AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (20 page)

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 a
mniotic 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, slidi
ng 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, remembering 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.

Blaze wonders if they aren’t lost since it feels like he’s been in Control for close to an hour or even more.

“And it isn’t actually white,” Dr. DeBeers continues. “What your eyes are trying to process is the lack of any pigment. Similar to a polar bear’s fur. They weren’t really white, that was just light refracting from their clear fur.”

“Polar bears?”
Blaze asks, barely wrapping his mind about the information Dr. DeBeers gives him. “Those are extinct.”

“Well, yes, of course,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I was using the creature as an example.” She stops and turns to Blaze. “Would you like to see what we do here?”

“Doctor? It is not advisable-” the AiSP begins.

“Thank you, AiSP,” Dr. DeBeers says. “But I think Sergeant Crouch has earned a peek into the way we work. Or he will earn it over the next few weeks as
I study him.” She leans in and places a hand on his shoulder, surprising Blaze with the physical intimacy. “It’s the least I can do, considering.”

“Considering what?” Blaze asks. “What are you going to do to me?’

She only shrugs and gestures to the wall to his left. He turns and watches as the wall goes opaque, revealing row after row of shiny metal tables, each with a body laid out upon it. More machines, their arms and tools whirling over and around the bodies, hurry back and forth, each performing a specific task upon each body. It’s an assembly line of medical research. Flashes of blue static separate each station, obviously cleansing the area before the next subject moves into place.

“Are they…alive?” Blaze asks, seeing the IRISed eyes on some of the bodies, but also seeing wide open stares from others. He steps closer to the wall and the eyes of the man on the nearest table shift slightly, catching his movement. “Oh, God…”

“Well, we aren’t there yet,” Dr. DeBeers laughs. “But we hope to be someday. Life isn’t as big of a mystery as we once thought. Not when you break it down to its finite pieces like we do in Control.” She tilts her head slightly and frowns. “But Control is an affront. He is the one, the only one-”

Blaze looks at her as she stops speaking. The puzzled look on her face does not comfort him. He quickly looks back at the room before him, but there’s no comfort there either as the man on the table continues to stare at him.

Fear.

That is all Blaze can see in the man’s eyes as a metal arm hovers over his abdomen. A blue beam of static fires from the arm and the tissues across the man’s belly splits easily. The arm moves off to the next table and is replaced by two new arms. They dive into the man’s exposed abdominal cavity. His eyes widen slightly as the man’s stomach and intestines are removed and placed into a tub of liquid by the table. The tub moves off, carried by a rolling cart, and the arms follow as a new set take their place.

Tubes and lines are inserted into the man’s abdomen, replacing the connections where his stomach and intestines had been before. The arms move away and a single one moves in and fuses the man’s skin back together, sealing the flesh around the tubes and lines. That arm moves off to complete the same task on the next table. And the next. And the next.

A metal orb,
larger than the one in the transport bay, hovers to the table. Its middle opens and it removes a small tank of liquid, which it sets on the man’s chest and connects to the tubes and lines. It waits as the liquid is pumped from the tank into the man then moves off as the table is surrounded by a StatShield and lifted up into the ceiling.

All of the rows of tables shift accordingly and at the far end of the room the ceiling opens and a new table, a new person, is placed in the room.

“I’d take you in personally for a closer look,” Dr. DeBeers says. “But we are on facility lockdown and I only have access to the hallways and your room.” She puts a finger to her chin. “However, I could override that and take us in. What would be the harm in that?”

“Doctor,” the AiSP says. “That would compromise all of the subjects.
”

“I know, I know!” Dr. DeBeers shouts. “I’m not going to do it. Not going to…”

Blaze focuses on the new table that has been added to the room’s rotation. He knows that person.

“Ah,” Dr. DeBeers says
, seeing the new man also. “Your transport has arrived much earlier than expected. That is good. The sooner we start on the Burn trash, the more we know about the transmission capabilities of your culture.”

The person on the table is the man from the Burn, the bit of Burn trash called Splotch.

“We’ll remove his digestive tract, which is where the bacteria will be housed if you transferred it to him, and study the results,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Can you tell me if your StatShield was activated during your encounter with him? That bit of data does help with our analysis.”

