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

  "I saw that too," he says, surprising her with his calmness. "I looked at how they produced the figures. They got it wrong. The true figures are higher. I will give you a copy of my calculations and analysis. You can check them."

  "Jack, does your book have any hope for humans?"

  "Not really. Not for the human race. Numans are better adapted, better organized. They will inherit the Earth."

  "Have you thought about numans? Their population expansion is not only suffocating humans, it is pushing all resources to the edge. Galen wants their numbers reduced drastically. He doesn't tell me this but I read it in his files."

  Jack refills their glasses with the last of the lemon water, not so iced now.

  "I got the results of the genetic match analysis for us today," she says, wanting him to relax before getting back to the tough stuff.

  "Us?"

  "I told you I was getting the Center's specialist analysts to do it. I wanted my friends and staff to look at our genetic make-up to see how we are compatible."

  "Bloody'ell. Did you do our horoscopes too?"

  "Jack! Be serious... well, a little serious. This is important."

  "Okay. What did it show?"

  "Everything is good. Our animal natures and our gut microbes and your sex-mad brain worked it all out as we exchanged 40,000 volts wrapped in the softest velvet." She grins as Jack laughs at her quoting back his own words about the first time they met. "I got the basic compatibility work done, all fine; then I got an emotions geneticist to take a look, nearly all good, more than you would normally expect; the social and political geneticists said we both functioned in the same way – and, as an experiment, I tried a new geneticist: a death and extinction specialist, rather like you as a destructionist geneticist, but he is working on living organisms to ascertain likely attitudes and actions of individuals faced with termination."

  "All this from genetics? Doesn't sound likely from a scientific point of view."

  "Well, we call it genetics but these specialists use whatever they need: DNA first, of course, but also other physiological samples and data, psychology, recorded historical actions, cross-comparisons with similar subjects where outcomes are known."

  "That makes sense." Suddenly a thought strikes him and he sits up so fast, his face twists in pain. "Hey, how did they get my DNA sample to work on?"

  "Oh," she says with a mischievous look. "I gave it to them."

  "And you gave them what, exactly? Some hair? You cut my toenails while I was asleep? The witch technique?"

  "Not exactly. I had this bright idea at the Center. I told you. You remember the afternoon we spent in bed and then I had to rush to the Center when Galen called a meeting and I had to work all night?"

  "This doesn't sound good. You don't mean..."

  "Why not? Both sets of DNA samples together. They don't think we spend all our time walking Max and playing video games. We—."

  She breaks off to pick up her vibrating phone. Twinkle is sulking and refuses to talk to her. She listens, her relaxed manner stiffening. "Oh no," she says. Tears gather in her eyes.

  Jack waits. She puts the phone back on the grass without thinking and turns to Jack.

  "A human mob attacked the Aleksis' van as they approached the hospital in Dorchester," she says. "They blocked the van, front and rear. The van crew tried to jump out to fight them off..." Tears well big, break and stream down her face. "That was what the mob wanted. As soon as the doors were opened, they threw firebombs inside. Daleksi, Baleksi and nine of the children were burned to death."

  *

  Chapter 5

  Galen, already dealing with the aftermath of humans murdering Aleksi's family, is gripped by the force of numan2 violence unfolding on the government's virtual-reality broadcast service. He and his private viewing room are in the virtual middle of a massive demonstration.

  A scream of pain and fear pierces the clamor of a thousand voices rioting through the streets, the slap of their feet, the crack and crash of property being destroyed. A woman, one of the riot leaders, is hit in the back by something thrown from behind and she goes down, trampled by the unstoppable mass fury. Her cries are lost as the crowd, a hysterical monster, surges over her.

  Galen instinctively reels from the violence, the mass madness, and the smell of conflict from the numan bodies, smoke and blood. He retreats with the hopelessly outnumbered police and troopers.

  This is now. This is Kathmandu, rebuilt after the earthquake of 2033. I need the body of the woman who fell! I need dissection data! Any numan2 in the mob will do but the woman would be perfect.

