Tankbread 02 Immortal (31 page)

A woman appeared at the gate. “Else?” she called. Else looked up and grinned.

“Hey, Sister Mary!” Else hurried forward, the elder nun opened her arms and embraced her. The baby squalled and Mary stepped back, a shocked look on her face.

“A child?”

“My son,” Else confirmed.

Sister Mary’s lips thinned. “Born out of holy matrimony I’m sure.”

“Nope,” Else said with an innocent expression. “We were married, and shortly after I found out I was pregnant, I was widowed.”

“I will pray for this child and the soul of his departed father.”

“Thank you, Sister. The place is really thriving now.”

“Yes, through God’s mercy and our efforts to attract new settlers, the land of Mildura has been taken back from the unholy dead. We now have over four hundred people in our community.”

“The place is looking good,” Else said.

“We have people with skills: farmers, mechanics, a doctor, and two midwives. We have people spreading out in all directions, gathering supplies and technology.”

“Technology?” Else asked.

“Doctor Preston’s program requires a great deal of technology. I don’t pretend to understand the details. But let’s get you inside, out of the heat.”

Else followed Sister Mary through the crushed limestone courtyard and into the convent. When the doors were closed the air was cool and moist, the hum of air-conditioning whirring in the background. Thick bundles of electric and data cables ran along the walls and disappeared through a duct in the wall to the chapel interior.

“I need to talk to Doctor Preston,” Else said, following the cables with her eye.

“I’m sure she will be delighted to update you on her work.” Sister Mary’s voice took on a stern tone. Else subsided a little.

“I want to thank you for everything you did for me. Without you I would have never survived.”

“You are God’s creature, my child,” Mary said. “That you live is due to his mercy and his hand alone.”

Else had learned the value of silence and kept her smile in place instead of responding to Sister Mary’s assumptions.

Given everything she had seen and experienced in the year she had been alive, nothing suggested to her that any kind of God existed. She found expressions of faith to be the most alien thing that separated her from most people, even though sometimes she wished she could place all her trust in an invisible god.

The entrance to the chapel opened with the heavy rustling of plastic curtains behind the door and Donna Preston emerged. She looked tired, Else thought, and thin. But other than that it was Donna. She pushed a pair of glasses up onto her head and regarded Else with an analytical expression.

“Why are you here?” she asked by way of greeting.

“I brought some people to join the community,” Else replied.

Donna’s interest seemed piqued. “Genetically diverse?” she asked.

“Yes. Men, women, children.”

“They are being processed?” Donna asked.

“I think so,” Else replied.

Donna nodded. “Come into the lab.” She ignored Sister Mary entirely. The nun’s lips went thinner.

“Well I have work to do. Else, I will see you at our evening meal.” She turned on her heel and marched off.

“Is she mad at me?” Else asked Donna, following the scientist into the chapel.

“No, she’s just upset that I’m running things here now. She knows that my ways are better, but she thinks I’m a godless heathen and that really rubs her up the wrong way.” Donna seemed pleased that she irritated Sister Mary.

The chapel had been converted into a functional laboratory. Else stopped inside the door, the plastic sheeting draping over her shoulders, a sense of panic tightening around her chest. Her breathing became a whispered hiss as she regarded the tubes, winking computers, swirling glass, and plastic tanks of viscous pink fluid.

“You okay?” Donna asked, with a detached curiosity.

“It reminds me of . . . where I was born.”

“Well it should. I’ve spent months recovering what I could from the Opera House and Woomera facilities.”

“Woomera was dark . . .” Else said, a fresh wave of panic washing over her.

“Yes. We went back in. There were no survivors. They had crawled out when the lights didn’t come back on and the evols got them. Fortunately the equipment and computers were salvageable.”

Else shuddered. The idea of going into the underground facility at Woomera, into that oppressive darkness, so thick it felt like heavy cloth wrapped around her head, made her dizzy and nauseous.

“I have been able to continue my work, regardless of Sister Mary’s objections.”

“You recovered clone embryos. You have the Courier’s viable clones,” Else whispered, the dream replaying in her mind with startling clarity.

“Yes I did.” Donna regarded Else with new interest. “How did you know?”

“He told me,” Else said.

“Where is he? I could use another sample of his sperm.”

“He died. Is he the father of my baby?” Else lifted the infant sleeping in her arms.

Donna came forward and peered at the child. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’d need to do a full DNA analysis, but he does bear a resemblance.

“I haven’t had sex with anyone else,” Else said.

“Did you notice the patch under your arm?” Donna asked.

“He found it, when we were together the first time.”

“What color was it?” Donna asked.

“Purple,” Else replied. “Why? What does that mean?”

“It means he is the father of your child. We took his fresh sperm sample and impregnated you while the work was being done on your telomere terminator sequencing.”

“Will my son be alright?”

“A child with 50 percent of your DNA?” Donna gave a sour chuckle. “The kid will grow up to be a god.”

“I hope I’ll be around to see him grow,” Else said, stroking the soft hair on the baby’s head.

“You do understand what we did to you? At Woomera I mean.”

“You made me into the evol-killing bomb that was meant to infect the Adam organism. Which is what happened. The Courier infected himself with my antibodies and gave his life so that I could have my baby.”

“We also made you immortal. Removing the terminator sequences from your DNA. You will never suffer the same level of cell death as humans. You will never die of old age. The only thing that should kill you would be a lethal infection or serious injury.”

“My son had a head cold,” Else explained.

“And he looks like he recovered completely,” Donna replied.