Blaze
tries to tear his eyes from the man as the machines begin their work, but the horror of it all has him transfixed.

“Hello? Sergeant Crouch?” Dr. DeBeers calls out, waving her hand in front of him. “AiSP?  A mild jolt, please.”

Blaze gasps as adrenaline surges through him briefly.

“I…what was the question?” he asks.

“Was your StatShield activated during your encounter with Mister…”

“Splotch, doctor,” the AiSP says. “The man goes by the name of Splotch, but was born Carlos William Leftowitz.”

“Sounds like an excellent mélange of genetic inheritance,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Far better to research than some of the pure bloods we pick up. And much better than the Sicklands samples.”

“Samples?” Blaze says. “You call them samples?”

“Terminology doesn’t matter,” Dr. DeBeers says, waving him off. “What does is whether you had your StatShield active.”

“Yes,” Blaze says. “I did.”

“Noted,” Dr. DeBeers says. “AiSP? Show is over.”

The wall
returns to its brilliant white and Dr. DeBeers turns, proceeding down the hall. Blaze hesitates, looks about him, then up at the ceiling, and follows after.

“You keep saying we, but other than you, and the troopers, I haven’t seen a single person here,” Blaze says. “Where is everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “Oh, they are around. You won’t meet any of them. Variables, remember? I barely see my colleagues most days. And especially not today with the facility lockdown.”

Dr. DeBeers’s voice takes on a lost, rambling quality.

“Not that I like them much anyway,” she continues. “The only pleasure I get from their company is during interpersonal connectivity sessions.”

“Interpersonal connectivity what?”

“Mandatory copulation,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Male and female researchers are required to provide fresh embryonic material for study. Cloning has never worked properly, except with the Canine Units, and the results wouldn’t be accurate if it did. You need new genetics, new strands, new variables in order to truly study what the Strains can do.”

“You fuck for science?” Blaze asks.

“Ha!” Dr. DeBeers laughs, the sound tinny and empty in the hallway. “I’ll remember that. He’ll appreciate that humor. But, yes, we do. Once impregnated, the embryo is removed from the female and cultured until it achieves the growth needed for the specific study.”

“Isn’t there risk of infection by, uh, copulating?” Blaze asks, trying to focus on the science and not the madness, although they are hopelessly intertwined. “Wouldn’t artificial insemination be better?”

“No, not really,” Dr. DeBeers says. “There are enzymatic reactions, mucosal responses, hormone shifts, that occur during natural copulation. They affect which spermatozoa reach the egg and the embryo’s development. The best way to study life is to recreate its creation the most natural way possible. It’s primitive and messy, but it works. Plus an orgasm does wonders for one’s state of mind.” She smiles and touches her armor at her chest. “What will He be like…?”

“This is insane,” Blaze says. “Way out there, completely knockered the bug fuck insane.”

“Only history can judge that, Sergeant Crouch,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Ah, we are here.” The wall slides open and reveals a small, sterile room with only one table in the middle. “After you.”

Blaze hesitates. He looks inside and knows it is way too late to make a run for it.

“Are you going to rip me open too?” he asks. “Is that how this all goes down?”

“No, Sergeant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “We have a very long time before we get to the dissection part of my research. This will just be a routine examine.”

Blaze takes a couple of steps back and the ceiling opens up above him. A swirling tangle of metal arms hovers just feet from his head.

“My apologies,” Dr. DeBeers laughs. “That was my pitiful attempt at humor. You can see why I don’t joke often. Not to worry, Sergeant Crouch, you will not be dissected. We can’t waste a unique specimen like you. We need to study the organism as a whole, the symbiotic relationships between all the
floras in your system. You are not just a digestive system or host to a specific strain of bacteria. You are a wonderful microcosm of life, a universe into yourself.”

She walks into the room and stands by the table, waiting.

“He knows that and is very happy your are here with me,” Dr. DeBeers says then begins to cough over and over. When she finally gets it under control, she pats the table. “Up you go now.”

Blaze hesitates, looks at the arms above him then steps forward. The wall slides shut and the hallway is once again an uninterrupted corridor of pure white.