  He will never get a body, alive or dead, because Kathmandu is in chaos and the numan security force is being overwhelmed. The situation is deteriorating. Food is running out all over Asia and no one wants to export a grain of rice to tiny FedNepal.

  Galen ducks as a firebomb flies over his head and hits something solid, a shower of virtual fire raining down around him amid the screams of burning troopers. Suddenly, the live media feed fails; the mediagrapher has been hit or her equipment put out of action.

  Galen regrets his decision to join this VR broadcast and switches to the 3D mediascreen. He got nothing extra from the VR except the sensation of being there. And he did not need that.

  The viewing room lights come on automatically but they dim again as the broadcast restarts with the anchor sitting in an armchair and talking to Galen on the World Council confidential network. Galen looks at the information panel perched for viewers' convenience on a drinks table beside the anchor: 1,346 leaders worldwide watching, being watched by the system, each addressed by name as the system inserts their names into the anchor's conversation.

  "We have lost the Kathmandu feed for the moment," the anchor tells Galen, in the time-honored nonsense of anchors stating the obvious. "Just to recap, Professor Galen: this is the third and worst night of rioting by Nepali numan2s who are facing severe food shortages due to export bans by FedAsia states affected by rising seas and climate changes."

  Galen has seen enough. He logs out, conscious that the viewing record is kept by the spookpolice. Physical security is not his concern: that is for the spookpolice, the local police and regional military forces, who may terrify individuals but who are no match for rioters. Why should they be? No one, not even myself, thought anything like this could happen with the numan2s locked down genetically. He experiences another new sensation: anxiety, a weight of dread. Is this what humans mean by panic?

  He shuts down the secure broadcast system and walks back to his office. Where is Ali when I need her? She has become unpredictable since I gave her the human animal downgrade. A flood of anger wipes out everything else. If she carries on like this, she could get a DickTick without any options!

  He tries to calm himself. I am losing my numan control. I am becoming a slave to my emotions. What is wrong with me?

  *

  FedJap vegetable sushi, kept clear of the pfish sushi, stretches into Patti's temptation range in the DickStar's dining palace... but the FedMex burritos look good... and the sixteen varieties of FedIndia and FedThai curries smell delicious... She decides to be indecisive and have some of everything she fancies. What will the other diners think? Do I care? NewLife cruise ships are notorious for binge eating.

  She fills her enormous plate – there is no other kind – and, as she turns, a uniformed waiter helpfully takes it from her. "I'll carry that for you, madam. If you tell me what you'd like to drink, I'll get it for you. May I suggest a dry white wine? I think I have just the one to go with your excellent choice of dishes."

  She takes her seat on an eight-place table for singles to socialize and share their experiences. But it is not her fellow diners she has in her mind as she looks around. They are already first-name fraquaintances. She has spent much of the day with some of them in the gym, on deck, swimming in the pool, at the tai chi class. They see me as a fellow human and treat me as one of themselves.

  "What did you think of the t
ai chi class?" she asks Lucy, ten years older than her and with a body ten years younger, as her eyes and her senses casually wonder if he is looking her way. Like last night. Why is she thinking this? She does not know but somehow, somewhere deep in herself, she likes it.

  "What did you think of the tai chi instructor?" Lucy says impishly.

  "Pretty good. Might try the class again," she says, and Lucy laughs. Human humor is an interesting way of communicating. My trainers were right about that.

  The taste of the vegetable sushi is unbelievable, like eating in Technicolor and turning her usual pmeat and veg diet to dusty sepia in her memory. She tries the curries, the spices and herbs lighting up her mouth like a firework display.

  The waiter appears with a wine bottle labeled Petit Chablis, respectfully reaches around her and pours a little. "Would you like to try it, madam?" he asks.

  She drank wine a couple of times while observing subjects in Abbotsford, and saw this pre-drinking ritual at the Steakhenge restaurant, where the waiter sneered when she asked for pmeat. I wonder where he is now.

