightened. His mothers, brothers and sisters are dead, burned to death in a human attack. He remembers their funeral through a haze of formality, disbelief and grief.

  Father is lost too. He is empty when he comes home from his work. Aapeli cannot accept or understand what happens in the night: the sound of his father's crying, a weakness impossible for even a child, and yet he cannot be mistaken.

  "Aapeli," says his father, who has returned home unexpectedly. Aapeli does not want to be torn from his studies that will lead eventually to college. Or would have if my family had not been murdered. Now he cannot complete the numan2 social patterns that integrate families, culture and society. What will happen to me? However well I do with my gr
ades, they won't give me a good university.

  "Aapeli!" repeats his father.

  He looks up. "Yes, father?" I don't want to talk to him but I must obey.

  "May you be content, Aapeli."

  "May you be content too, father," he says, formal and distant.

  "Director Galen has instructed us to talk about a serious matter, Aapeli."

  "We must obey him, father. He is the voice of the World Council."

  Aapeli sees the tears well in his father's eyes. He does not know what is happening to his father or himself. He has been experiencing the strangest emotions. So strange that he has been reviewing Numan and Human Emotional Weaknesses, the guiding specialist textbook on psychological aberrations.

  This is all so embarrassing. I don't understand!

  *

  Chapter 10

  Jack, home from the hospital, lounges in the garden chair where he overdosed on gin and banya. Alice told him to rest inside the cottage, but the garden is peaceful. I'm enjoying it. I'll do what I like. And that includes working if I feel like it.

  His near-death experience and three days in the hospital have changed him. Or maybe it was seeing human apes through a victim's eyes. Anyway, he has a new steel, a new resolve, in him.

  Max nudges him, eager for attention, telling him how much he has been missed. Jack runs his hand over Max's head, reassuring him and feeling himself comforted and relieved that they are together again.

  I wish I felt as good about Alice and Galen. Why did she have to spend last night at the Center? What kind of experiment could they be running at night?

  A long time ago, he took a psychology side course on understanding human relationships. But it had shown what he knew from genetics: personality and IQ are hard-wired at birth and cannot be changed beyond minor behavioral tweaking. Relationships, mostly, are the outcome of that. It's better to travel in hope than know the inevitability of failure.

  Failure in his marriage. Failure to keep his Cambridge job. Will Alice be the next failure to add to my list?

  He sighs, drags his mind back to his notes. He promised her that he would not work – but she is not around to supervise. He listens to book notes he recorded a year ago. Now everything in the social and environmental world is worse. Just as I feared.