Idols (21 page)
I slip back noiselessly into the shadows, walking over the same rolling deck where I stumbled not so long ago. Tima and Lucas and Ro are still sleeping; even Brutus is snoring. Battered as we all are, just getting through another day is a minor medical miracle. Fortis says sleep is the best thing they—and any of us—can do. Not that it’s that easy to come by, in a situation like ours.
Maybe he spiked their food with sleep tabs
, I think, looking at them snoring away now.
Even better.
I spy Fortis’s jacket, and before I know it, I’m reaching inside. I need to know what’s going on, especially with his sudden plans for us to take down the entire General Embassy.
Fortis isn’t himself—or I’m not.
Either way, I have to find out.
As with any Merk, his jacket is a treasure trove, with every hidden inside pocket brimming full of the odd bits that make Fortis, Fortis. He’s never without it; only the intolerable heat and the more intolerable humidity of the Colonies have made him leave it behind, even now.
A rare mistake.
Stop it
, I think.
What are you even looking for?
But I don’t stop. I can’t help myself.
Information, as he would say. Pertinent information. That’s what I’m looking for.
And so I keep looking.
The first thing I see is the cuff, wrapped in the stiff black fabric.
Strange, Fortis without his cuff.
That rarely happens.
Next I find a wad of digs, a bundle of Merk cash held together in a digi-clip with the faded letters
P.F.
on it. Beyond that, there are such treasures as this: a bundle of old photographs, tied with string—a small pocketknife—a larger hunting knife—and what looks like a tin of grease for his hair. I open it.
Plastic explosives.
Nice.
Then I find it, in one of the larger pockets that line the back of the jacket. Still bound in its own rough burlap sack, just as I left it when I gave it to him for safekeeping, back at Nellis.
My book.
My last gift from the Padre.
The Humanity Project: The Icon Children.
I open the pages, eagerly, shamefully—as if I were reading something immoral or illegal or worse.
But I’m not. I’m reading about myself. Until I get to the back pages, which are scribbled in with writing by another hand.
Fortis’s.
It’s his journal, as far as I can tell.
I settle back against the wall of the rolling ship and start to read about the man I have entrusted my life to.
THE ICON CHILDREN–SEA COLONIES LAB DATA–WEEK 27
G
ENETIC MODIFICATION FOR ALL SPECIMENS PREPARED
. P
RIMATE TESTING SUCCESSFUL, NEUROLOGICAL SIDE EFFECTS NEGLIGIBLE
. A
MYGDALA AND CORTEX CUSTOMIZATIONS MEET OR EXCEED SPECIFICATIONS ON ALL MEASUREMENTS
. D
ETECTING ORDERS-OF-MAGNITUDE INCREASES ACROSS ALL KEY BRAIN FUNCTIONS AND CORRESPONDING INCREASES IN ENERGY OUTPUT
. R
EDESIGNED HARDWARE WAS REQUIRED TO ACCOMMODATE NEW, HIGH READINGS
.
T
HE DESIGN IS SOUND, AND WORK BEGINS ON HUMAN INTEGRATION, MARKED BELOW
.
S
PECIMEN
O
NE:
DNA
SYNTHESIS COMPLETE
S
PECIMEN
T
WO:
DNA
SYNTHESIS COMPLETE
S
PECIMEN
T
HREE:
DNA
SYNTHESIS COMPLETE
S
PECIMEN
F
OUR:
DNA
SYNTHESIS COMPLETE
M
ODIFICATIONS FOR ALL SPECIMENS SUCCESSFULLY ENCODED AND READY TO TEST INCUBATION FOR VIABILITY.
N
OTE:
E
LA INSISTS ON FURTHER TESTING
. I
DON’T BLAME HER FOR WANTING TO BE CERTAIN OF WHAT WE HAVE
. S
OMETHING NEW
. A
SOLUTION TO EXTINCTION
. A
SOLUTION TO EVERYTHING
.
I
T’S QUITE POSSIBLE THE FUTURE OF THE WORLD DEPENDS ON IT
.
ELA? Who is that?
And DNA synthesis?
What was he synthesizing?
“Still sleeping?”
I hear the booming voice before I see him, moving across the skiffs in front of our shadowy shelter—and I rush to toss everything back into his jacket.
“Like babies,” I say, my heart pounding.
“Good. I like it that way. Less chatter.” Fortis smiles as he creeps into our hidey-hole, tossing a sack in my direction. “Paid a little visit to the galley storage. Eat up. Don’t exactly know when fresh food is coming our way again. It’s not like we’ll be going fishing.”
“You never know,” I say.
“What?”
“Fish. Birds. Extinction. You never know. You might wake up one day and find a genetic solution to extinction. Something new.” I don’t look at him, opening the sack instead.
“Not likely,” he says, ripping off the end of a stolen loaf.
I pull out a hard round of bread for myself. “Do you still have the Padre’s book, Fortis? The one about us—about me?”
He looks startled. “Of course.”
“Can I see it?”
“It’s not with me. Not here.”
“Where is it?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I bite into the tough, leathery roll, thinking about genome sequencing and bioinformation and, as I swallow, the future of the world.
And who or who not to trust it to.
GENERAL EMBASSY DISPATCH: EASTASIA SUBSTATION
MARKED URGENT
MARKED EYES ONLY
Internal Investigative Subcommittee IIS211B
RE: The Incident at SEA Colonies
Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary. Also note that in following communications, the entity HAL is now referred to as DOC, following Fortis’s penchant for obtuse nicknames.
DOC ==> FORTIS
Transcript - ComLog 10.13.2054
Ethical Query
//comlog begin;
DOC:
FORTIS?;
FORTIS:
Yes, DOC.;
DOC:
Should we not alert the government about your discoveries about NULL, his devices, and the… children?;
FORTIS:
No. Not yet.;
FORTIS:
Ask me again later.;
FORTIS:
I am still evaluating our situation. It is still somewhat elastic. Dynamic.;
FORTIS:
And I still have a handle on things. I hope.;
DOC:
As do I.;
//comlog end;
The blue water of the SEA Colonies is marbled with shadow as we approach. Shadow and shade, in strange patterns and blotches, like pieces of a giant puzzle I will never see finished. A whole world beneath the sea.
I wonder what the Lords have planned for that half of the Earth, the secret half. How they will destroy it.
The Lords and the GAP.
I wonder if it will surrender as quickly as the land above did.
“There’s something moving down there. Look.” Lucas points. I don’t look back at the water, though, because he’s not wearing his ripped shirt, and I’m too busy looking at him—at the strangely shiny place his scar has become, shaped like a flower, or a burst of sun. More than a week of sleep and sea air has done his body more good than I could have imagined. Even if most of that time was spent darting in and out of a row of damp old dinghies.
Still, it isn’t just that Lucas’s spirits seem better today; all of ours are. We’re supposed to see land within the next few hours. It’s about time, I think. I’m ready to give up sleeping on the deck.
I haven’t dreamed of her once, the jade girl. It’s worrying me. I don’t know what it means. Then again, the thought of the SEA Colonies and all they will bring—at least, if Fortis’s plans fall into place—is hardly a soothing thought. Maybe my dreams have a way of revealing to me only what I can handle.
As if I can handle any of this.
“There.” Lucas motions again. “Look. Manta. They’re still here. Even without the fish.”