  She picks up the glass, sips, tells the waiter it is excellent and wonders if it is. The waiter pours and leaves the bottle beside her in a fancy bucket of ice. She tries the wine again. Yes, it is good.

  The waiter, he is another matter. She can read him well enough. Pride in his work, of course. But, when he looks at her, she feels his genuine sadness and regret. Not for himself. For her.

  *

  Jack follows Alice through Aleksi's house on the outskirts of Abbotsford village, his hand firmly gripped by hers as she picks her way delicately towards the DickRespect funeral display. Only Aleksi and his son Aapeli survived because the boy was kept in the hospital and Aleksi stayed with him. Jack has never seen so many numan adults and children in one place. All the extended family members are here. And, adding to his unease, he and Alice tower over everyone as the only humans present. Their human clothes, funereal somber, clash with the numan gowns of light beige interwoven with bright patterns.

  Eleven sparkling life-size shapes are arranged against a deep green fabric: two adults and nine children, stylized numan grace, all holding hands. On their left, leading them to paradise, is a silver numan representation with a Father Dick mask and fingers splayed downwards – symbolism, according to Jack's obnoxious phone, which indicates drawing immortal life energy through the Divine Consciousness of the earth.

  A muted, optimistic cheerfulness percolates through the funeral but it cannot overcome Jack's immense sadness at young lives, young bodies, trapped and burned.

  A Father Dick priest, responsible for the death rites, chants continuously to link the "moved on" with the "here now" through the Divine Consciousness in all things of this world and the next. No one watches or listens but everyone sees and hears, and experiences the oneness with Baleksi, Daleksi and their nine children.

  Aleksi and his son Aapeli, exuding a serenity and composure beyond his thirteen years, stand in the funeral display. They acknowledge family members and guests, adults and children, one by one as each approaches. Alice and Jack wait in the line for Aleksi and Aapeli, gradually moving forward, a quiet, sadly dignified progression, until Alice reaches Aleksi. She says Aleksi's name and they reach out, wrists crossed, to touch hands for the funeral greeting. She does the same with Aapeli. Jack, unsure what to do, tentatively follows Alice's actions. Better to get it wrong trying than to offend or hurt by doing nothing.

  "May Father Dick welcome you into His family," says Aleksi to Jack, the ritual greeting.

  "May He welcome us all," says Jack, exactly as Alice had done, and moves on to Aapeli to repeat the simple and, to Jack, moving exchange.

  Alice takes Jack's arm and guides him past the funeral figures, back into the press of numans.

  "The symbolism is striking but it's difficult for me, as a human, to see what it's saying," says Jack, curious and, to his shame, hopeful of discovering more of the secret rituals. "Do the numans let you, as a trusted human, into their secrets?"

  "Sometimes," says Alice. "The funeral display represents unity and everlasting joy. Numans believe they are all linked in harmony with the Divine Consciousness, in what we call life, and in an existence after their lives in this phase have ended. The numan spiritual leader, Father Dick, is like the human christian leader Jesus. Father Dick told the numans that their happiness in the next phase will be certain if they live good numan lives in this phase. He said the planet belongs to them and they must use it to establish a Divine Consciousness world. Here, in this funeral, the symbolic Father Dick is leading the symbolic Baleksi, Daleksi and their children to paradise for their next phase of eternal existence."

  "Where do we humans come into this?" asks Jack, aware of the glances and comment that their presence has provoked since they entered.

  "Humans are part of it all. In the numan way of seeing existence, humans are different from people – numans – but should be treated kindly within what numans call 'the natural world.'"

  "As part of the Divine Consciousness?"

  "Not exactly. Numans define themselves as people. They say they are created in the essence of Father Dick when he emerged from the digital plane. Numans have souls that can go to paradise."

  "And humans? We have souls and we can go to paradise. Don't you think you have a human soul that can go to heaven?"