“Why are you making new Tankbread?” Else asked.

“Tankbread? This isn’t Tankbread. We aren’t producing clones here to feed evols. No, this is about the original purpose of the project. Creating an improved human being. An entity without any of our weaknesses, the perfect soldier.”

“Wasn’t that what led to the evols in the first place?” Else asked.

“And I have learned from their mistakes. We aren’t looking at genetically engineering viruses anymore. This is about genetic manipulation. The antibodies in your blood will inoculate our soldiers. Then once field trials prove successful, I intend to start a vaccination program. Every living survivor will become poisonous to the virus.”

“How many do you have now? Clones of him, I mean,” Else asked.

Donna frowned. “Of the viable embryos I recovered, only two have survived through the adult development phase.”

“Why not make clones of other people?” Else asked.

“The Courier—what was his name?” Else shrugged and Donna continued. “Never mind. He had a particular survival talent. He was resourceful, a good fighter. How much of that was genetic and how much of it was environmental, we may never know. The key thing is that he had good survival genes. Cloning him is a good start for the new race of Australians.”

“You shouldn’t do this,” Else said. “He died to destroy the Adam. You shouldn’t bring him back, not like this.”

“I thought you of all people would want someone like you to spend the rest of your life with,” Donna replied.

“He is with me, always. I can feel him. My memories of every moment with him are clear and I can visit them whenever I want.”

Donna pressed on. “Wouldn’t you like new memories?”

“They wouldn’t be the same. He was the product of his life experience, a particular person. The clones will just look like him. They won’t have his smile, or his personality. They will just look like him.”

“And soon they will number in the hundreds, then the thousands. I’m working up a mix of zygote implantation into surrogate mothers and direct cloning in the Tankbread growth system.”

“It’s a bad idea, Donna. You should stop now. Use your talents to save the living, not create new monsters.”

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t met them.” Donna beckoned Else to follow and went to the back of the former chapel. Unlocking a door, she ushered Else through.

She went in. The room beyond was dark and before she could voice her concern, an electric spark crackled and a jolt shot through Else, sending her tumbling to the floor. Her baby screaming was the last sound she heard before passing out.

* * *

Else crawled back to consciousness. Her mouth and throat felt like she had swallowed desert sand. Everything ached, from her bound wrists and ankles to a sharper pain from deep inside her lower abdomen.

The room was dark and silent. She lay on a carpeted floor, naked and thirsty. Senses straining into the darkness, she whispered, “Baby?” A flood of panic washed through her. Not again. Never again would anyone take her son away from her. She had promised him that. Else flexed her arms and legs, forcing the cord binding her to bite into her skin.

“If you have hurt my baby, you are all going to die,” Else muttered. She couldn’t stand; the rope ran from her ankles up the back of her legs to loop around her wrists. Her legs were bent backwards at the knees, preventing her standing up. Instead she rolled across the room, feeling for anything other than the dust on the floor and the smooth paneling of the walls. Growling in frustration, Else wiggled into the corner of the room. Pushing herself up, she ignored the swirling pain of pins and needles that erupted through her legs. Standing now, hunched and supported by the wall, she doubled over, feeling her arms strain against the cord as she lowered her head and flexed her knees apart. The rope pulled tighter with each movement. Exhaling, Else pushed her head between her knees, curling herself up until she could barely breathe and the rope between her ankles and her wrists brushed against her nose. Wiggling her face, she snagged the cord with her teeth and began chewing on it.

* * *

Else came to, her head pounding and the stars on her retina spinning in a nauseating cycle. She remembered being doubled over, chewing on a rope, the pressure building in her head until she fainted. That, she decided, would explain the headache and disorientation. Gritting her teeth she straightened her legs, feeling the cord strain and then at the edge of her endurance the rope snapped. Else shuffled backwards on her rear, working her body through the circle of her arms, feeling her shoulder joints pop until she had her hands in front. She attacked the knots at her wrists with renewed enthusiasm. Once they were undone she started working on her ankle bindings.

Five minutes later Else stood up, rubbing her wrists before feeling her way along the wall till she found the door. It wasn’t even locked.

Opening it carefully and peering out into the chapel, she froze as Donna’s voice came to her across the room.

“Initial analysis of samples taken from subject indicates that her ova are a key source of the missing genetic material. When fertilized with the clone spermatozoa the resulting zygote has the genetic markers that indicate immunity to the Adam virus. The question remains, why is it not possible to simply clone Else’s cells and re-create the savior units in her image? Testing of Else’s infant child indicate that he has extremely high levels of effective antibodies. Whether this immunity will fade as he develops his own immune system or whether this will be a permanent feature of his blood serum remains to be seen. Harvesting of sufficient stem cells to begin a new line of clones is scheduled. This will be followed by an autopsy to determine differential organ structure.”

Donna stopped talking and clicked a handheld tape recorder off.

Else picked up the Taser gun that Donna had stunned her with and pressed it against the back of the woman’s neck. “You have one sentence to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you. Think very carefully about what you choose to say.”

“Kill me and you will never see your baby again,” Donna responded promptly.

The Taser crackled against Donna’s skin. She convulsed and crumpled to the floor. Else dragged Donna’s limp body over to a gurney, lifted her onto it, and strapped her down. Flexing one hand, she slapped the bound woman across the face. Donna mumbled and her eyes snapped open.

“Where is my son?” Else asked.

“In the nursery.” Donna moved and then realized she was restrained. “Hey! Untie me!”