  "Yes, but numans see a difference. Humans, they say, are human animals – no different from any other animal on the planet during the thousands of years it took humans to drive everything else into extinction. Numans believe that animals do not have souls. They live by their simple animal instincts and their needs that are triggered by their animal conditions. That's the traditional numan spiritual belief and definition of our world."

  "But we do have souls," protests Jack. "Animals, like dogs and cattle, do not have souls. But I have a soul."

  Alice laughs. "You think you have a soul but Max does not? You can be very numan sometimes."

  The intensity of their conversation distracts them from where they are walking and they find themselves looking down into Galen's eyes. His eyes! No longer walnut. They look exactly like Aleksi's family – silver blue rimmed with yellow-orange. And his dress! Why is he wearing a numan gown?

  "Eye spray," says Alice hastily and tries to lead him away. "It's to show respect and unity with Aleksi."

  "This must be a first for you, Jack," says Galen, his voice even deeper as he eyes them with false colors and hostile blankness. "Numan funeral rites. Not many humans have seen them. Maybe you can use it all in your book. How is your book coming along? Ali filling you in with some good details?"

  Alice, the professional smoother who can handle any crisis, looks shocked. She tightens her grip on Jack's arm, abruptly turning him away from Galen, and leads him towards the garden. "Don't mind Galen," she whispers. "He is upset about Aleksi's family. He'll be all right by tomorrow."

  Jack lets her lead him, her stream of words lost on him as he tries to look back at Galen. His gown! Did I imagine it?

  The numan mourners move slightly, opening up another view of Galen. Their eyes lock in combat for a second and Jack's widen as his view drops to Galen's gown. The human director of a small, out-of-the-way research center is wearing a formal gown exactly like top numans seen on news broadcasts. A flash of Aleksi's family insignia is pinned to his left breast, but nothing can disguise the numan rank and the awe of those around him in the funeral room.

  Or the malice in his eyes and voice.

  *

  I want a quiet, trouble-free cruise. They can keep the parties. They can keep the free courses and concerts. Mark is sure: he must use this time on the DickStar cruise to regain calm and prepare himself for a new life.

  Still, try as he might, his mind will not let go of the tears and recriminations when he left Paula outside his house. I gave her half the money I got from selling the house. What more did she want?

  He knows, of course, what more she wants. Him. To
stay with her. She doesn't want to be left alone. Why didn't she come with me?

  Maybe he will find a new woman in FedOz – he cannot live a celibate life. But for now, no women.

  "Your beer, sir," says a serving flunky as Mark sits at the dining table with seven other singles. Mark is gorging himself on pmeat. It's not beef flavor, nor pork, nor fowl. I don't know what it is, but it's fantastic.

  "Waiter, what flavor is this pmeat?" he asks, conscious that he has to raise his voice to make himself heard.

  "It's what it says on the serving table label, sir. Scragend. It's a FedOz delicacy much enjoyed with beer."

  "Thank you. It's delicious."

  "Yes, sir. Where you are going, I'm sure you will become very familiar with scrag."

  Mark goes back to the pmeat. And the beer. I've never had anything as good as this.

  He lifts his face from his plate and finds himself enticed into eye contact with a beautiful woman, two tables away, whom he had noticed earlier. She has unusually pale skin and her eyes are electric blue and so inviting. She half-smiles and turns shyly away before glancing back at him.

  No, not another one. I need to rest and plan. He looks back again, captivated by her eyes.

  *

  Chapter 6

  Life is sacred. Not beliefs. Not politics. Not religions. Not property. Life. This is the sacred flame that we humans destroy at every opportunity.

  "Where did that come from?" Jack asks himself with some surprise as it pops into his head. He is sitting in the upmarket Tudor-like Abbotsford Coffee Shop with a pcream arabica latte, a specialty of the place. Around him, numans drink their pale sugarless tea and eat thin dry sheets made from mixed seaweeds flavored with sour fermented kaffir lime leaves growing all over FedEurope and FedUK. He is getting accustomed to the somber numans and their "slightly colored water with compost cakes." In fact, he had grudgingly admitted to his laughing Alice that he likes the taste too.